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ohdeerfully · 3 months

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Can I please request Alastor and reader having a sleepover because of flooding in the hotel which made most rooms in the hotel out of service including Alastor's and Alastor chooses to stay at reader room because ✨romance✨ Oh and can I be ☀️ anon ( I'm the person who made first request.)

I love your writing so much!!!

hii again!!! thank you so much for the request ☀️! i love when anons give themselves names its actually so fun (,:

A Dry Bed

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

It’s nothing new when a violent demon shows up at the doorsteps to the Hazbin Hotel–Charlie’s idea wasn’t a popular one, except to a very niche market of demons. Many came just to cause havoc and make life harder for the already strained employees of the hotel.

This was new, though, you mused to yourself briefly as a fish-headed demon ripped open the door, the hinges squealing in protest. Bubbles of water floated around his body, strings of a magic aura keeping them attached to his form; there was a large one encasing his head like a helmet, making his already fish-eyed features more… well… fish-eyed and distorted.

Most demons weren’t manifested in hell bearing any sort of noticeable power other than sometimes having a decent “full” demon form. So, seeing this fish rearing a set of magical balls of water for attack, for no real reason in particular and with a glint of mania in his eyes, quickly put everybody to their feet and in action.

Alastor was out doing god-knows-what, otherwise this would’ve been over in an instant. The other demons in the hotel were incredibly strong in their own right, but it was undeniable that the power imbalance was… huge. And the immediate chaos that ensued likely would’ve been prevented.

The fish barely hesitated after nearly breaking the front doors, immediately detaching his balls of water and hurling them in every direction. Bottles of booze were shattering, hanging pictures were tumbling, and wooden legs of furniture snapped.

Of course, it was over nearly as soon as it started. With a movement so fast you could hardly watch, Vaggie had the fish pinned down, her foot pressed against his neck and spear pointed at one of his bulging eyes. Her eyes were narrowed so hard, her lips so twisted in a scowl, you could practically see the fire of her anger.

“Vaggie, hey, hey, hey,” Charlie quickly rattled out, pressing her hands against her girlfriend’s arm and gently ushering away the spear. Vaggie refused to release the demon, who was gurgling some nonsense in his bubble of a helmet. Charlie nudged at her leg that was pinning the demon down. “C’mon. No killing. You know the rules.”

“Charlie, this guy literally came in with intent to kill! Stop treating him like he wants to be in the hotel.” “I know! But… just…” Charlie thought for a moment.

The fish headed demon started thrashing around, but Vaggie’s strong leg kept him down. He was growing desperate, you could tell, and a magic aura seemed to flicker around him as he fought for his freedom.

Charlie opened her mouth again, likely to coerce Vaggie to let the guy go, but was interrupted by a loud, squealing groan from every direction. You frowned and leaned your ear against the wall, where it seemed the loudest. The sound of screaming pipes and popping bolts made you clench your jaw and whip your arms over your head, right in time for the walls to start bursting with dangerously high pressure water.

Vaggie turned a glare to Charlie and spread her arms in a “you see?” motion. She briefly raised her leg, only to slam it back down on the fish’s head. His protective bubble popped, and he was knocked out cold.

Easily enough, the pressure immediately began to release after the culprit had been knocked out, but the pipes wouldn’t magically fix themselves. Charlie was running back and forth, trying desperately to survey the damage to her hotel. Footsteps came thudding down the stairs and a spindly pink demon came flying down.

“Hey, what the fuck is- fuck!” Angel Dust’s curse-filled rant was interrupted as he tripped head first into the steadily increasing pool of water, not expecting his foot to get dragged behind him by said water. With a moment of confused thrashing he stood back up and shook water from his now drenched hair.

“Guys, a little help?” Charlie snapped, unintentionally raising her voice at the three of you. “I don’t know what to do, but just-! Something!”

Niffty was quick to arrive after Angel, announcing herself with a shrill cry at the state of things. She immediately went to work, practically flying this way and that with a little hammer and nails. You wondered if she could just materialize that at will.

After finally ebbing the flow at the lobby, you looked at the stairs to the next floor. A steady stream of water made a shock of cold run down your neck.

“Guys…” You pointed at the base of the stairs and drew a line with your finger, following the trail of water.

Charlie choked out a short cry, and Niffty didn’t hesitate before barreling between your legs and up the steps.

“Oh! My,” A shocked voice called from the entrance. A prickling of static covered your skin, and tension immediately left your shoulders. With him here, this would go a lot faster. You turned your head to look at the Radio Demon, who was now delicately stepping through the layer of water that was now creeping out the open lobby doors.

“This seems like a dream of a little orphan from the Dirty Thirties, I do think,” Alastor joked, mouth ajar and eyes shut in a sinister laugh at his humor. His staticy ambience changed to a personal laugh track following his statement. His cane was held up carefully on his elbow as he surveyed the scene.

“No, this won’t do! Not at all, what a dreadful sight for new patrons,” As his hand rose and a crackling of loud static filled the room, you heard the noise of metal bending and snapping as he magically forced them back into place. Even with all the pipes fixed, the water remained. You guessed it was up to the rest of you to deal with that part.

“Thank you soooo much, Al,” Charlie had her hands clasped and shaking in front of her as she continued to spew thanks at him for the help. She stopped and looked around. There was still a huge mess. And there was still a lot of water.

The lot of you had spent the next few hours desperately trying to scoop, dump, scoop again, dump again, all the water out, but it seemed neverending. Husk had showed up at some point, went on a furious rant about his collection of now-smashed bottles, and had been cradling the remaining one ever since.

Charlie had given everybody a verbal pat on the back, and called it a night. “We can get back to it in the morning.” She said this, but you had a feeling she would remain up trying her best to fix the mess. Alastor had excused himself some time ago, saying something about his broadcasts and his papers. Since then, your thoughts have been filled with aggravation from his lack of aid. Yes, he had fixed the pipes, but the water.

You gave a light smile to Charlie, half in thanks and half in apology, before heading up to your room. Your jaw was clenched with anticipation for what your room might look like. You could already visualize the damp curtains, the dripping bed, the mildewy air… And your clothes were surely ruined. You’d have to buy something to wear while you washed everything you owned. You sighed at the thought.

You took a breath before pushing the door open. And, when you looked inside, it was… completely dry.

“What the hell.” You deadpanned, eyes scanning the entire room. Surely there was at least a puddle of water somewhere. The water had affected every level, and although you did live on one of the higher floors you still couldn’t understand how your room managed to escape the flood.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you, making quick work of your drenched clothes and changing into something dry. You fell face first into your pillows. Your eyes were so, so heavy.

A few seconds passed before a knock interrupted the sleep that had been creeping over your body. You heard the faint warbling of radio frequency, and felt both nervousness and anger at the thought of seeing Alastor.

You rolled off the bed and stomped your way over to the floor, flinging it open and glaring up at him. He simply smiled back down at you, his head tilted questioningly as if he had no clue why you were in such a mood.

His eyes broke from yours and he peered into your room. With a pleased glint in his eye, he brushed past you. You wanted to say something about his intrusion, but you knew it would be useless. So you just followed him in.

“Lucky you!” He said. “I took it upon myself to look into all the rooms, and yours is the only one that is still in such a shape.” You watched as he examined the contents of your room, grabbing up a decoration here and there to look it over before setting it back down.

He sighed, eyes closing as his wide smile closed into a meager grin. “Unsurprisingly that little bayou of mine flooded much worse than everywhere else. As much as it reminds me of home, even I’m not one to sleep in the marsh.” He laughed a little.

Does this guy even sleep, you wondered. You had seen his room once before, and envisioned that marsh in the corner of his room completely overrunning the rest.

“Uh,” You toed the carpet and pursed your lips. You were still a little upset with him, but the idea of him going through the painstaking process of looking through every room in the hotel made it more reasonable for him to disappear earlier. “I mean, you could… stay with me. Tonight. Just tonight. Everything should be fine tomorrow, but I don’t want you without a bed. You know.” You rambled.

You and Alastor had gotten close over the past year, a little closer than he was with anybody else, but you avoided thinking too hard about your relationship. You worried that overthinking would cause you to accidentally overstep a boundary and you would lose the progress you’ve built getting to know him. You were worried about doing just that even as the offer tumbled from your mouth.

You watched as his teeth began to peek through his lips as his smile widened. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place. Pride, maybe? Accomplishment? You weren’t sure. You didn’t have much time to consider it before his smile composed and he remained unreadable.

“How bold of you,” His voice cooed, the static that surrounded him buzzing louder as his face got closer to you. You swallowed back a lump that had formed at the proximity. “Inviting a man into your room. It’s rather unbecoming of a lady like yourself.”

“I-” Your face grew hot.

“I’m joking!” He interrupted you, leaning himself away and back in a laugh. He waved his hand at you while you frowned. You hated the way he lived off of teasing and embarrassing.

“Okay, nevermind then!” You folded your arms and stuck your nose to the side and in the air. His laughter paused and he looked back down at you. Heat still burned on your cheeks and ears.

He examined you for an uncomfortably long period of time. You had your eyes squeezed shut and you upheld your attitude in the silence for as long as you could before the prickling of radio static on your skin became too uncomfortable. You peeked open one eye to look, and immediately got nervous.

He was just standing there. Just staring with his sinister red eyes. It didn’t help that he was quite taller than you. Looming and staring. Probably the worst combination, especially with that buzzing of his.

You felt like an open book, way too vulnerable under his gaze. You lowered your head to look at nothing in particular by your feet.

“So… yes or no…” You said, taking back your earlier statement. “You can have the bed, of course. I’ll just… find a blanket for the floor or something.” If there’s anything dry, you added to yourself.

His expression broke from concentration, lifting immediately into a gleeful, toothy grin. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you to the bed.

“Won’t be necessary!” He cheered. He pulled at the covers and pushed you down gently. Or, well, gently by Alastor’s standards. You still bounced upon impact. You sat there, a bit dazed with confusion as you watched him cross to the other side of the room and tuck himself under the same sheets.

“Alastor- Hey, really, I don’t mind-” He put a finger up to your lips, dramatically shutting you up. You decided to listen.

“What’s a sleepover between two close friends!” He said gleefully. You couldn’t help but let the term ‘friends’ echo in your mind as you fiddled with your thumbs.

Silence filled the room again, but after a while it became more comfortable than awkward. The sound of radio frequencies had died down a little. You refused to look at him. The clock ticked faintly in the corner.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt clawed fingers grab into your shoulder and pull you closer to the Radio Demon. You aided the movement by using your hands to scoot towards him.

Again, you had become close with him over the year, but you never took too long to consider just what you were. You always waited for him to make any move, because otherwise he might completely reject you. So, when he made the decision to bring you closer, you happily obliged, albeit a little anxiously.

You gingerly put your head against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heart. Or what might be a heart. Who knows. You held in a laugh when you realized that even that had some sort of radio-like sound to it. Nonetheless, it did help lull you out of any nerves you had being so close and intimate to Alastor.

You lifted yourself off of him with an elbow and looked at him. He was already looking at you, unsurprisingly, so your eyes met his. They were glowing a little, you noticed.

His face still had a grin, but it was light. And comfortable. His eyebrows were relaxed as he just watched you.

Your heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and you were embarrassed to think that he might be able to feel it with how close your chest was to his.

If he did, he made no indication of it. He just kept looking at you with the strangest expression you’ve ever seen on him. It was gentle. His words from earlier played in your mind again; when he called you and him ‘friends.’

Did ‘friends’ look at each other like this?

Did ‘friends’ inch closer to each other as they stared into the others’ eyes, bodies flush against one another and legs beginning to tangle?

Your jaw clenched and unclenched as you neared him, and you frantically examined him for even the smallest hint of wanting you to stop. You swore he was leaning in too, though.

You felt his breath brush against your nose. Your heart was practically clawing itself out of your ribs and the elbow you had propped yourself up on grew wobbly with nerves. When Alastor’s eyes began to shut, ever so slowly, you followed suit.

And, for an incredibly brief moment, your lips touched his. One, two, maybe three seconds passed before he pulled away from you. You opened your eyes to watch his expression grow a bit puzzled. His smile was tight, and his brows furrowed slightly as he watched you. He seemed deep in thought, with what exactly you couldn’t guess, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable.

At some point his hand had come and was gingerly settled on your hip, which he used to pull you back down. Your elbow practically gave out and you fell a little rough back down on his chest. You couldn’t help but stare widely at the wall for a moment, just listening to his heartbeat again. Was it beating faster than before?

You smiled lightly. You had no idea if this was a step forward in your relationship with the Radio Demon, or if it would be back to ‘friends’ tomorrow, but you decided to just cross your fingers. You reached your arms up to wrap under his neck, and you slowly made yourself comfortable. He had lightly settled his own arms on your back.

You couldn’t help but send silent thanks to that aggressive fish demon from earlier, and a thanks to god himself, as strained as your opinions towards that guy was, for keeping your bed dry.

When Alastor began drawing shapes in your back, gently dragging his sharp nail across your clothed skin, you cast away all worries about the next day out of your head. It all seemed so far away now as you took in the smell of the demon laying underneath you.

You just hoped this would become a regular thing, because man, was this comfortable.

#alastor #☀️#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #people love these bedtime oneshots lol #me too #i get it #ohdeerfully

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wlntrsldler · 1 month

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poisoned mercury | just friends

a/n: boys have debrief sessions too! a lot of pining! lovers who are blind! yippeeee!

series masterlist | previous | next

vii. just friends by virginia to vegas

“yo, castellan!”

luke was lying on your bed, head falling off the corner as he watched you scribble things down in your notebook on your desk. he’s been hanging around in your room more often. your bed was much comfier than his own, with a fluffy white blanket, silk sheets, and a million pillows that mostly end up on the floor when you go to bed. he cringes when he thinks of his usual navy, polyester sheets on his bed, and piles of scrap paper with wasted lyrics scattered around his floor.

the pictures you took at the photobooth were now taped with the rest of the decorations on your wall. you placed it front and center, giving him the perfect view of it from where he was. the boys had asked him about the sudden change in attitude between the two of you, but he never gave many details about what happened the night the two of you disappeared.

they cornered him once on his way to the gym, “what gives, luke? when did you and y/n get so close?”

luke shrugged, “i don’t kiss and tell.”

“you kissed?!”

“well, no.”

“dude.”

that was that. luke wasn’t going to share anything with them, partly because he didn’t know if there was anything to share. yeah, you two were hanging out a lot more now. you were touchier with him, a hand on his arm (he tried not to flex whenever you did that but it’s like muscle memory for him to do so.), a leg on top of his own when you sat beside him, a lingering touch on his back when you said goodbye. you were also more open to him touching you, a hand around your waist while you smoked together, holding your hand underneath tables, a hand on your thigh as you engaged in conversations with the group. but he didn’t know if he was reading into things. maybe you were just like this with everyone. he’d only ever seen you with clarisse and she wasn’t a very touchy person, so that didn’t help much. and you didn’t have many other people you were close to at camp for him to base anything on.

luke sat up on your bed, “in here!”

travis, connor, and chris popped their heads into your room, no doubt thinking of new ways to tease luke about his crush on you. they said hello to you and motioned for luke to follow them into travis’ room.

luke groaned, not wanting to leave you, but obliged. he got up and walked over to you, squeezing your upper arm, “i’ll be right back.”

“m’kay,” you replied, sending him a smile. you closed your notebook as he peeked over your shoulder, “you coming to the party tonight?”

he smiled, “wouldn’t miss it.”

the three boys were sitting around travis’ computer when he walked in. connor motioned for him to shut the door when he arrived. oh, luke thought, this is a band intervention. this only happened once before when connor was going through a tough time and he was taking his anger out on everybody. he’d just broken up with his girlfriend because long distance got to them and it seemed like he was upset at everyone he encountered. not the best situation to be in when they were all forced to live with each other in a small tour bus and hotel rooms.

“what’s going on?” luke asked, leaning against the door. “you guys look serious.”

“because this is a serious issue,” connor said, playing with his key ring, “we need to show you something.”

“well, we need you to hear something,” chris chimed in, motioning for travis to cue up something on his computer. “so this thing with y/n… is it serious?”

luke felt like he was put on the spot. he didn’t know how to answer that question. were you serious? what were you anyway? he didn’t know how to categorize what the two of you were doing. he felt like he was stuck in a limbo with you, maybe something more than friends but not anything more than that? it didn’t make sense when he tried to rationalize it. it kept him up more nights than he’d like to admit. but he let you call the shots. he didn’t want to scare you off.

luke’s jaw ticked, “i don’t know if we’re anything.”

“dude,” travis groaned, “come on. you’re something. i’ve never seen you act like this since…”

“ever,” chris finished travis’ sentence for him. he sat beside connor on travis’ bed, “i’ve known you for years, luke, and this is not something i’ve ever seen before.”

luke sighed, “look, i know you guys said not to fuck up our relationship with mr. d and it’s really not my intention to, but i dunno, guys. she’s just so–”

“i’m gonna stop you right there before wax on and on about how great y/n is,” travis cut off. “you do realize that we’re not mad that you have feelings for her, right?”

that caught luke by surprise. he’d been so focused on trying to figure out what the two of you were that he was kind of relieved to know where his friends stood on the situation. sure, he wasn’t the happiest knowing that his friends disapproved, but at least he didn’t have to guess about what they thought of it, but now he was more confused than ever.

“luke, man, we just want what’s best for you,” connor said, shrugging his shoulders. “did it have to be the daughter of the man who decides if we get a contract extension and the man who dictates the trajectory of our career? no, but we can’t stop the two of you from whatever it is you’re doing. plus, we like y/n.”

“i’m confused,” luke vocalized, walking over to the three of them, “if this is not what that’s about, what’s the point of the intervention?”

travis beamed, twirling in his computer chair to dig up some files, “we wrote a song.”

“you wrote a song?”

“yeah, we just recorded it without you because you’re too busy sending y/n googly eyes,” connor snickered, “wanna hear it?”

luke nodded, pulling up travis’ drum seat, “absolutely.”

“before we play it,” chris prefaced, “we mean these words in the most loving way possible.”

“is this fucking song about me?” luke asked, gobsmacked. he let out a laugh, understanding why they felt the need to call for an intervention, “you guys suck.”

“maybe,” travis smirked, clicking on an audio file, “but the song doesn’t.”

the song began with drums, followed by the sound of connor playing guitar. the bass came in shortly after with the three of them doing background vocals. travis seemed to take the lead on main vocals. luke felt connor tap his shoulder, sliding him a piece of paper with the lyrics to the song.

luke couldn’t deny it– the song was good. he looked down at the page, cheeks turning red as he read the words. the paper had three distinct handwritings, showing that this song was definitely a group effort. this was co-signed by the three of them.

“stop making up your excuses

call her up, tell her you forgot something

it's worth more than you are thinking

don't be a fool, tell her you think she's cool

stop waiting for a fairy tale to

take you away, don't wait for someday

she's thinking the same thing as you

don't be afraid, dreams aren't found they're made

'cause you've only got one chance

you've only got one chance

kiss her you fool.”

luke put his head in his hands, laughing uncontrollably as the song continued. the three boys laughed along with him, head bopping to the instrumentals of the song. it was insanely catchy. luke knew instantly that this song would be a fan favorite. it was definitely going on their second album.

as the song faded off, luke tossed the paper to travis, “you motherfuckers. did you write a song to try to convince me to make a move?”

chris looked at him with a straight face, “duh.”

“i really thought this was gonna be a whole thing,” luke smacked travis’ leg, shaking his head, “whole time you guys just wanted the dirt on me and y/n.”

“okay, here’s the thing, luke– there is no dirt to share!” connor whined. the three of them weren’t nosy per se, but they were curious. they wanted to know what developed between you and luke. he’d never been one to shy away from talking about his romantic interests, but this time, with you, it was like luke was suddenly a square.

they often saw you guys giggling with each other, sharing secret looks that you thought the rest of them wouldn’t notice, hands on each other at every possible moment. it was quite ridiculous, actually. luke didn’t need to have a finger hooked on your belt loop while you made cereal in the morning nor did you have to have the string of his hoodie wrapped around your finger when you were lying on him on the couch.

they’d tried to ask him about it many times, but luke wouldn’t budge. they didn’t need to know everything, but it became clear to them that luke’s silence wasn’t because he was keeping secrets from the band, but because nothing had happened between the two of you that warranted a conversation. it was like you two were playing a sick game with each other, pushing the envelope just far enough to avoid a conversation about what you were, but subjecting everyone around you to the brutal torture of watching you fall for each other without making a move.

okay, so they were nosy. sue them.

“i don’t know what to tell you guys,” luke got up from his seat, rubbing his neck, “i just– i’m scared that if i make a move, it’ll fuck things up between us.”

“believe me when i say this,” chris got up, placing his hands on luke’s shoulders, “you aren’t going to fuck anything up. trust me.”

he cocked an eyebrow, “and you know this, how?”

chris’ face flushed as he removed his hands from luke and stuffed them in his front pockets. he looked down at his feet, shyly, “clarisse told me.”

luke’s eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling with fondness, “you guys are so focused on me, but we need to talk about chris and clarisse!”

chris’ face morphed into a gigantic smile at the sound of his name next to clarisse’s. luke shoved him, motioning for him to start talking, while the stolls leaned in, locked in to listen to chris’ perspective. luke took his spot next to connor, giving chris the floor.

chris scratched the back of his head, red creeping down his neck, “i really like her…”

–

when you mentioned that there was a party happening, luke didn’t realize that it was a party just for the older campers. imagine his surprise when he walked into the woods with chris in tow to find lee fletcher with his entire dj set up blasting IDGAF by drake and bottles of liquor strewn about on a picnic table.

“hey, you see y/n or clarisse yet?” chris asked, looking around. luke didn’t comment on how chris seemed to spray a bit more of his cologne on his clothes tonight and how he hogged their bathroom to fix his hair a million times. they were late to the gathering because of chris. luke thought it was adorable how chris got so nervous around the girls he liked.

“nah, sorry man,” luke pat chris’ back, “don’t be so nervous. you’ll be fine.”

chris scoffed, fixing the pearl necklace around his neck, “easy for you to say, castellan.”

“chris,” luke stood in front of him, blocking his view of the party, “clarisse likes you too, alright? don’t stress.”

“no, i know she does,” the boy replied, shaking his head. he peered over luke’s shoulder to look for clarisse again. “she showed me what she was wearing for tonight and i know she’s gonna look so pretty. do you think i look okay?”

“you look good, rodriguez,” he chuckled, moving to chris’ side. the interaction brought luke back to high school, back when chris went on his first date with a girl from their chemistry class, adrianna. they’d been paired up to do a lab project together and it was the first time luke saw chris become a nervous mess. the two of them rode around on their bikes going to four different grocery stores to find the best bouquet of flowers for adrianna. in the end, they settled for an arrangement of poppies and sunflowers. adrianna loved it and they went on to date for a few months before she broke it off with him when he started to take music seriously.

luke always thought that chris was a better man than he was. chris never harbored any ill feelings towards adrianna, stating that the rockstar’s girlfriend life was just not something she saw herself in. chris said that adrianna wanted to be a teacher and had her own dreams she wanted to follow. as much as chris liked the girl, he took the breakup pretty well. even if he was younger than luke, he was always more mature than him, emotionally anyway.

“i think i see her,” chris said, fixing his shirt for the umpteenth time. “y/n is there too.”

luke’s eyes quickly darted to where chris was looking. you and clarisse were sitting on another picnic table, feet resting comfortably on the benches. beside you was a red cooler with selzters and beers perched on top of ice packs. you were laughing at something clarisse said, talking to two older, male campers who didn’t hide their attempts to check the two of you out.

luke couldn’t blame them. the two of you did look good. you were wearing jeans that hugged your curves perfectly with a long-sleeve off-the-shoulder black top. your hair was thrown behind your back, two small braids on either side of your head, and small gold hoops hanging from your ears. in the orange glow of the campfire not too far away, luke could see the hint of lip gloss on your lips. you wore your black platform converses and luke squinted to see if his little doodle on the side of the rubber was still there.

he tilted his head in your direction to signal chris to start walking towards the both of you. as he got closer, a warmth spread inside his chest when he saw his familiar handwriting on your shoe. in silver sharpie, luke wrote ‘5 star’ with an atrocious attempt at a star on the left shoe.

you two were in your room when he had the idea. he didn’t notice it before but you wrote little things on each of your shoes. you told him a story about a house party you went to years ago where you’d accidentally taken the wrong left shoe on your way out the door. you’d all taken off your shoes to jump into the pool and left a pile of shoes by the living room, stacked on top of each other. in the rush of things, you grabbed a pair of vans and slipped them on, only to realize when you got home that the left shoe was a different size than the right. since then, you always customized your shoes in small ways to make it easier for you to find them.

you’d never wore your converses before so you didn’t get to do anything to them yet. luke was happy to help you continue your tradition. he also wanted to leave you a reminder of him whenever you wore the shoes. a small memento of your time with him at camp.

“five star,” luke called as he approached you. the four of you turned your heads at the sound of his voice. the two boys paled at the sight of two members of poisoned mercury and scurried away before he and chris could even grab a beer from the cooler.

you unseriously rolled your eyes, taking a sip from the can in your hand, as you watched the two boys you and clarisse were talking to before leave in a hurry. not good for luke’s ego, you thought, though you were glad the boys left. you were on your sixteenth (and yes, you were counting) ‘oh really?’ with the boy who only seemed to talk of himself.

“castellan,” you raised your can to him in a greeting.

luke moved the cooler away from you, snagging the last bud light in it, before sitting beside you. clarisse and chris got to talking, choosing to move to another area away from the noise and left the two of you alone.

“who was that?”

“hm?” you asked, genuinely forgetting that you were talking to someone else before he got there. you were focused on the boy beside you now. he was wearing a red flannel, bunched up around his elbows, with a white shirt underneath. his black jeans complimented the silver jewelry he always wore. he looked good. you blinked, “oh, i don’t know. james or justin, or something.”

luke cracked open his beer, “you need to start remembering people’s names.”

“i remember the ones that matter,” you dismissed, turning to face him. the small studs on his ears were illuminated under the dim light. “you showed up.”

“told you i would,” luke smirked, bumping your knee with his, “you look good.”

“thank you,” you squeaked out, looking down to play with the ring on your index finger. luke’s eyes looked down at your hand, a wave of fondness crashing over him. “you do too.”

he grabbed your hand, running a finger over the silver metal, “is that my ring?”

your eyes widened, “oh, yeah. sorry you left it in my room and i wore it to remind myself to give it back to you.”

“keep it,” he said, keeping his hand on yours, “i have so many i didn’t even realize it was gone.”

that was a lie. the barbed wire ring was in his daily rotation. he always wore it on his ring finger along with his other two rings. he even had a ring tan that matched it. he’d been looking for it everywhere for days, but decided it was a lost cause when he couldn’t find it in time for the party. luke figured he could just buy another one, but now knowing that you had it, he didn’t feel the need to anymore. it was safe with you.

“what did the boys want earlier?”

“oh, nothing,” luke flushed remembering the song they played for him a few hours ago. the four of them got caught up talking for hours that by the time they ran out of things to say, it was nearly time to get ready for the party. the stolls headed out earlier, too impatient to wait for chris as he flailed around trying to find the perfect outfit for clarisse, and luke stayed back to wait for him. he didn’t see you after he left your room, too preoccupied with helping his best friend.

you narrowed your eyes, “didn’t seem like nothing.”

“well, they wrote a song and wanted me to hear it.” luke could never hide anything from you, not like he wanted to anyway. there was nothing he wanted to keep from you, except how he felt about you. but that was more of a complicated situation.

“i wanna hear it,” you said, excitement in your voice.

“absolutely not,” luke scoffed, playfully. he was not ready for you to hear that song. he knew you’d connect the dots quickly. “soon, though. maybe.”

“come on, castellan,” you droned, placing your seltzer on the table. “i wanna hear it.”

“i told you, soon, five star. s’not ready yet.”

“and? what if i wanna hear it unfinished?”

“nah, you’ll get to hear it when it’s perfect,” the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “gotta impress you.”

in the morning, you were going to blame the alcohol in your system, although you had been sipping on the same seltzer since you arrived. the drink tasted watered down and dull. it didn’t really have an effect on you at all, no red flush on your cheeks, no dizziness in your mind. but for now, you were going to blame it. perhaps, it was a placebo effect of some sort, encouraging you to be bolder with luke. “you always impress me, pretty boy.”

luke was glad that the beat dropped the same time he choked on his drink, the liquid getting stuck in his throat as the pet name left your lips. he played it off, clearing his throat as he looked at you. your lips were parted slightly, the ghost of the words you said prior still lingering in the air. your voice echoed in his head. you always impress me, pretty boy.

you were looking at him with hooded eyes, something foreign dancing in your irises. a dare, maybe, for him to succumb to you and let you hear the song he was speaking of. or maybe for him to do something else, something that crossed the line of friendship that he’d been tip-toeing around for weeks. is it too far to press his lips against yours right now? the voices of his band mates rang in his ears, begging him to finally make a move.

your lips were inviting. the remnants of your lip gloss was smudged haphazardly on your bottom lip, sparkles of glitter catching his eye. you were closer to him now, too, thighs pressed against his own, breath fanning over his face. it drove him wild how you were looking at him, patiently waiting for him to do something.

he decided against it. it took all his willpower not to kiss you then, but he didn’t want the moment to be tainted by the watching eyes that surrounded the two of you. he knew you didn’t like the spotlight, preferred to have your private business safely tucked away just for you, and he respected that. he wanted that too, to only have these moments for himself. what he envisioned with you was his own personal reprieve from the world. he didn’t want to share you.

five star, the girl who had him wrapped around her delicate finger, who teased him relentlessly, who carved a permanent space in his thoughts, who took his breath away with every stolen glance and concealed touch. he shared so much of his life with the world with his music and his status. he’ll be selfish just this once. this was just for him.

luke looked away, sipping the last few drops of his drink. your pull was magnetic. he sighed, voice hoarse, “you’re killing me, five star.”

it amazed you how luke still didn’t realize that he had the same effect on you, though you couldn’t judge him too harshly, you supposed. for the last two months, you’d given him nothing to work with but a roll of your eyes, snide remarks, and feigned nonchalance. you built your walls up too high. from the moment you’d met him at your smoke spot, you knew it would be dangerous for you to be around him, though you didn’t show it then.

an attractive boy who shared your vices, incessant on pushing your buttons undeterred by the fire in your soul, ready to argue back. he had his sarcastic replies that countered your defense mechanism that often left your mind scrambled when you thought about it at night. his proximity to you, living in the same cabin, giving you just enough space to leave you wanting more. you enjoyed your time with luke, much to your premature dismay. your biased perception of musicians was turned on his head the more you spent time with him.

people always told you that you liked a challenge, always searching for something to keep you vigilant, on your toes. and luke castellan, the bastard that he was, was exactly who you needed. he always had something up his sleeve, but never something that could hurt you. you didn’t know if he was even capable of the sorts.

it was easy to see why people were attracted to him. he was easy on the eyes, even if it took you weeks to admit it to yourself. but you pitied the people who didn’t get to know him like this– they’d never understand how it feels to know luke castellan. they’ll only get to know the luke that the tabloids wanted, and he was the furthest thing from it. he was wild and rowdy the way any teenager would be, but with his mom, his band, with you, he was something else entirely.

you were sure that anyone who was lucky enough to know him were unlucky enough to want him because when anyone gets to know luke, there is no denying that they’ll fall for him. and you were teetering dangerously close to the edge.

if gods existed in this world, will they make you one of the lucky ones to experience this? had you done enough good in this life to deserve this? you didn’t know and you were scared to find out, but with the way he was looking at you now, something between longing and tenderness, your patience was wearing thin.

before you could say anything, clarisse, chris, and the stolls walked over to the two of you. chris had his arm around clarisse, sending luke a wide smile.

“we’re ditching the party to grab food by the gas station,” connor explained, “you guys wanna come?”

you looked at luke. you loved your friends, but you didn’t want to be with them right now, not when all you wanted to do was talk to luke. he saw your pleading eyes and shook his head, turning to the group, “nah, i think we’re good here.”

“suit yourself,” travis shrugged, beginning to walk towards the main road. the other three followed, the murmurs of their conversations fading into the night.

luke got up from the table, dusting off his pants, “you wanna head home?”

“yeah,” you followed his actions, taking his outstretched hand to help you off the table. “let’s go home.”

the walk back to your cabin was filled with your usual banter, laughter that you both tried to suppress in fear of getting caught after hours, and excuses to touch each other, playful and teasing, but they lingered longer than what could be deemed as friendship. when you arrived at the cabin, you and luke stood in the living room, both unsure of what happens next.

you paused, scruffing the bottom of your shoes on the cabin floors. you motioned to your room, “this is me.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, every bone in his body begging him not to retire to his own room. “yeah. guess we should get some sleep.”

“yeah, g’night,” you turned around to walk into your room. luke watched as you opened the door, only beginning to walk to his own when he saw you enter. he was so caught up in his head that he didn’t realize the door never closed. it was the sound of your voice that made him turn around. “luke?”

he jerked his head so fast, he was sure he almost got whiplashed. luke’s voice was hushed when he spoke, “what’s up?”

you bit your bottom lip, “do you want to come in?”

his feet took him to you before his mouth could open to give you an answer. he was in front of you in record time, breaths uneven and palms sweaty. you placed your hands flat on his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. he closed his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck. when he found the strength to open his eyes, he found your face close to his. his hands found their way to your hips. he cautiously let his lips graze your cheek, placing a soft kiss there. “five star.”

“mhm?” you purred. “what is it luke?”

the sound of your voice like that, breathless and raspy, was enough for him to press his lips against yours. luke felt like his heart was about to burst in his chest when you kissed him back.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic

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totaly-obsessed · 6 months

Text

Opposites Attract

Kyra Cooney-Cross x reader

-> Kyra joins Arsenal and is intrigued by their young, quiet midfielder

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The transfer window of the WSL was coming to a close, but that didn’t necessarily mean that everything was set in stone. It was Ian Wright who set the project “KCC to Arsenal” in motion – the people who had to do most of the work however were Steph Catley and Caitlin Foord.

It was their job to convince their fellow Aussie to join them in London. The youngster didn’t need much to be convinced, she was however interested in her new teammates, begging Steph and Cait for introductions.

She obviously knew most of the team already from watching them play the previous seasons and from stories but Steph obliged, while Caitlin excused herself. By this point they had gotten through most of the team, even the new signings when they came to the most important section, according to Kyra – the people her age.

“And then we have the younger ones – obviously the iconic duo of Gio and Katherine. They keep to themselves a lot though, and I am sure you noticed that neither got a lot of game time last season.” Kyra did in fact know that, already having done some of her own research. Gio’s TikTok page looked like she hung out with the blonde Danish girl a good bit.

“Teyah is the youngest, currently in recovery though.” Arsenal had its fair share of people going through rehab, among them Teyah Goldie, Beth Mead, Vivianne Miedema, Leah Williamson, and Laura Wienroither.

“Second youngest is y/n. Keeps to herself a lot, is quiet, and loves her books. Tends to be a little awkward at first.” The young Australian was curious now, she had seen you play - a fellow midfielder - but no matter how hard she tried, there was barely any social media content of you. Your personal account has just one picture with just you in it, which is the signing picture.

“Very close to Kim and Jordan before she left. The nicest girl I know.”

Kyra wanted to know just about everything, being incredibly interested in the mystery that was you.

Her signing was announced on the 15th of September – deadline day. You, like most of the Arsenal players, were in Germany at the Adidas Headquarters in Herzogenaurach – It was nice to be home again. During lunch, sitting beside Kimi you were nose-deep in your newest book when Caitlin and Steph burst onto the outdoor terrace “It’s official! Kyra is coming to Arsenal!” And just like that everybody was excited to meet the young midfielder everyone had heard so much about already.

Upon returning to London everyone met Kyra, who was already on the training pitch, waiting for her new teammates to arrive. Most of the younger girls immediately liked her, starting to joke around – and while the young Australian was incredibly stoked to meet you, she remembered Steph’s words ‘shy and awkward’.

“Hi! I’m Kyra!” You sat next to the pitch, ignoring the break that was usually meant for drinks and reading instead. Your book was always next to the various bottles – Alessia had already tripped over it twice in her time at Arsenal.

“Hi – nice to meet you.” Your smile was a little crooked and unsure, not certain if the brunette would like to have her hand shaken. Kyra however, excited how she was, pulled you into a quick hug and promptly sat down next to you. She didn’t really say anything, just sat there while you read a few pages of your book – handing you a water bottle when Kim asked if you have had anything to drink yet.

The Scot waited for an answer but you didn’t hear her, too deep into your book. A soft nudge to your shoulder made you look to Kyra, who extended an arm with said bottle “You really should drink something.”

Yeah, the first time the two of you talked was awkward. But the brunette would not give up on you, getting closer to you day by day while getting to know your other teammates as well.

Not even two weeks after her signing Kyra was singing in the gym – loudly. While amusing, the sheer loudness the girl possessed, scared you a little. She and Caitlin were messing around on the ceiling-mounted rings, while Steph stood next to them filming the spectacle. In the background, the fans could see you just blatantly staring at the Aussies when Jen came up to you. “You know that you can just talk to her right?”

Your flinching showed the older footballer just how deeply you were distracted. “I don’t know what you mean.” And with that, you were off – but the Australians had already seen you.

“I think you have a better chance than you think Kyra!” The brunette who had her back turned towards you was confused – “What do you mean?”

It turns out that Kyra was much more relentless than you had thought, roping you into one conversation after the other. She even visited you at home, when you were not expecting her - filling your home with endless talks and many giggles.

The Arsenal woman appreciated how far she was willing to go, knowing that you had tried befriending Gio and Kathrine – but due to your shy and closed nature, they thought that you wanted nothing to do with them.

After Jordan left last season you hadn’t been quite the same – the extrovert to your introvert was missing. Kyra however, gladly took the job without even applying for it. She just showed up and stole it – just like your little heart that seemed to beat out of your chest whenever her hand brushed over your back, or when she kept sending you her most mischievous smile.

While Katie liked to make jokes about your inability to speak whenever the brunette was around, it was she who convinced you to ask Kyra out on a date.

She had been very upfront about her feelings towards you and confessed quite early on, but understood that you weren’t ready for anything at that point in time – So she waited for you to make the first move.

It was at your apartment when you asked her out. Kyra had noticed that you seemed off today, however, she didn’t know what was going on – so she filled the silence with her talking, and talking, and even more talking.

This was weird to her.

When it was just the two of you, you usually couldn’t stop talking either, stumbling over your words. “Okay! That’s enough. What is wrong with you?”

Your big eyes staring at her were enough to send Kyra into a deep state of panic, “It’s just- you seem so off! So I thought tha-“

“Go on a date with me?”

The silence was deafening. And just as you were about to ramble, your face already heating up, Kyra jumped quite literally on top of you, hugging you close to her “Yes! Thought you’d never ask!”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #woso

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sprinkler-ashes · 8 months

Text

gold rush // aaron hotchner x reader

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

description: in which aaron hotchner hates social media – unless it’s yours. inspired by gold rush by taylor swift.

words: 2.2k

warnings: hotch is down bad, curse words, a bit of pining and jealousy

a/n: i love the idea of the bau being active on social media + hotch having no idea what any online terms mean lmao anyways i just really like this little fic. happy reading!!

i don’t like slow motion, double vision in rose blush

i don't like that falling feels like flying ‘til the bone crush

everybody wants you

but i don’t like a gold rush

Aaron Hotchner is not a fan of social media.

Maybe it’s because of his job. He knows that posting too much information online could sometimes lead to bad situations because there are always people lurking – it’s impossible to know who, exactly, is watching online. Or maybe it’s because he simply didn’t grow up with it. It didn’t really matter – he just knows he does not like using it.

Penelope had shown him quite a bit of Twitter after several BAU cases started trending while the cases were actively going on, even somehow agreeing to let her set him up an account. Aaron didn’t really want an account, but it was almost impossible to say no to Penelope Garcia who Aaron genuinely liked a lot.

Facebook was another one that he had. He didn’t even have a profile picture and only harbored a small amount of friends – entirely family. The site was strictly used to keep up with Jessica since she was an avid Facebook user. If he couldn’t get a hold of her through her phone, he would send her a message on Facebook’s messaging platform, Messenger. She typically responded that way.

The last social media account Aaron had was a new one. Or, well, new-ish. It had just been created a little over a month ago. He didn’t want the account, but Penelope wasn’t the one who asked him to get an account that time.

It was you. And saying no to you was even harder than saying no to Penelope.

A group photo was taken at Rossi’s last month during a get-together after finishing a case. Penelope went straight to Instagram to post it, tagging everyone except Aaron who wasn’t shy to say he didn’t have an account. He was the only one – even Rossi had made an account.

“You’re not on Instagram?” You’d asked Aaron only moments after that.

He shook his head. “I don’t really use social media.”

You frowned like you were in deep thought before turning to him again with a smile. “We should change that.”

All it took was a good minute, maybe even less than that, and one of your signature smiles to convince him to let you help him create an Instagram profile.

He accumulated a small amount of followers since then, which he had to approve, of course, as Aaron made sure his account was set to private – mainly family, some friends, and the team. However, that was as far as it went. He was still figuring out the app, but completely forgot about his new account due to his busy life.

Except for now.

It’s a slow Friday at work – mainly just a day spent catching up on paperwork – and Aaron never really complains on days like this. Yes, it’s usually boring, but having a day without a case means he actually gets to see his son at the end of the day, so it’s a win for him.

But a slow day creates boredom, especially when he’s actually ahead on paperwork. Aaron can’t recall the last time he was this bored at work – probably because he usually has something to do – but when his eyes ghost over the time on his expensive watch, he has to resist letting out a sigh of agitation because, somehow, there are still four more hours left in the workday.

Aaron puts the pen he’s holding down and moves the file he’s in the process of reviewing. He grabs his phone from one of the drawers in his desk and turns it on. The lock screen, which is his favorite photo of Jack, lights up before he enters his passcode.

He does errand-like things at first, including responding to a couple of texts, checking his personal email, and even spending a minute, or five, on Twitter, not that he would ever admit that to Penelope.

Eyeing the colorful app with a white outline of a camera, he hesitantly opens Instagram, still not really used to it considering it’s been over a month since the last time he was on it. He waits a second for it to load up until a photo appears on his feed from JJ, who posted a picture of Henry and Will before she left for work.

jj_jareau: My two favorite guys <3

Aaron knows that the symbol on the end of her caption is supposed to represent a heart because you often send the same symbol in the BAU group chat. He’s not sure why you never use actual emoticons – he’s never asked you – but he associates the symbol with you.

Not that he’s associating hearts with you specifically. Or overanalyzing all your texts in the group chat. Of course not, it’s just because you use it often. That’s all.

When Aaron tries to scroll, he accidentally presses on your username that was showing up in the preview of the comments, sending him straight to your own Instagram page.

He’s about to click the back arrow above your profile picture that he’s assuming will take him back to his feed, but Aaron can’t stop himself from glancing over your profile. Your page is filled with photos from moments in your life that go back years.

Looking up from his phone, he can see you from his chair as the blinds in his office are currently open. You’re chatting with Spencer who’s sitting across from you, a smile on your face as you continuously glance from him and back over to your computer screen where you’re typing, making sure Spencer knows you’re still listening to whatever bizarre fact he’s probably ranting about.

Aaron looks back down to his phone. He’s never been on your page, nor have your posts ever shown up on his feed during the rare times he’s actively gone on the app. It almost feels too personal – like he’s not supposed to see the side of you he doesn’t work with.

He carefully presses on the last post you made. It’s a post from only one day ago, but you’re not in any of the seven photos you’ve posted, which makes him frown with a tinge of disappointment.

Your caption reads, September photo dump, with a couple emoticons.

Wondering what the hell a photo dump is, Aaron looks through the set of pictures again. Everything is random. They range from a sunset to a picture of a meal you must’ve eaten at some point during the month of September, which just passed, and even one of Emily’s cat.

He scrolls down to the next post from three days ago. This time, you’ve only posted one picture and luckily for him, you’re actually in it.

You’re sitting at a dinner table, head resting gently on your hand with a sweet smile while your other hand is gently holding a glass of what – Aaron brings the phone closer to his face without knowing he can actually just zoom in – appears to be champagne.

It only takes him a few seconds after admiring how you look in the photo to wonder about who’s on the other side of it.

Aaron doesn’t know who took the photo and is getting to see you smile like that, but he does know that he wishes it was him because you’re just so damn pretty.

The man is pretty sure he would quite literally melt down to the ground if you looked at him like that.

He’s attempting to push these thoughts to the back of his head as he prepares to scroll to the next post. Aaron is well aware of the fact he shouldn’t be thinking about you in any way that isn’t strictly platonic. He is your boss and even aside from that, the two of you are not only co-workers, but friends.

Friends, he reminds himself. That’s all.

But as he scrolls to the next post, every thought of friendship leaves his body.

It’s a photo taken with the flash on from exactly a week ago, last Friday night, of you, Emily, JJ, and Penelope in what appears to be a club that Aaron can’t say recognizes. You’re standing on the end, your arm snaked around Emily’s waist with your body turned towards the camera while mid-laugh.

The black dress you’re wearing hugs every inch of your body perfectly – you’re showing more skin in the photo than Aaron has ever seen out of you. He’s seen you dressed up before – even seen you in person at clubs himself – but nothing like this before. Ever.

Much needed girls’ night out, your caption says.

Aaron’s not even sure he’s still breathing when he swipes to the second, and last, picture in the post.

This time, it’s only you. You’re still in the same dress, looking at the camera with a sultry smile. You’re not in the club this time. Aaron can’t tell where you are, but that doesn’t really matter because you’re looking straight at the camera with one of the most attractive looks he’s ever seen – it almost feels like you’re looking directly at him.

prentiss_emily: Baddest bitch in the bureau

yourusername: @ emily_prentiss Only behind you ofc

Though he knows she means it in an endearing way, Aaron doesn’t want to call you a bitch, but Emily’s comment on your post technically isn’t a lie. Unfortunately, he also can't seem to figure out what "ofc" means.

A part of him feels guilty. He knows he can’t have you, yet he’s going through your Instagram right now imagining a thousand what-if scenarios, a tinge of jealousy running through his veins at the idea of you ever looking at anyone the way you’re looking at the camera in your photos.

Aaron spends so much time trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel the way he does for you because there are so many reasons why he shouldn’t have the feelings he does. He can’t think of a scenario where you can be his nor can he think of a world in which you feel the same.

So, after he looks at this photo for another couple of seconds, he’s finally going to close out the app and forget about the way you look in that dress.

He can’t get the chance to do that because the door to his office is opening abruptly, startling him to the point where he drops his phone onto his desk.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, hands fumbling to lock his phone so your Instagram will go away.

There you are, mouth open to say something until you notice him fumbling with his phone.

A sheepish look appears on your face. “Sorry, I forgot to knock.”

“It’s fine,” he says, hoping his voice is even and doesn’t scream: Hello, I just looked through your Instagram. “What do you need?” He lays his phone down – it’s finally locked – and looks up at you, trying to appear like he was actually doing something.

“Oh, I don’t need anything. Reid and I are going to try that new place that just opened up down the street for lunch. I was wondering if you wanted me to grab you something.”

“Do you have a menu?” He asks.

“Yeah, give me a second. I’ll text it to you,” you tell him.

You’re pulling your phone out of the pocket of your pants and if Aaron had been paying attention and not pretending like he was working, he would’ve seen the way you glanced up at him, back to your phone, then back to him, a giddy smile on your face.

You do as you told him you would and send him the menu. “Take your time looking over it. Just text me what you want within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks. I’ll look over it in a minute.”

Aaron really does go back to work this time, his hands moving to pick up the file he moved earlier. He hears the door open and assumes you’re on your way out of the door, but you don’t leave yet.

“Oh! Before I go,” you say, your body out the door and your hand lingering on the outside knob of his office door. He looks up at you, pen in hand. “Thanks for the like on Instagram.”

Aaron thinks his heart has stopped upon hearing those words. Before he can even say anything, you shut the door, and you’re making your way back to where Spencer is still sitting.

He swallows hard, closes the file, and sets it away once again. His fingers frantically type in his passcode, and Instagram immediately pops up, still open from when he tried to turn his phone off.

To Aaron’s horror, he sees the Instagram heart that’s used to like photos filled with red and seemingly glaring at him. It was too late to unlike it now. You’d obviously already gotten the notification.

Meanwhile, as Aaron is mentally panicking, you’re whipping out your phone again to send another text. This time to Emily who is currently in a meeting.

I will never doubt you again – Operation post-a-thirst-trap worked!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n

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cakexblankett · 2 months

Text

Lap dance

Character

Larissa Weems

Rating

Red

Words

1.804

~•~

It was a chill sunday evening when you received a message from Possum.

Possum:

Wish you could be here with me, mommy is feeling very naughty tonight.

10:30 PM

You bit your lip, reading the message again and again.

You had been texting this misterious woman, who called herself Possum, for a couple of months now. It all started innocently, she found you on Tumblr and sent you a message. You remained intrigued by her, her way of texting was sweet and passionate, especially when she talked about what she liked- fashion shows and fashion in general, she could go hours telling you about it.

You stalked her account; she reposted pictures of cats, and, obviously, fashion related posts. She seemed innocent but refined. Soon enough, you found out she wasn't that innocent after all.

She started asking you personal questions, at first normal one, like what was your colour or your favourit dish, then getting more insidious, like what was your favourite position in bed or if you liked to be toped.

You didn't mind, you took a liking to her, so you replied truthfully, knowing she would do the same. And before you knew it, she started wanting you to call her mommy and even asked you if you would be willing recording you touch yourself. You declined, but not because you didn't trust her or because you were ashamed or shy about it, but you would have prefered leaving this kind of things for when you would meet in real life.

You:

Then maybed I should come over and make mommy feel good.

10:35 PM

It was time to get things in motion and see who you were talking to. You imagined she was a beautiful woman, she said she was in her forties, and you loved middle aged women, so that was surely a point in her favour- and in yours. You imagined she was a freak in bed- all those messages she sent you, about how she would have liked to try different positions with you, made you certain she was a beast in making love.

You waited for her reply, while your thoughts filled with fantasies of her touching you. You didn't even know how she looked but that didn't stop you from dreaming.

Possum:

I'll send you my location. Don't make mommy wait.

10:40 PM

You jumped off your bed and ran towards your wardrobe. You were wearing your pajama, so it was evident that you needed to change. What to wear, though, was a dilemma. You wanted something that would have caught her eye, something luxurious, sexy, but easy to be undressed from.

After a while, you opted for a tight skirt and a blouse- you left the first three buttons unbottuned. You wore a choker with the word "pet" spelled on it.

You smiled, calling a taxi and giving the driver the adress. The ride there was torture, you nimbled on your bottom lip, thinking of all the ways she would make you come undone. You were already feeling the ache, the need to feel her touch all over you.

Once arrived, you paid the taxi driver and texted Possum.

You:

I'm here.

11:19

You looked around you. The neighborhood was quiet and you could tell from the villas and expensive houses that she was rich like everybody else there.

You glanced at your phone, seeing that she read your text. You waited for a second, before the door in front of you opened and your breath itched in your throat.

Before you stood the most beautiful woman you had ever layed eyes upon. Her white hair was in an introcate updo, her plump lips were painted a sinful shade of red. Her blue eyes were watching you curiously and hungryly. She was tall, very tall and she wore a tight, beige dress, that accentuated her curves in a delicious way. You imagined she was beautiful, but she was divine, she was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"Please, do come in."

You smiled, making your way into her house. It was huge and well decorated. She wasn't lying when she said she liked fashion. Everything was curated meyiculously, every detail added to the perfection of the interior.

"This is nice. You are nice."

She raised an eyebrow, smiling. You were so nervous, you felt your cheeks flush red.

"Am I just "nice" or do I make you feel something more... carnal?"

You gulped. You had just met her and yet you were ready feeling inebriated by her. It made you feel dizzy, like you were dreaming, but you hoped it was really real, that she wasn't just a fantasy born from your imagination.

"You make me feel everything at once."

She hummed and you had to close your eyes, the sound going straight to your core. Her voice was something otherworldly. Her english accent made her sound refined, and her voice was sweet and low, making you feel like a sailor at sea, called by a siren. You were doomed, you could have easily fell for a woman like her. Maybe you already did.

You opened your eyes at the feeling of her hand on your throat. You gasped, her fingers tracing the letters on your choker. She giggled, an exquisite sound that you wanted to hear more of.

"My little pet."

You watched her lips move whilst she said that, feeling the need to know how soft they were. Her hand closed gently around your neck, squeezing gently. You let out a moan, watching as Larissa's eyes grew darker. Then her lips clashed on yours, it was so fast you could have missed it if it wasn't that now you two were kissing, and her lips were soft as feathers, your wanted to stay like that forever.

Her tongue swept on your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you gave it to her. Her tongue didn't have to battle with yours for dominance, because you were more than alright being the one seduced and dominated. The fact that a woman like her wanted you made your ego reach up the stars.

"Come."

She took her hand and led you up the stairs, to her bedroom. The room was spacious but almost empty. There was a huge painting on one wall depicting two women having sex. It was beautifully made, it almost looked like a photograph. There was a kingsized bed, who screamed for you to use it.

She kissed you again, more gently than before, and started unbottuning your blouse.

"If you're not feeling comfortable, tell me to stop and I will."

You shook your head, helping her undress you.

"I want this, I want you."

She gave you a quick peck on the lips before taking off your blouse. The skirt followed it on the floor. She took two steps back, glancing at you.

"Hm beautiful."

You blushed, her compliment meant the world to you. She made you sit on the side of the bed, then she slowly started taking off her dress. Her legs were long and toned, almost in contrast with her pale complexion that made her look like she made out of porcelain. When she remained in her undergarments, she sat on your lap and began moving on you, giving you a lap dance. It was funny, her, the tall and mature one, giving you, the small and young one, the lap dance. But you didn't complain.

She knew what she was doing, roaming her hands on your body, her hot breath on your ear. You clasped your hands on her butt, helping her move easily on you.

"Tell me what you need."

Her whisper made you shiver.

"Fuck me."

She stopped her motions and got off you. She kneeled and opened your legs. You moaned at the sight. She looked at you with doe eyes while she took off your panties. The fresh air hit your wet center and you whimpered. She stroked your folders with two fingers, feeling just how ready you were to be taken.

"Is this the effect mommy has on you?"

You nodded frantically, seeing her on her kneew, between your legs, made you horny like nothing else could.

"Do you want mommy to make you feel good?"

You nodded again, letting out a small moan. She was so hot, so seductive, you wondered if she was ever like this or if she learned to be.

"Say it."

"I want mommy to make me feel good."

"Hm good pet."

She licked your slit, latching on your clitoris, sucking at it and swirling her tongue around it. Waves of pleasure washed over you, you felt euphoric. She swept her tongue one last time on your bundle of nerves before entering you with two fingers. You let out a whimper, grasping the sheet under you. She curled her fingers inside you, making you see stars.

"Good girl, taking me so well."

You were a moaning mess, soon you felt the orgams wash over you. She helped you ride it, still moving gently inside you.

"Such a good pet, did mommy make you feel good?"

"You made me feel more than good."

She smirked, taking out her fingers. She put them in her mouth, looking at you straight in the eyes. She moaned, tasting you on her digits. Your pupils dilated, feeling yourself grow needy once more.

"Do you want to make mommy feel good too?"

She took off her undergarments, and positioned herself between your legs. Her clitoris touched yours, and you felt a jolt of electricity run in your veins. She started slowly moving her hips, the friction making you whimper. Your clitoris was still sensitive, but it felt good to feel her moving on top of you.

"Hm you're going to make mommy come."

She started riding you faster, her hips swaying up and down quickly. In a matter of minutes, you two were pn the edge.

"Come with me, make me hear you scream my name."

You only needed a few more movements and you both came.

"Larissa!"

She layed beside you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. You hugged her, feeling her warm skin touch yours. You could get used to this.

"It was awesome."

She laughed.

"You had doubts?"

You smiled, shaking your head. She cupped your cheek. You tried to take a picture of her in your mind. Her lipstick smeared, her updo slowly falling apart. She somehow looked better than before.

"If you want to, you can stay the night."

"I would love to."

You both smiled. You felt incredibly lucky to have met her, and you knew that night was the start of something far bigger and marvelous than you could have predicted.

#fanfiction #ff #lesbian #actress #gay #gxg #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #gwendoline christie x reader #gwendoline christie #x reader

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smutty-ki113r · 1 year

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🍿Ticci Toby 🍿|| Bubble Pop Electric

NSFW||~ One shot x afab gn!reader, includes- slight exhibitionism, virginity loss, mutual masturbation, biting, creampie, minors—dni (3.2k)

Inspired by: Gwen Stefani

“Toby when are you getting here?” you sighed into the phone, twisting the coil with your fingers and leaning against the wall.

“I’ll be there soon, did you pick a place?” He says back, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You bit your lip and whisper, “drive in movies”. It’s a nice private place, plus, lots of people your age went there, it was a popular date spot. For good reason obviously, in the confined space of your car there was nobody watching.

It was nerve wracking, this plan you were trying to set in motion. Your heart was beating hard against your rib cage, a heat tingling between your legs just at the thought of what was going to happen tonight.

“Perfect, be there in 5” he said, hanging up. The excitement was building up in your stomach, butterflies going wild and flying all over your stomach, or maybe that was just your heart pumping. You went back to your room for last minute touches, red lipstick and perfume.

When you heard the knock on the door you bolted, opening it to find the tall handsome man who was your boyfriend. Messy brown hair that he tried to comb but ultimately failed, a leather jacket, a rose in his hand extended to you and a boyish grin that he wore so perfectly.

You swooned, receiving the rose and stepping out to embrace him. He gave you a swift kiss on the head and a squeeze on your waist that sent a shiver down your spine, “c’mon, movie starts at 8:00pm” he flashed his watch at you, it was 7:45pm.

He opened the door to his convertible red 1969 Chevy Camaro for you, closing the door and getting in himself. Speeding off towards the drive in theater with an arm over your shoulders.

You looked forward and saw that gorgeous fall sunset, the orange light illuminating his fair skin and the metal lining of the car. The cool air on your cheeks, making you blush, your hair whipping back.

Once you arrived, he paid the 25 cents entrance fee and found a spot near the back, just in time too. They were already playing the credits, soon the movie would start. He made a run for the popcorn stand and got a bucket for the both of you, some candy and soda.

He put the cover back on the car in case it rained, and to give you that extra ounce of heat and privacy, that combined with the dark sky and everybody focused on the movie was heavenly, it was a perfect night.

You gave him a kiss on the cheek and snuggled up close to him as the movie started. At first you were sort of invested, eating some popcorn and sharing soda with him, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He gave you his jacket, draping it over you so you wouldn’t be cold. You cozied up to him and pressed your nose to the leather, it smelled like him too. A soft smile made it’s way to your lips as the picture opened it’s first scene. He glanced at you and sighed happily, you were the epitome of beauty to him.

Toby’s arm around you, protectively holding you as if someone might steal you away, there was no movie moment more perfect than this one. It was pure bliss.

His hand found yours, intertwining with your fingers and playing with you. Resting his hand firmly on your thigh and stroking it softly. You threw him a stare but he was focused on the movie apparently. He was flirty this way, and it drove you mad; because he would insist that he was just fidgeting, but this was not just a quirk.

You gave a little huff, not loud or nearly desperate enough for him to give you what you wanted. He kept squeezing, kept stroking and getting closer to your inner thighs. Your mind couldn’t help but wander off to a fantasy of him fucking you into the backseat, his heated kisses muffling your moans, his hands touching every part of you, and thats exactly what he was aiming to do.

“Toby” you whined, giving him these big puppy dog eyes. He gave you a mischievous smile.

“What?!” He asked, his eyes bright as they trained on you.

“You’re doing that thing again” you sighed, motioning to his hand and the way he was caressing your skin.

“Oh, am I?” He asked. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked, knowing you would cry out ‘no’. It was pure evil, falling right into his hands, he just loved to hear you beg, loved to hear you plead for him to give you what you needed. “What do you want babe?”

It was a set up, there was no way it wasn’t. But you couldn’t stop yourself from doing exactly what he wanted. “Toby…” you grumbled, “fuck you always make this so hard” you stressed. “I want you” you pleaded, your cheeks tinted red at the lewd implication of the words coming out of your mouth.

He gave a coy smile, kissing your lips first deeply, kissing your neck in its soft spot next. His hand sliding further up your thighs till he reached the flesh of your intimate area. Switching hands so he could put his arm around you again, and use the other to reach you better.

His eyes remained on the movie, as if it were just a simple activity to pass the time, while his fingers moved slowly on your cunt. Rubbing you through the cloth of your panties. You had to spread your legs to give him more access, it was embarrassing, but he liked that.

Toby had on a little smirk, his hand up your skirt, rubbing circles around your clit. Your legs spread like that, him acting like nothing was happening. The fact that he was restraining that ounce of pleasure you craved so desperately.

You begged, a soft “please” coming from your trembling lips. That- he couldnt resist. His fingers slipping in between your panties to feel your soaked cunt. He let out a grunt at the feeling, it was so tight when he carefully let a finger in.

Toby imagined the delight of your pussy wrapped around him, hot and wet and squeezing his cock like a vice. The two of you had never gone that far before, just oral and grinding on eachother till he came in his pants and you were throbbing in yours.

“How does it feel baby?” He asked, his throat tight, his entire body heated with the desire to take you right then and right there. He had to seriously restrain himself, his cock straining painfully in his jeans.

Your eyes were hazy, brows furrowed in a lewd expression. Answering his question even though his fingers were knuckle deep in your hole. “So good- don’t stop Toby”

That was all it took to bring his full attention to you again, his lips parted slightly as they pressed against yours. Moving in tandem and holding the back of your head to guide you while he tasted you. Putting in a second finger to stretch you out, to make sure he reached those gushy parts you that made you squeal.

“Fuck” he cursed, “did I really make you this wet?” He asked, watching you nod your head quickly and hold space just enough to touch the tip of his nose with your own. Heavy, hot breaths colliding in the air between you.

Toby was infatuated, his cock hard and pressing against the cloth of his pants, begging to be released. You reached over to stroke him through the cloth, his face was one of warning, if you kept at that, he was going to lose all control.

It was tempting, but you just continued touching him lightly. It was like bliss, both of you touching each other. “Fuck I love it when you do that” he panted. Sneaking in a third finger and watching your expression as he pumped his digits in and out of you.

Your heart almost exploded watching a group of people pass by the side of your car, you almost wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been laughing so hard. Instinctively closing your legs around his hand and squeezing, eyes following them nervously even though they weren’t even paying attention.

Toby gave a little grunt as your hand rested over his budge, his eyes focused on the movie, as if he could ever be focused on that screen and not on you.

“Someone could see” you whispered, “this is risky”, but you didn’t move your hand away, you didn’t want to.

He smirked mischievously, his gaze glowing in the dimly lit car as he watched you. “Thats what makes it exciting” he almost panted, so fucking horny for you, his hands twitching to touch you and his cock begging to be buried inside of you. You couldn’t disagree with that smile, you melted at every word.

Deciding to make big moves and undo the zipper on his pants, his breath hitched but he steadied, rubbing your clit in gentle circles while you fished him out and started stroking him. He was girthy, your hand didn’t wrap all the way around him, you shivered at the thought of him inside you.

It was all so lewd, sitting shotgun and leaned back with his fingers inside of you and your hand around his cock. His chest rising and falling unsteadily and both of you watching the movie, neither of you paying attention. The dialogue of the motion picture background to your fast paced breaths concealed in the safety of his car.

You were beet red, hair messy, too nervous to ask him to move into the backseat. He could sense your tension, asking if you were comfortable. The man was always so considerate, picking up on when you wanted or needed something.

You motioned to the back and he took the hint, shoving himself back in his pants while he moved to the back and pat the seat to encourage you to come to him.

Already your head was fuzzy, but now he had you laid down on his leather seats and things were being taken to the next level. “Toby” you whispered, looking up and catching his face in your hands, “I think tonight is the night”

He gave a sharp inhale and asked “really?”, you laughed at his ability to hold in eagerness, but it was true, he had never pushed you, he waited till you were okay and actually wanted it, till you craved it like he did.

“Yes” you giggled, watching him bury his head in your neck so he could start kissing again. His hair in your face, you could smell his shampoo, it was cinnamon spice.

“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good babe” he growled, his hands twitching as he started grabbing every part of available skin. “I’ve gotta stretch you out first, so you can take me”

You were throbbing at his dirty talk, excited for all the things he said he would do. His forehead pressed to yours once again so he could look in your eyes while he slid two fingers in again. Your cunt making wet noises that combined with your lewd expressions were driving him crazy.

“You’re so fucking tight” he cursed, “I can’t wait to be inside you, to feel you”

You were choking on your words, there was so much you wanted to say, but it wouldn’t come out. You were too caught up in the moment, too enamorated with the absolute man on top of you. “I’m ready” you managed to get out, “I need you”

Toby said nothing, taking out his throbbing cock once again. He was pulsing with unimaginable desire, one only you could satisfy. He hovered over you, rubbing your clit with his tip just to tease you, and to calm some of your nerves. He edged it on your opening, waiting for your consent.

His hands found yours again, intertwining fingers and squeezing tight to let you know he appreciated you and wasn’t going to let you go. “I think I’m in love with you” you breathed out, his face of pure joy and delight was the best reaction you could have imagined.

“I love you too” he responded, “let me show you how much I do” he breathed, another hand on your hip to guide you while he slid the first few inches in and watched your face contort as you struggled to take him.

You were panting, your body on fire from his delicate touches. “I need you to fill me” you gasped, pulsing around him and milking him. With your simple plead he couldn’t refuse, he had to satisfy you; bottoming out till his balls pressed against your ass.

“Oh fuck” he cursed under his breath, his lips parted as he leaned in and pressed impatient kisses on your neck, sucking and leaving marks, nibbling while he rolled his hips out and back in to adjust to a pace that would be comfortable for you. You whined softly in his ear at him stretching you out.

“Yeah just like that” he said in between kisses, his grip on you so furious he was sure to leave marks. His unruly hair now more unkempt than before, cascading over his face when he looked down at you taking his cock deep inside your wet pussy.

His tip pressing into the farthest bits of you and his length rubbing against your walls, making you all sensitive. Your body reacting just as he needed, arching into him. His thrusts speeding up just because he was so needy, his noises uncontainable except for when he was kissing your skin.

His teeth pulling at your bottom lip and almost drawing blood, his gentleness was fading as he got more and more lost to the rabbit hole of pleasure you provided him with. He wanted to fuck you until you couldn’t speak and your legs were shaking. “Oh Toby-“ you cried.

Your brows furrowed and your face faded in an expression of pure ecstasy, the way his hips were slamming against you reminding you that you were in public and could be caught red handed any minute.

“People might hear” you whispered in his ear, telling him with the last bit of your sanity. Truth is he was fucking you so hard the car moving was already a giveaway. His expression showed just a hint of deviance, the rest of his face was lust and determination.

“Let them” He growled as he bit you again, “I don’t give a shit” he admitted, too far gone to think about consequences. “Want them to know you’re mine” he panted, pulling you towards him so he could feel every bit of you, “only mine” he said possessively, his tone low with warning.

His body was so perfectly connected with yours, you felt so sensitive in places you had never even considered before, your inner thighs where his hands traced you shakily before gripping; your neck that he was busy abusing. It was almost over stimulating, to feel him mold himself into your hole.

But you were in so much bliss, the way he split you in two was too delicious to overthink. “Oh- oh~” you cried, eyes shut and legs wrapped tight around him, if he kept going just like this you would cum soon. You tried to let him know, to warm him- but it all came out like jumbled groans and whimpers. All you managed was “I- I-m gonna”

Toby, who was whispering nonsense while he pounded you, disregarded your noises, it was all too much for him, your body so warm and delightful. He was already lost to your pleasure, mumbling out “tight- tight- so fucking tight-“, his hands gripping your ass, balls heavy while they slapped against your cunt.

You couldnt take it any longer, feeling yourself reach a thrilling peak, squeezing his girthy cock in pulses. To which he kept cursing, his expression read only as divine satisfaction. “That’s right- just let yourself go” he managed to praise before he completely lost his cool.

Your body limp in his strong arms, he held you up, supporting you and keeping you safe. You had never felt more secure than tangled in the backseat of his car with his dick hilted inside of you. While you rode out your orgasm he pressed against the small of your back and switched positions.

He was sitting up, you on his lap facing him, his cock still stretching out your pretty wet pussy. “Rest against me babe” he said, taking a slight breather and letting you lean your forehead against his. Looking deep in his dark eyes, your face flushed and your lip open. Toby didn’t hesitate to kiss it, his own lips parted in whispers and praises that he muttered in between displays of affection.

You were too tired, trying to grind and ride him, his hands soft on your ass to guide you. “It’s okay” he said, “let me” his legs spread slightly to buck up and fill your slutty little cunt with his shaft. You moaned and cried out his name, to which he only went harder.

“I’m gonna fill you up” he said, “gonna fill you up with my cum, my pretty little baby” he said, his hips rolling up and his tip reaching your cervix. Pressing into all the most delicious places. “Oh fuck”, the sounds you were making together were so lewd, breaths intertwined in the heat between you.

His composure faltering and his hips bucking wildly until he pulled you down, his arms hugging you so tightly while he cried your name and spilled deep in you. His hot cum filling you up, it was so much but you took it, panting and kissing him once again while he twitched inside of you. Your tight pussy milking out every drop of him.

“You did so good for me” he said, catching his breath and moving your hair out of your face so he could look at you. The most gorgeous thing in the world, he wanted to see you while you still took his cock inside of him. You almost couldnt believe he had just popped your cherry in the backseat.

“That’s my pretty baby” he caressed your cheek, kissing it swiftly. You saw that big grin return to his face, he was going to be teasing you now, “giving me all your love in the backseat”

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teyamsatan · 7 months

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ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xɪɪɪ - ɪɴ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ

pairing: neteyam x human!reader

➽ a/n: finally, a new drabble! i'm actually quite happy with this one, and you better read until the end for a (hopefully) nice surprise! ly besties, smooches and xoxos

➽ words: >700 words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: fingering, tiny little degradation, tiny bit of praise

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

A moan - small and insignificant, you thought, pushing past your plump lips like the air through the trees on a particularly stormy night. But he heard it, and that was enough for the movement to cease, enough for the pleasure bubbling up in your core to dissipate almost as quickly as it began. A shiver - down your spine, at his hushed purring words, his voice sweet like honey and molten like the lava in the Pandoran volcanoes you’ve only but heard about and envisioned in dreams and fantasies.

“What did I say happens if you make a noise?”

A sharp inhale - looking around the room, where Na’vi and humans stood alike, focused intently on the motion picture displayed clearly on a big projector. Like in a cinema, you were told. Humans love movies, they go out of their ways to experience them the way they were intended, and Norm insisted - no movies unless on a proper screen. It was nice. A stepping stone in the right direction, in the continuous if not a bit unrelenting desire to improve intra-species relationships and merge the now two coexisting words. So maybe what you were doing now was good, right? Cooped up under a blanket in between your best friend’s thighs, his fingers knuckle deep in your soaking cunt, hitting spots inside of you you didn’t even know were possible, his thumb drawing circles on your clit… It’s progress, right? You’re… building up rappor with the Omaticaya… right?

A promise of four purple bruises - as his hand digs into your hip, willing you for an answer you didn’t want to give him, because if you did, it would mean facing harsh reality.

“Answer me, yawne.”

Whispered touches on your folds - as he teases you with the promise of more, as he tortures you with the lack of it. It’s heaven and hell, just like his whole entire being is. Neteyam was the perfect man, an angel on paper - sent from above to heal, to mend, to be everything anyone’s ever wanted of him. The perfect son. The perfect soldier. The perfect sibling. The perfect friend. The devil in actuality- like he was now, in the confines of the privacy you normally found yourselves in when like this, desperate to own you, possess you, eager to strip you of your clothes and sanity layer by layer until you were nothing but a fucked-out shell of who you were at the beginning of the night, until you were begging him to stop… until you were begging him for more.

“S-stop. You said you’d… stop.”

A low chuckle - evil and mischievous, filled with underlying ache and a deep desire to put you over his knee and show you how good girls are supposed to behave. Later. Right now, he wants to see you squirm, he wants to hear you struggle to keep that pretty little mouth shut as he makes you come on his fingers over and over, until you’re squirting and mewling and crying, until you inevitably fail and he has to watch you scramble for a lie, stumble on your words as you say to the people watching in confusion that the movie was just that emotional.

“That’s right. So what am I supposed to do now, mm?”

A whine - desperate and pitiful, as you grind on his drenched fingers, looking for any relief, any friction that could alleviate the emptiness in you. The chuckle was a full blown laugh now, perfectly matched to a particularly funny scene in the movie. It wasn’t weird when everybody else laughed, too, right? Neteyam couldn’t have told anyone asking what was going on on the screen if they paid him, and well, he was glad because this… this was so, so much better.

“Keep go…argh! Keep going, fuck!”

A moan - as he enters you again, two of his large fingers stretching you like a dream, hitting spots inside of you you didn’t even know existed. All of a sudden the world, this room, they were null in your mind, and you were alone with just him, with just these feelings and the man who was making them real, with the orgasm you felt rapidly approaching and what you knew would be the beginning of a long, long night.

“There we go. My little slut, taking my fingers so well. Maybe it’s time to give this people a real show, huh… Vol?”

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon @kasai-https @dvxsja (if your tag doesn't work pls check your settings x)

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crybabyzine-subtext · 10 months

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FRAN DRESCHER APPRECIATION POST

Fran Drescher has been out there being awesome since 1993, when she created and produced THE NANNY (1993-1999) with her then-husband, Peter Marc Jacobsen.

An iconic 90s woman who taught me to be the lady in red when everybody else is wearing tan

Also one of the characters on TV who actively made me wish I was Jewish

In 2021, Fran ran to be the President of the Screen Actors Guild Union (SAG-AFTRA) and won against fellow actor Matthew Modine.

As you may know, SAG-AFTRA has voted to go on strike along with the Writer's Guild of America. This means that a large chunk of Hollywood and the motion picture industry is on a hiatus until terms can be agreed to with the massively powerful studios.

At issue is LABOR, and our fabulous Fran is making a point of highlighting that this isn't just Hollywood's problem. The issues that these workers are asking for is the same as many other strikes: fair pay for reasonable work. The studios are hoping that innovations in tech and AI will make human writers and actors less necessary and less expensive than ever. And you can bet that every CEO in every industry is hoping the same: they would looooove to replace you with tech and pay you nothing.

Of course, studios' gamble on AI won't actually work. AI could have never created successful hit sitcom The Nanny. The Nanny works (and still works!) because it uses the special talents of a unique human with a vision--Fran Drescher. She had a vision and then she made it, wrote it, AND performed it. AI can't improvise timely zingers on the spot or create a fashion icon. AI can only feed you recycled content, designed to look brand new. AI will never be able to fake authentic human creativity.

SUPPORT YOUR SAG-AFTRA PRESIDENT!

Catch up on old content: It's a great time to visit The Nanny's YouTube page, where they have full episodes and great compilations and clips.

Also: Watch Fran's speech on the SAG-AFTRA Strike.

youtube

#fran drescher #the nanny #sag aftra #strike #sag aftra strike #wga strike #labor #worker's rights #unions #labor rights #fran fine #sitcoms #us labor #hollywood #the 90s #1990s #1990s tv #sag-aftra #sag-aftra strike

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inejschumacher · 4 months

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Day 4 of Via’s Taycember

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

wc: 815

cw: references to sex, mention of death, kissing, arguments

Gleaming, twinkling eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting, I almost jump in

Seldom is one ever gifted the choice of manner of death. Yet, if you were ever the lucky recipient, you would drown yourself in the depthless, ever-loving eyes of Jude Bellingham.

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush. I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

It seemed, however, that you weren’t the only one to dream of such a desire. It felt as if every corner in the real world and online was filled with girls desperate for even a single second of eye contact, of the off-chance that if Jude ever left you, he’d choose one of them instead.

You’d struck gold, yet struggled to keep your anger in check every time a girl got too close and touchy with Jude, not trying to be the ruins in his sea of gold. You knew the wishes exchanged between girls, wondering what it would be like to truly have Jude love them, and how they could love Jude. Better than you could, anyway.

Walk past, quick brush. I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush. I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush.

Though it appeared that Jude knew exactly how you felt. Every time you were swarmed by a mob of girls, he always kept you close to him, a reassuring brush of his fingers or a kiss to keep you grounded. He knew what you needed in times like this, how to hold you in his arms or speak the words you needed from him. Take off the rose-coloured glasses, and everything was still the same.

Nightmares of falling away from him, or the daylight’s mirages of your relationship crumbling felt as if your heart was cast away in the skies until your feared reality of him crushing your heart out finally ground it. But the only thing he ever grounded was your mind, his love never faltering.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos

You ask him, wondering how such a pure soul only matured, retaining its ability to know how to love whomever its heart chose. You knew of so many women who claimed they were loved by their men, yet just a singular glimpse into their purported perfect porcelain lives uncovered a love so loveless, no arms to hold them as they shed their tears of sorrow, no volitional surprises of laundry done or dinner cooked.

Yet despite all the attention, it was you Jude kissed after every winning match, flushed from the joy and love of scoring goals and having you witness them from the closest of bleachers. He’d watch your hair fall back into place after tousling it with his hands as he pulled you in for a celebratory kiss. How perfect were you, for him? If only you could see how you’d also grown up a loving soul.

I see me padding 'cross your wooden floors with my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

After a night spent loving every part of you, leaving bruising lovebites down your collarbone and on your inner thighs, you’d cross his floors to clean yourself up as he brought the snacks. Enough times where you could picture such a scene with your Eagles t-shirt waiting on the door handle to be worn in bed, lying on top of him after another horrid day.

At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit

His strong opinions when it came to what he was passionate about were enough to warrant initiating an argument at dinner with your families. Even the simplest of debates over football legends and loyalties would lead to his contrarian arguments. You had to be quick to recognize when one was about to occur, and quickly chastise him before things could get too out of hand and risk a ruined night.

My mind turns your life into folklore, I can't dare to dream about you anymore

Sometimes the fantasies of a peaceful life filled with love grew to consume you in such a way that you couldn't bear the reality of your relationship. You slowly felt yourself pulling away, trying in vain to assuage such feelings in your dreams and in your reality.

It wasn’t meant to harm, but you needed to understand what you really wanted, you supposed. Not spend your life encircling someone, being hidden in the thousands of others in Jude’s orbit.

At dinner parties won't call you out on your contrarian shit

It didn't seem necessary anymore, to spend time trying to quiet Jude. He deserved to be able to speak his mind as a celebrated footballer himself, he deserved to free himself from the constraints of politeness and conformity. Perhaps he was the one the otters should listen to, take in his words and experience, rather than make him a fool for speaking even the most intelligent of words.

And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it, 'cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea

You and Jude had always planned a little getaway to the Irish shores, to watch the waves crash against the rocky cliffs as you two walk down the coastlines hand-in-hand, free to ramble about whatever as you let go of your worries and duties for once.

As you gaze into your day-old Earl Grey tea, you let yourself picture what could have been. If you had let go of your inner turmoil and let Jude in. You once held his loving brown eyes, deeper than the ocean waters, in yours, grievings cast away into a darkness, but it was the one you chose to follow, filled with regret.

'Cause it will never be gleaming, twinkling eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting, I almost jump in

#via’s taycember #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #football fanfic #evermore #taylor swift #real madrid #Spotify #fanfic #fanfiction

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worldsetfree · 3 months

Text

Stardust Crusaders × Reader: Motion Pictures

(+ bonus card at the bottom of the cereal box!)

Finally, you and your travelling band of troubadours have arrived at a hotel for the first time in days. It's early in the evening, everybody's exhausted, so you decide to retire to your rooms early and decompress. But you want to take some time, either with the group or your special someone and unwind with a movie.

(Trying to stay as canon-compliant as possible, so only movies that came out in or before 1988. Enjoy! Feedback welcome.)

I. THE MAGICIAN

Muhammad Avdol hasn't watched a lot of movies tbh. Down for most anything. Spending time with you is the true privilege.

Tbh I am struggling so much with picking a movie for him. His favourite movie canonically is Midnight Run, so maybe he'd recommend something like From Russia With Love?

I think he would let you pick if it was only the two of you and just be happy for the time together. He is the sweetest of men.

Respectfully tender. You want to share a blanket? You want snacks? You want to kiss? He's prepared and willing for anything.

Toasty warm if you want to cuddle. Leaves him delightly flustered.

V. THE HIEROPHANT

Omg this bean. 💕 Kakyoin Noriaki wants you to watch something that is of great personal significance to him but he's fearful of rejection.

He'll pick something a little bit artsy (and maybe pretentious), but something he holds dear to his heart. But it's Kakyoin, and he's also kind of a weirdo. He's gonna pick something a little out there like Blade Runner. The Princess Bride?

Please, bear with him. He's doing his best. Does the movie fit the vibe? Maybe not. But it's about being next to you.

Wants to cuddle, is too nervous to ask. You're gonna have to be the bold one here.

Watch his face flush to match his hair if you pull him in close and kiss his cheek. He's gonna want to do this every night from now on.

VII. THE CHARIOT

Oh Lord, Jean Pierre Polnareff has been waiting for this moment. He wants to fall in love. This is his chance to woo you, mademoiselle.

Already has a running list of appropriately romantic movies. Settles on Dirty Dancing (he is incorrigible). He doesn't actually care about the movie, this is all just a scheme to set the mood.

Chatty as fuck during the movie. Sweet nothings in your ear and distracted commentary on the movie. His stream of consciousness, really. Wants to see you blush.

Offers to let you sit/put your head in his lap. C'est magnifique if you take him up on that.

He is a gentleman, he won't try anything you don't want. He is going to ask to kiss you, though. Even if it's not the first time you've kissed today. He can't help himself.

IX. THE HERMIT

Joseph Joestar is either trying to inspire the group with some big moral lesson or he's leaning on his comfort films in private with you. No in-between.

"Comfort films" means Indiana Jones. That's it. There's a new one coming out next year, you know? You'll go see it with him, right? He's just as handsome as Sean Connery!

He's gonna try the ol' big yawn and stretch into holding you trick. Thinks he's slick.

Somehow he's already eaten the snacks. Pest. Will get more if you ask nicely.

The type of man who waits til you're very engrossed in the movie, then distracts you by kissing your neck. Success may vary. What do you mean Indiana Jones doesn't get you in the mood?

XVII. THE STAR

Good grief, why do you have to do this right now? Kujo Jotaro is tired and wants to sleep. You're so needy.

(He's thrilled by the idea and would love to turn his brain off for a night).

In front of the guys, he wants to watch some cool action movie. Top Gun? Yojimbo? More of a cinephile than he lets on. In private, he is more comfortable being the dork we know he is. Might suggest detective fiction or a documentary.

Adores these quiet moments of respite. Will play with your hair. Pamper him a little bit with soft affection and see his brows finally relax right before your eyes.

Will end up falling asleep on your shoulder, with his arms wrapped around you. Will beat up anybody that tries to tease him about it. RIP Joseph

0. THE FOOL

(He's a dog. Obviously platonic)

You're done. Fuck these guys. Fuck this whole trip. They have tried your patience for the last time today.

You and Iggy will cuddle up on a soft hotel bed and watch a Disney movie or something and have a self-care night.

Do a face mask. Realign your chakras. Enjoy strange flavours of gum. Live your best life.

Iggy is suprisingly okay with this turn of events. He lays in your lap and lets you pet him. Finally, he has found peace.

The men are distraught grumpy about missing out on this. Open the door, please. They're sorry, they promise they won't fuck up and do any stupid shit without listening to you again. Please!

Bonus Card:

IV. THE EMPORER

Baby, he's never wanted to do anything more in his life. He swears! Hol Horse loves taking time to unwind with you!

You already know this man is going to try to charm you with a spaghetti western. Fistful of Dollars it is.

THIS AIN'T HIS FIRST RODEO. He's already got all the pieces together to make this a proper romantic night. Popcorn? Check. Comfy seating? Check. Cologne? Check. Handsome smile? Baby, you're screwed.

Takes it slow, lets you make the first move. Will make you swoon.

Like a bandit, he is gone in the morning, with a note telling you he'll be back again soon and to keep him in your heart. ♡

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #part 3 #mohammed avdol #noriaki kakyoin #jotaro kujo #jean pierre polnareff #iggy jjba #hol horse #jean pierre polnareff x reader #kujo jotaro x reader #kakyoin noriaki × reader #joseph joestar x reader #old joseph joestar #muhammad avdol x reader #hol horse × reader #ramblingsfromzawarudo

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hwaightme · 1 year

Text

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down, speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.

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