#client side project manager | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mr-cha-n · 6 months ago

Text

Through the Lens

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 12.5k

Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.

A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude.

Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)

By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting.

"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital void. Then he reads the first line:

"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."

"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for.

He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.

But the email continues:

"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."

Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?

His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it.

"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.

Thank you for your time and commitment.

Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.

Best regards,

The Editorial Team

Opus Magazine"

In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.

A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes.

The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.

"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"

"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."

Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"

"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"

Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."

Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.”

"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”

Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”

“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.

Still, his finger hovers over the accept button.

Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.

Maybe he should just ... get on with it.

Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision.

He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.

9:00 AM, Inbox:

“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,

I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.

Best,

Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.

He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car.

A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”

Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.

Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here.

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.

Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.

“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”

The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”

Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation.

He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”

It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.

“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”

You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.

Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.

You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.

“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”

Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.

But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.

“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”

You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”

Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."

You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.

“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"

Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”

“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”

He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.

You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.

For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.

No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.

Just a little.

The second shoot is at your apartment.

Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.

As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion.

Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore.

The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.

The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.

At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door.

Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect.

“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.

Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.

He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.

His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”

You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”

“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”

You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.

You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.

Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”

You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame.

The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.

The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.

The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye.

“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air.

He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.

“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”

Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”

There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.

“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”

You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.

"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"

"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."

Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.

You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."

He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.

"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."

Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.

You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."

The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens.

When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet.

He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.

There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.

With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.

He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"

Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors. It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.

And then, of course, there’s you.

You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.

He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.

You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.

"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"

He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.

"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.

You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.

The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"

You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.

But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.

The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm.

A loud crash breaks through the air.

Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation.

He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.

The room falls into a hushed silence.

He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.

And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.

You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.

"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"

The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."

The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.

Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you.

After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.

“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."

The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.

You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."

With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.

"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"

Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."

He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."

A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."

Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."

The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.

"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.

You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."

It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.

"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.

"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.

"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it.

Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.

"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.

"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."

You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out.

The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.

"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."

He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him.

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.

"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."

You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning.

"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink.

But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag.

Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were.

"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.

So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.

"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."

Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words.

You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.

You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.

"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."

He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."

You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease.

He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."

He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."

The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.

"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."

You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.

"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."

"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."

You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."

You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.

And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.

Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear.

"Now, this is unexpected."

Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.

He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.

He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.

But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning.

The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.

You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”

Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”

“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”

He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."

“It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”

You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."

“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”

You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.

"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”

“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.

"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."

Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.

"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."

He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.

You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”

He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward. But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.

"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”

"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."

He struggles to disagree.

You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far.

There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.

"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.

You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.

He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”

You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera.

As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding.

Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly.

"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.

You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.

The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.

For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster.

He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.

"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else.

You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"

Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."

A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."

He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.

He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?

But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"

"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"

"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"

Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.

"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"

You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.

"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."

Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.

You nod slowly.

He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.

You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.

His chest tightens.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.

You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.

You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"

Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts.

His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."

You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.

His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.

"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"

"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that.

He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.

You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still.

“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”

Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.

"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.

You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.

The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.

“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”

You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.

Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.

Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.

You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.

Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.

Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."

You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.

Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.

Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants.

You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?"

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"

He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.

“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"

"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him.

You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.

His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”

Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.

Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.

Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.

He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves.

"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.

"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question.

You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."

The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.

"What did -"

"I thought -"

Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air.

"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure.

"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."

Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"

Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.

"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"

Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.

"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight.

"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."

"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor.

Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours.

It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips.

"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."

Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.

"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."

Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."

The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter.

"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you.

"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."

His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out.

"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"

His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.

Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more.

And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him.

It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.

After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.

"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him.

Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.

Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."

692 notes · View notes

hannie-dul-set · 4 months ago

Text

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — PREVIEW.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this.

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is.

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn.

WORD COUNT. preview: 2.8k | this will be a chaptered fic. TAGLIST. open. send me an ask/dm/reply.

NOTE. this is the side effect of having a clinically insane brain that has to make a fic out of everything, including the law readings that i am subjected to every day. i have also been re-reading weak hero and i’ve projected my favorite feral dog (keum seongje/wolf keum) to the sweetest man alive (na jaemin). i’ve also based their org structure to the Union’s, just for full disclosure. meaning, a whole lot of dream 00 line (criminal) shenanigans are underway.

this intro note has become a mouthful. anyway, hope you enjoy!

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.”

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams?

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs.

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you.

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground.

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries.

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut.

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.”

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination.

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh.

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission.

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face.

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

#na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #jaemin x you #na jaemin x you #na jaemin fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream imagines

269 notes · View notes

wandasreallover · 10 months ago

Text

ceo!wanda drabble|

Based on this photo ^

Title: Behind Closed Doors

The fluorescent lights of the office flickered like a stuttering heartbeat, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of stress. Today had been one of those days. You let out a heavy sigh as you walked through the doors of your apartment, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. Work had knocked the breath out of you—an impossible project deadline, an avalanche of demands from your boss, and the sharp criticism from a client who seemed to take pleasure in belittling your efforts. It felt as if the weight of the world was resting squarely on your shoulders, and it was a burden too heavy to bear alone.

You dropped your bag at the door, the sound echoing in the quiet space. The pent-up tension knotted in your chest; you were too drained to even think about making dinner. Instead, you decided to check in on Wanda, your partner and the indomitable CEO of Stark Financial. Her office was situated on the far side of the sleek, modern apartment you shared, a space that was usually filled with laughter, love, and warmth. Tonight, however, it was quiet, with only the muffled sound of typing breaking the stillness.

As you approached the door, you briefly hesitated. You didn't want to interrupt her again. The week had already been long, and you could see the stress lines etching deeper into her skin each day. Wanda was a force of nature—a cold, calculated leader in the office, yet behind closed doors, her warmth enveloped you like a comforting blanket. You admired her fiercely; still, a part of you felt like a distraction during her busy hours. So, you turned away.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” came a soft voice from the office.

You froze, caught in her web of concern. Wanda had a knack for sensing your presence, even when you thought you had managed to slip away unnoticed.

“I just thought I’d let you work,” you replied, trying to play it off. “You’re busy.”

“Not as busy as my heart when I’m waiting for you to get home,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Come here. I insist.”

You smiled despite yourself, nudging the door open and stepping inside her office. It was meticulously organized—a testament to Wanda’s precise mind. Papers were stacked neatly, and her laptop screen glowed with a kaleidoscope of spreadsheets and graphs. But as she looked up, her expression turned softer—an unguarded glimpse of the woman you adored.

“You look tired,” she remarked, concern furrowing her brow.

“I had a long day,” you admitted, sinking into the chair opposite her desk. “You know, same old stuff. I thought I would let you focus on your… empire.”

Wanda chuckled lightly. “I love my empire, but you are my home.”

The lump in your throat swelled. It was moments like this—where the walls of her icy exterior melted away with little gestures and word choices—that made you feel like you were the happiest person alive.

“I don’t want to take you away from your work, Wanda. I know how important it is to you,” you murmured, shifting in your seat.

“You could never take me away from what really matters,” she reassured. “And right now, that’s you.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond as you caught the glimmer of sincerity shining in her green eyes. After a moment of hesitation, you slid out of the chair and made your way over to her. You stood beside her, the rich scent of her lavender shampoo wafting toward you, grounding you in the midst of your chaotic thoughts.

Without warning, she reached out and took your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours and abruptly pulled you into her lap. “Stay here with me,” she said softly.

You exhaled sharply, feeling the warmth radiating off her, and leaned down, resting your head against her shoulder. She smelled like home—lavender and the faint, intoxicating hint of citrus from her favorite candle. The tension in your body began to unwind as you inhaled deeply, seeking comfort in her presence.

Time ticked by softly, the rhythmic clicking of her keyboard becoming a lullaby that wrapped around you. Her focus on work was unwavering, but you could sense her awareness of you—the way she shifted ever so slightly toward you, anchoring you in her space.

After a while, you felt your eyelids growing heavy. There was something soothing about being near her, something that made you forget the chaos of the day. As the day's exhaustion settled in your bones, you felt the warm tingle of sleep creeping up. You nestled in closer, finding solace against the soft, familiar curve of her neck, inhaling the warmth of her presence as you surrendered to the comfort.

Somewhere in the distance, the clicking of keys grew louder, faster—pulsing with unspoken pressure. But you were enveloped in Wanda’s warmth, and it was where you most wanted to be, despite the storm of her workload.

In a heartbeat, you fell asleep.

Hours passed like fleeting clouds on a lazy afternoon, and Wanda noticed the shift in your breathing—slow and steady, the tension of the day finally giving way to tranquility. She paused her work, grateful for the moment, yet worried about what had caused you such distress. The protective nature that so often emerged in her professional life flared up again, nudging her to gently brush your hair back and press her lips to your forehead.

“You're okay now,” she whispered, a soft promise meant only for you. She knew how hard it had been for you and felt her heart ache wishing she could take every burden from you.

With a weary sigh, Wanda returned to her work, but her heart wasn’t in it anymore. Her thoughts drifted not toward spreadsheets but rather to you: how hard you worked, how tough your days could be, and how all she wanted was to be your rock in the storm.

#ceo!wanda #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen fluff #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff fluff

491 notes · View notes

n0ahsebastians · 3 months ago

Text

look after you - n.s.

18+!!! a small scene of smut but if you're not comfortable with that please don't read it!! otherwise this is cutesy and fun hehe please enjoy <3

inspired by those new photos of the band recording in the studio, noah in the white hoodie and black tank top has destroyed me. next question please

It’s always half and never whole, you’ve begun to feel like home But what’s mine is yours to leave or take, what’s mine is yours to make your own

She loves to watch him do what he loves. Watching him put everything he has into his projects, watching him create something for him but also for the people he cares so deeply for. She enjoys sitting in the room as his friends put together a whole song, a whole album, for the fans who’ve waited so long to hear new music. She feels lucky that she’s the first of their “fans” to hear it all.

She doesn’t mind that he’s deeply focused on the monitors as she sits in the back of the room doing work stuff and she doesn’t mind that his undivided attention is not on her; she knows he enjoys her company. He always asks her to come and sit in the studio as he works; he likes to have her there.

They finish a track and she doesn’t even realize it until he’s next to her on the couch, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She giggles and leans into him as he comes to plop down next to her on the couch.

“Two tracks done already,” he absentmindedly plays with her fingers, suddenly distracting her from her work.

“Proud of you baby,” she kisses his chin. He has a light dusting of stubble there and it tickles her lips as she does.

“Whatcha working on?” He rests his hand on her thigh, rubbing small circles in the fabric of her leggings.

“Just this event for this weekend. Trying to make sure we have everything ready to go for the client.” She closes her laptop and leans her head against his shoulder.

“Proud of you too, my love.”

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. There’s a gentle silence between them as they hold one another for a few moments. Noah’s lips are pressed to the side of her head, his breath slow and even.

“Are the guys back there?” she asks, sitting up on his lap. Noah smirks at her. He already knows what she’s thinking.

“Your brain is huge.” He pulls her closer, his lips pressing to her jawline. She giggles again, wrapping her hands around his neck to indulge in his kisses against her skin.

“I mean, we have a few minutes, no?”

“We have several minutes,” he says, continuing his path of kisses along her neck and collarbone. Her eyes flutter close as she begins to rock her hips in his lap. He groans, gripping her hips between his fingers, guiding her in her movements.

“You smell good,” he hums, lifting the back of her shirt and dragging his fingers along her skin. She shivers from his touch and he chuckles.

“So do you,” she whispers, removing her shirt so he can have more access to her skin. She tosses it to the floor of the studio, pressing her lips to his, feeling his tongue against her own.

“I love you,” he tells her, removing her bra and tossing it on the couch next to him. “My pretty girl.”

His mouth moves down to her chest, taking her breast between his lips. She gasps, her fingers moving into his hair and gripping the soft strands She tugs, making him moan against her skin. He swirls his tongue against her nipple, the feeling combined with his warm breath against her flesh causing the heat between her legs to spread.

“I…love you,” she manages to say while he continues his gentle assault of her skin. He always knows how to make her feel good, and thank god the studio window is darkened because she needs him so badly right now.

“Give me five minutes,” he groans. She nods and that’s all he needs.

He flips them so she’s lying on the couch. He stops for a second to listen and make sure the room next door is still silent.

“Hear that?”

She smiles and shakes her head.

“Exactly,” He hovers over her, kissing her so deeply she feels it in her toes, “complete silence.”

“What if they come back?”

He kisses her stomach, sliding his fingers into the waistband of her leggings.

“They come back.”

“Noah.” She’s serious; she doesn’t want them to get caught even though it’s his house.

“Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet huh?”

Her cheeks flush at the thought of the guys in the other room as Noah makes love to her; it’s thrilling but also terrifying to be caught at such an intimate moment.

“Let me take care of you for a few minutes.” Her leggings are tossed to the floor along with her underwear. Noah’s still fully clothed while she’s bare and it makes her skin heat. She wants him to be naked with her but she doesn’t know if that’s a part of his plan right now.

“You’re wasting time,” she teases, pressing her foot against Noah’s clothed chest. He wraps his hand around her ankle, pressing a kiss there and she giggles.

“And you’re being a brat,” he bites back, parting her legs and pressing his fingers to her center. She gasps, her eyes fluttering closed and thighs immediately squeezing around his hand.

“No, open your legs,” he snaps, and she does it quickly. He slides his fingers against her, feeling how wet she is between her legs before tugging his sweatshirt over his head. He’s wearing a black tank top underneath and it makes her mouth water seeing his tattoos contrasting with the black fabric. He’s so beautiful to her, the most gorgeous man she’s ever laid her eyes on.

“Come here,” she whispers, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and tugging him closer to her.

“Fucking beautiful,” he whispers as he presses his lips to hers. He tugs his tank top over his head, tossing it to the floor with the rest of their clothes. He pulls his joggers down just enough to free himself from the fabric before sliding himself along her center.

“Do you need me to…”

“No, just…please,” she whines, pressing him against her.

“Fuck, baby.” He tangles their fingers together, pressing his lips to hers before gently pressing into her. She moans so loud, he presses his lips harder against hers to keep her quiet.

“Ssh baby, gotta be quiet for me.”

It’s so hard to be though; they’ve been so busy and it’s been so long. She wants to make all the noise in the world for him but she knows she can’t risk the guys hearing them. When he’s moving inside of her, it’s even harder. It feels so good.

“Noah…” she breathes, wrapping her legs around his waist, pushing his joggers down with her heels. His hips are moving faster against hers, he’s close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he whines into her mouth.

“S’okay.” She drags her fingers down his cheek, watching the way his forehead scrunched and his cheeks are pink and his lips are swollen, and God, she loves this man so much.

“Don’t wanna….without you.” He slows his movements, feeling her skin against his. She’s warm and soft and the feeling of her wrapped around him is something he wants to hold onto for as long as he can.

“We really screwed up that five minutes,” she laughs. He reciprocates it, resting their foreheads together. Truthfully there was no way he would’ve lasted five minutes; not when someone as beautiful and sexy as her existed. She was unreal to him.

“I need you to come for me, baby.”

“Almost.” She whines and tightens her legs around his hips, pressing her mouth to his again. Breathing him in, letting him consume her, letting him have all of her and more. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman.

Her legs shake and she squeezes around him, trying her hardest to stay quiet as she comes around him. He covers her mouth with his own again, swallowing her moans, squeezing the skin of her thigh as he follows her. He comes inside of her, gently coaxing her through her release as she runs her fingers through his hair gently scratching at his scalp. Their breaths are intertwined with one another as they come down together, a thin layer of sweat covering their bodies. He kisses her jaw, her neck, across her breasts, before settling on her lips once again. She smiles against his mouth, still feeling dizzy from her orgasm.

“I love you,” she tells him again, her thumb rubbing across his cheek.

“I love you so much.” He lays his head on her chest for a moment before pulling out of her, grabbing his sweatshirt from the floor and throwing it over her. It sits on the top of her thighs and it makes his heart swell how big his clothes are on her. He loves it so much.

“You think they heard us?” she asks, laying her head against his chest.

“Not a chance. You did great,” he teases her. She swats at his arm, earning a playful laugh from him.

“You’re an asshole.”

He pretends to be hurt. “That’s hurtful.”

“It’s true.”

“I just made you come, you have to be nice to me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she crosses her arms, feigning annoyance. He tosses her onto the couch again and she laughs loudly.

“Do I need to make you be nice to me?”

“Hmm…maybe.”

He glares playfully at her before dramatically settling between her legs. “Don’t tempt me, I have to get back to work soon.”

“Hey, you started it.” She swats at him again and picks her underwear up from the floor, pulling them back up her legs. She does it slowly to mess with him and he groans, smacking her ass gently. She yelps and throws his tank top at him, his laugh ringing through the room.

He stares at her from the couch as she pulls her leggings back on, not even bothering with her bra. Knowing that she was naked under his sweatshirt made the blood rush back to his groin. He tried to clear the thoughts from his head but it was hard when he could see the curve of her ass through her leggings now that she was standing. She fixes her hair and ties it up in a ponytail before putting her laptop back in her bag and turning to face him. He’s staring so lovingly at her when she turns to him.

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?”

She smiles and reaches her hands out for him.

“You make me so happy,” he continues, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting on her lower back. She smiles at him, feeling all the same things for him. She was so proud of everything he had done and everything he had overcome in the three years they had been together. He meant the world to her.

“You’re a sap,” she jokes, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“You make me a sap.”

“Well I guess that makes me the lucky one then,” she declares. He rolls his eyes in a teasing gesture and she laughs, running her fingers through his hair.

“You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world you know.” There’s no more teasing in her voice, she wants him to know that he really does mean the world to her and he makes her the happiest human.

“I love you baby,” he whispers, kissing her deeply one last time.

“Love you honey.”

“Are you two fucking done in there? We have work to do!” Matt yells from the other room. A giant blush takes over her features, and Noah bursts into a fit of laughter. So much for being quiet.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens cult #noah x reader #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian smut #noah x original character #bad omens band

156 notes · View notes

grapejuicenharry · 7 months ago

Note

HI, could you write a blurb where Harry is a rich businessman and he is really busy with his work etc etc and is really stressed with something so yn goes to him and gives him a blowjob so that he feels good. Something like that?

a/n: sorry it took me a while! but i hope u enjoy it <33

warnings: blowjob, smut, 18+, kissing.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

It was that time of the month again, the most stressful time for Harry. Mid-November had arrived, and with it, an overwhelming workload. He'd recently fired a few employees, which only added to his responsibilities. Between catching up on finances, preparing presentations, and attending client meetings, the pressure was taking a toll on his health. The air outside was chilly, snow was starting to form, and Harry, running on low energy, desperately needed rest.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry was the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company, just at the age of 28, he had his name appearing in Forbes several times. He owned homes in London, Los Angeles, Italy, and New York. But after getting married, he and Y/N chose to live in a luxurious penthouse—Y/N loved the city life and feeling like a spoiled kitten.

They first met at a business conference, where Y/N was there with her clients, managing a project. The moment Harry laid his eyes on her, he felt a connection. He instantly knew she was the one he wanted as a life partner, the mother of his children.

After their wedding, Y/N decided to leave her job. The constant stress and long hours had been wearing her down. Harry supported her choice completely, happy to see her take a break and enjoy life. Now she could relax at home, focus on their relationship, and indulge in the luxury that Harry’s success provided.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Throughout it all, Y/N had been his rock. She supported him at every turn, stepping in whenever he was overwhelmed. She made sure he was taken care of—preparing healthy soups, ensuring he took his medicines on time, and giving him massages whenever his body felt sore and achy. She understood when he was too drained to talk or spend time with her, simply letting him rest his head in her lap, where she would gently scratch his scalp until he fell asleep.

Despite his gratefulness, Harry couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew he wasn't spending enough time with Y/N. There were days when they barely exchanged a word, and even when she asked if he was okay, all he could muster was a tired nod. He tried-he really did— setting aside at least an hour from his hectic schedule to be with her, but his heavy eyelids, sunken eyes, and pounding headaches often got the better of him. Still, he knew Y/N understood; she stayed by his side, making sure he didn't collapse under the weight of his responsibilities. He felt blessed to have her as his wife.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Today, Harry was working from home. He had been in online meetings since seven in the morning, and it was now eleven. Y/N had brought him coffee and breakfast earlier, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, like the good wife she was. But after five straight hours of him being hold up in his study, she decided he needed to take a break. He needed to rest, and she had an idea she'd been wanting to try for a while.

Entering the room quietly, she was dressed in one of Harry's old T-shirts that said safe sex and a pair of tiny shorts. Her sock-clad feet tapped softly against the hardwood floor as she approached. Harry's eyes were glued to his laptop, his hair messy atop his head, glasses slipping down his nose, like he hasn’t gotten the time to push them. Hearing her, he looked up, a tired but soft smile curving his lips. "Hi, baby," he greeted.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement at his gentle tone. His voice never fails to excite her. She circled around the table and settled onto his lap. "Hi," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and inhaling his scent. "I miss you."

"Mmm," Harry hummed as she threaded her fingers through his hair, the gesture immediately easing some of the tension in his head. She pulled back slightly, adjusting his glasses and gazing into his tired eyes.

"You need a break, Harry. You've been working non-stop for hours. You deserve to relax," she insisted, ending her words with a kiss near the corner of his lips.

Harry's smile widened in amusement. He knew she was right—his body was sore from sitting in one place all morning. "And how do I relax, baby?" he asked, lacing their fingers together and kissing her knuckles. "Are you here to help me unwind?"

"Y-yes," she whispered, surprised he didn't need convincing. Her confidence wavered for a moment, but she pushed her nerves aside, determined to follow through with her plan. "Let me help you relax, Harry. I want to."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his jaw, trailing wet kisses down his neck, nibbling his earlobe—a spot she knew he loved. Harry's head tipped back slightly, giving her better access, his eyes fluttering shut. Her nails lightly grazed his toned abs under his shirt, making him shiver. "Fuck," he muttered, voice low.

He pulled her close and kissed her deeply;the kiss was a heated mess of tongues, teeth, and moans. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt to get rid of it—but she pulled back with a teasing shake of her head. Sliding off his lap, she kneeled before him, his eyes widening as he realized what she had in mind.

"What are you doing, baby?" he asked, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

"Helping you relax," she whispered, parting her lips and taking his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his voice husky. "Yes, I'm sure.” that all the encouragement he needed. He withdrew his thumb, smirking.

"Filthy girl, my filthy girl," he murmured while shaking his head, his words sending a jolt of arousal straight to her core. "This was just an excuse, wasn't it? You just wanted my cock in your mouth."

A whimper escaped her lips at his words, her panties already damp with arousal. "Take me out," he ordered. Without hesitation, she fumbled with his shorts, pulling down the zipper and freeing his hard length. She swipes her thumb on his tip, and licking it off, Harry’s eyes darken with lust, eager to see what she does next.

Y/N licked a slow, deliberate path from the base to the tip. She kissed the tip before taking it into her mouth, sucking it gently. She starts prepping kisses along the length before taking it in her mouth. "Fuck, baby. Just like that," Harry groaned, his head falling back as he tangled his hand in her hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail without pushing her down, letting her set the pace.

"My good girl," He breathes out praise, encouraging her, while running his hand through her hair. In response, she moans out, the vibrations bringing him close, making him grip her hair tighter. The praises made her pussy clenching around nothing. Her own arousal pooled between her thighs, and she squeezed her legs together in a desperate attempt to relieve some pressure.

She popped his cock out of her mouth briefly, taking a deep breath before returning to him, this time taking one of his balls into her mouth, licking and sucking gently. Harry's hips bucked involuntarily, hitting the back of her throat. "Sorry," he panted.

"Don't hold back. Fuck my mouth," she whispered, looking up at him with wide, eager eyes.

Harry smirked, "Yeah? You think you can handle it, baby?"

She nodded, unable to respond with her mouth full. That was all the confirmation he needed. He gripped her hair and began thrusting gently, fucking her face at a steady pace. Y/N focused on breathing through her nose, taking him deeper in her throat, her hands stroking what she couldn't fit into her mouth. His breathing grew heavier, moans escaping his lips. Y/N knew he was close, so she starts fondling with his balls, squeezing them in her palm. The sound of his moans and her gagging filled the study. Y/N, thank heavens the housekeepers went off early today.

"I'm gonna cum, baby." he warned, his thrusts growing sloppy.

"Cum," she urged, her voice muffled. With a groan, he released into her mouth, “Y/N,Y/N—fuck, so good, so good baby.” He pants with a loud cry. warm spurts filling her. She keeps sucking him until he's completely dry, making sure to take every drop. She swallows without hesitation, the familiar salty taste not bothering her at all. His eyes softened as he looked down at her, her teary eyes, lips glistening with him. He wiped the drool from her chin.

"Are you relaxed now?" she asked with a small smile.

Harry chuckled, pulling her up onto his lap. He kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her lips. "So relaxed," he murmured, pecking her lips again. "So relaxed."

They both laughed, his silliness lightening the room's heavy air.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

293 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 3 months ago

Text

(Perhaps) the right end of the stick?

Just before the sordid show of which I have been the unwilling subject, I have promised you my take on this whole Mexican charade and I intend to settle this once and for all.

In the meanwhile, I have been watching with a jubilatory smirk, from the side wings of the fandom, how the dots have been, as always, connected in the most mendacious possible way. And how rivers of pixels have ran amok with the utmost minutiae regarding that distillery trip to San Sebastián del Oeste.

For what is worth, everyone kept an eye exclusively on the Czech young woman, simply because that was the narrative to be sold to S's fandom. And what I believe is the wrong end of the stick, waterfall sound tidbit on top. But we know that, at least ever since that (in)famous 'Go, Sarah', right?

Despite my hinting in comments, almost nobody asked themselves anything of substance about The Fan, whose first selfie with S gave away the getaway (see what I just did here?).

This lady, to be more precise - forgive me, but I think you might not remember her, right?

Or should I rather say Dr. Sarah and Mrs Solange Neustadter, judging by her dual, and even manifold, online persona?

First, there was Dr. Sarah Neustadter, PhD, specialized in clinical and transpersonal psychology and author of Love You Like the Sky, a rather well received book on grief management and coping mechanisms, after someone's suicide:

[Source: https://sarahneustadter.com/about/]

Up until now, there is strictly nothing to write home about. Enter Mrs. Solange Neustadter, who is really Dr. Neustadter's version 2.0. With a slightly different profile, personal brand and short-term projects:

[Source: https://www.instagram.com/solange_neue/]

She is supposedly an OL/S fan, but how come there is zero OL-related content on her Instagram page? Not the slightest shred of an allusion, while we do have many references to travel (with Mexico a firm favorite), Anthony Bourdain, comparative mythology authors like Joseph Campbell and his Hero with a Thousand Faces (a great read I highly recommend, by the way), etc. And even her former boyfriend, that she unfortunately lost to suicide - hence the book, which I believe is a very good one.

Things become perhaps more interesting once we move to X, which proves that at some point, The Fan felt the need of a change in her own life:

[Source: https://x.com/SolangeNeue]

For some reason, I found this short comment tidbit quite interesting, especially considering her new, very recent Captain Solange personal brand:

But also a slowly emerging interest for Hollywood and its Tinseltown industry:

A screenwriter, absolutely. With a strong interest in learning how to become a professional and a romantic drama feature screenwriting project. As such, she took part to the Stowe Story Labs' Fifth Annual Sidewalk Narrative Lab, a workshop and networking-oriented side event of the Sidewalk Film Festival (Birmingham, Alabama), an indie oriented event which managed to attract Time Magazine's attention:

[Source: https://stowestorylabs.org/news/stowe-story-labs-announces-roster-for-fifth-annual-sidewalk-narrative-lab]

And now for her newest incarnation, Captain Solange, The (surprised?) Influencer. Not really successful, if compared with her ambitions, but hey, a girl can dream:

[Source: https://www.thehandbook.com/influencer/solange-neustadter/ - last updated on July 14th, 2023]

It is, of course, just a coincidence, that her new website has just been released after her Mexican trip:

[Source: https://www.solangeneue.com/]

Basically, yet another women-oriented empowerment and dating/ life coach service, with rather hefty price tags to boot:

Her six-weeks programme based in LAX promises her clients 'life changing tools', in order to 'make [them] feel outrageous and connected'. Also, this - for some reason, this caught my eye:

'Hot tips on where to meet great Angelenos' - here is where a bell does ring, indeed. I can't help but wonder if this very interesting person is on Raya, hmmm.

To cut the story short, I am honestly asking myself a couple of very simple questions:

What are the odds (and by this, I mean the organic odds) that a screenwriter-cum-influencer wannabe, who is in dire need of networking and/or some extra social media exposure, would spontaneously meet S in Nayarit, Jalisco, Mexico?

And what are the odds the above screenwriter-cum-influencer would post the selfie that relaunched some wild innuendo, in a very much overdriven fringe of a C-lister's fandom?

Come to think of it, this is a really, really small favor to ask of a friendly, but definitely transactional 'stranger'. And mutually beneficial, to say the least. Note she immediately knew what to do: after luring the iPhone Alarm Tumblr Brigade, she quickly deleted the tag on her post, along with all the nosy fan questions. Go figure, huh?

The rest of the story really did write itself. This is nothing we have not already seen. I could take bets, already, perhaps including what next week will bring us. Heh.

I am going to let you draw your own conclusions. I could be tragically wrong, in which case I am ready to acknowledge and recalibrate, as always. But let's also remember this simple cycle/pattern:

Instagram follow (mutual or not, it does not matter, at this point in time) -> Fan pic (usually a latergram) -> Instagram Story (now, with voices 🙄) -> Mutual/Collateral Instagram follow(s) -> even more innuendo -> if it does stick: double down, no matter how outrageously/if it does not stick, abort operation and leave in drawer, ready for future reactivation.

It never fails.

Aye, caramba! Exactly.

#fandom #shitshow #Jalisco speculation #Czech young woman and more

101 notes · View notes

robin-evry · 8 months ago

Note

HII i'm loving your works omg! could i ask you to make a bronya!yuu or silverwolf!yuu? (you can choose just one if you want). take care or yourself and do your work at your time, no need to rush! :D

I decided to do two but sorry if bronya is so short , aww thank you.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓🐺👾

A member of the Stellaron Hunters and a genius hacker. She sees the universe as a massive immersive simulation game and has fun with it. She's mastered the skill known as "aether editing," which can be used to tamper with the data of reality.

Silver wolf!yuu is rarely known in nrc, they prefer to stay behind the scenes only a few students know about their existence.

Rarely appear in public, mostly using their holograms to go to school. It's pretty rare to see them actually outside of the ramshackle dorm.

Has a habit of disappearing and appearing, imagine your standing there and suddenly a hologram or game particles appear and silver wolf!yuu appear beside you.

Every time Crowley manages to piss them off, silver wolf!yuu would choose an area to vandalize at school, and some students manage to learn when you take a photo of it you can get a hidden message from silver wolf!yuu about Crowley.

silver wolf!yuu has a habit of collecting data about students, they have a database about their past, quirks, strength and weakness.

A very famous gamer in twst known to beat unbeatable levels of any game in twst and they use a fake alias. They hear about idia ranting towards Ortho about their game persona and find it funny. And join many game tournaments and win them easily and they gained money for this.

The ignihyde dorm is their second home, the dorm has good wifi for gaming. And manage to get close to idia and Ortho and talk about games with each other.

Their uniform has technology imbued to it. allowing them to access and project holographic screens on command. These are mainly used for quick data checks, sending encrypted messages, or pulling up maps and files in real-time without needing a handheld device.

They possessed a higher advanced technology than anything in twst. Also they use their aether hacking to change the ramshackle to their liking.

In battle, they would dominate due to having a lot hex on their side, they can hack into reality and get in the students file and remove the overblot. Or use it to discover and apply weakness towards the enemy.

They also have a mysterious job, operated as a freelancer, known for taking on jobs that require skill, secrecy, and the ability to circumvent the most complex security systems. Their reputation was built on their expertise in digital infiltration, information gathering, and high-stakes hacking, often working for those willing to pay for their skills without asking too many questions. most of their clients seem to be suspicious or not morally good.

Notorious for being a phone addict always playing their game outside or inside of class and when they were asked a question they immediately answered it correctly.

They also have a talent of engineering zoning out imagining about creating new tech ideas, mods and strategies for games.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 ❄️🌬️

Heir apparent to the Supreme Guardian of Belobog. She possesses pride befitting of a princess, but also the determination and integrity of a soldier.

Bronya!yuu is the embodiment of what a leader and an heir should be. Their charisma is able to encourage people and lead them towards the right path.

As well a dignified soldier bronya!yuu may look weak but are by far one of the most efficient in hand to hand combat, able to pin down a student who is bigger than them.

Has a tendency to reminisce about their mother and would just sit there and reminisce about them and grim would always be there to comfort them.

An expert marksman, rook and them once a week have a contest with each other who ever is the better marksman.

They are by far one of vil favorite, they are dignified, elegant and strong like a soldier and a princess should be, they also inspired epel to be more like them he admired them and have lessons with him where they tutor him.

They are patient and calm in the heeds of battle always believing as being one in harmony they could work together and forge a more successful path, as well being the back bone of a battle planning and helping them behind the scenes by shooting at the enemy

Them and Lilia would usually trade military tactics to each other over a cup of tea and also discussing other topics

They usually get burned out and they don't know when to rest, since they always have to keep a princess like dignity many of the first years notice and comfort them during hard times.

Bronya!yuu abilities allow them to enhance their comrade ability extremely towards its potential, as well to summon winter soldiers to help them but it takes a lot of energy.

Have a love and interest in history, usually seen in the library studying about twst long history and enjoy talking about them to their friends.

As well being a top student, always studying and getting good grades without any issue and always be respectful towards people

By far have a good reputation at school for being a capable leader, many students admire their discipline, while others have some sort of a sense of rivalry with them.

172 notes · View notes

lovelynim · 7 days ago

Text

Photobombing

Link Click - Xia Fei & Cheng Xiaoshi

A/N: This is for my one and only, dearie Max ( @wertzunge ). I think I lost track of how much I owe him. For missing his birthday, for when he welcomed me back after my hiatus, and for still wasting his time on projects with me... he's done a lot!

So I hope I can make up to some of these things with this little piece, hehe. I remember I also left you hanging last time I opened requests, so let's say I'm also making it up for that, 'kay? ~

Summary: Xia Fei invites Cheng Xiaoshi to participate in a photoshoot along with him.

Word count: 1122 words.

[Also on Ao3]

“Perfect, a little close to- y-yes! That’s it! Hold that pose!”

The photographer's excited instructions echoed through the studio while bright, white flashes lighted up the place over and over. In the center of everyone’s attention, Cheng Xiaoshi and Xia Fei stood back to back, their smiles and poses almost perfectly coordinated. Almost.

It didn’t take a specialist to tell who of the two were the actual professional and who was the guest. Xia Fei had already lost count of how many shots they had to redo because Cheng Xiaoshi blinked, flinched or just did something out of the script.

While those flawed moments wouldn’t exactly be cherished by the present staff and even by Xia Fei himself, they were what made sitting by this photoshoot worth for Lu Guang. Since he didn’t manage to convince Cheng Xiaoshi to not take part in this whole thing, he thought he should just enjoy his “talent display” in modeling.

After another round of camera’s clicks, the photographer took a moment to look at the preview results of each picture, allowing the two on stage a small break. “Boys,” he muttered, “can you stand a little closer to each other?”

“Hm?” Xia Fei tilted his head, looking at the props near them, “how, exactly? Like this?” He suggested as he reached and grabbed Cheng Xiaoshi by his arm, wrapping his arm around the other guy’s shoulder.

The photographer arched an eyebrow, as if studying the possibilities. “Looks too bland, something is missing… Let’s try using the scenario some more, Felix.”

Xia Fei nodded, letting his eyes wander around before having one prop capturing his attention. He waved towards the staff, pointing to one fancy armchair, “can we use that one?”

Of course, no one would deny his suggestions. It took the staff not more than a couple seconds to set it in the middle of those countless spotlights. “This will do”, Xia Fei hummed, leaning into the chair before taking a seat at the armrest. He gave the seat a couple pats, inviting Cheng Xiaoshi over.

“W-woah, it’s so comfortable,” the latter muttered, excited. Xia Fei laughed, already changing his facade back to that charming, model-like smile.

“Don’t get distracted now,” he whispered back, watching through the corner of his eyes as Cheng Xiaoshi tried a couple different poses before the white flashes started to flare up again. “It won’t look good if you end up with your eyes closed in every picture.”

On the other side of the camera, the photographer zoomed back and forth, sometimes closing the frame around just one of them for a solo shoot. “Boys, pay attention over here, please,” he ordered again, trying to stop the two guys’ little banter.

However, while he was focusing on his work, teases went back and forth between the two and, like a snowball rolling down a mountain, it didn’t take long before things escalated and chaos installed itself on set.

In a blink of an eye, the next row of pictures had a sudden change of theme, carrying a story of their own instead of photos styled to the liking of the agency’s client.

In the first, Xia Fei posed with a confident, smug smile as he looked down to Cheng Xiaoshi from the armrest where he was sitting. He was slightly shrugging his shoulders, as if pointing out something obvious, yet oblivious to the latter. Cheng Xiaoshi, meanwhile, had replaced the stiff, staged smile for an annoyed grin, his brows furrowing while he pointed a finger at Xia Fei - as if warning him.

The second picture managed to capture some sudden action and would’ve probably added some blurs to the photos if it wasn’t for the high quality of the lens and the high frame rate. From their previous pose, it changed to one where Cheng Xiaoshi had his arm wrapped around Xia Fei’s body, pulling the model down for the height of the armrest. Xia Fei had a surprised, panicked expression while his feet kicked up and hands reached for whatever they could grab - as some sort of attempt to recover his lost balance or stop the imminent fall.

Then, in the third picture, the duo seemed to shift into another scene. As Xia Fei fell into Cheng Xiaoshi’s lap, the hand that was first wrapped around the model’s body was now latched into his right side. Xia Fei’s once confident, smug smirk had now turned into a panicked, forced smile. As for Cheng Xiaoshi, he was captured by the camera while also moving his other hand towards Xia Fei’s body, reaching to the yet unattended side.

By the fourth picture of that row, it was already obvious and clear as day: Cheng Xiaoshi, moved out of revenge, was tickling Xia Fei. The latter pressed his eyes shut, his hands desperately holding onto Cheng Xiaoshi’s wrists, his legs flailing while he seemed to try to push himself up and out of the other’s hold.

What started as some modeling to, supposedly, promote a new outfit brand had now turned into a playful banter between the two on stage. Four, five, six… the whole camera row seemed to be “bombed” by the shift of scenes and not even the photographer seemed to have a hold of the situation anymore.

“Take that back!” Cheng Xiaoshi groaned, his voice slightly distorted as Xia Fei’s palm pressed against his face, trying to push him away. “I’m the most handsome on camera and you know it!”

Xia Fei shook his head, his free arm now wrapping around his stomach in a vain attempt to shield himself from the angered tickling. “L-lehEHehet gohoho ahahalready!! AHAhah, s-sohohomeone, hehehelp me!”

“Boys, p-please…” The photographer sighed, the camera already lowered since there was no point in wasting more storage space with pictures like that. He felt his heart clenched while watching Xia Fei’s squirming wrinkling up his and Cheng Xiaoshi’s clothes, their play-fighting messing up their hairs and nearly landing a kick at the nearby props. “W-we need to finish this by the evening and-”

“Excuse me,” Lu Guang hummed, gently poking the man’s shoulder, “you are not going to use these pictures, right?”

“H-huh? No, I mean, we could even do it, but you can barely see their outfits at this point,” the man sighed, going back through the sequence of messed up shoots. “We are probably just discarding them.”

“So can I have some of them?” He smiled, having to hold back his reaction when the man nodded to his request and allowed him to save those pictures on his phone. Cheng Xiaoshi definitely didn’t look like a model at that point, Lu Guang thought, but looked cute enough to deserve having his photos preserved somewhere else.

#link click #link click tickling #shiguang daili ren #shiguang daili ren tickling #cheng xiaoshi #xia fei #cheng xiaoshi & xia fei #some bits of #lu guang x cheng xiaoshi #lee!xia fei #ticklish!xia fei #ler!cheng xiaoshi #tickle fic #debt payoff

39 notes · View notes

woantohae · 5 months ago

Text

Steal my girl || (Eddie Munson x reader x Bob Floyd) Crossover.

Summary: It was impossible not to fall for the charms of the sweet and kind Y/N. Eddie and Bob knew that very well. And they would do anything to win her heart.

《tags: fluff, angst, Bob being a sweetheart, Eddie being an idiot, physical fight》

This is dedidacted to @hahahafucku 🌟💌

As soon as I read the idea you asked me for, I got excited and had to start writing it right away. Joseph and Lewis are my favorites, and it would be interesting to see them interact in a movie or project.....maybe Avengers: Doomsday???

So here you go.... i hope you like it!!!

The bar was packed that Friday night. Y/N went from one place to another to take people's drink orders, then clean the bar table and repeat this process. Over and over again. It was exhausted, but she needed the money to pay the rent for the place she called home.

The sound of people talking was camouflaged by the band that was playing on the bar's small stage. Corrored Coffin. They used to play on the weekends and a lot of people went to see them. Y/N stayed out of it, since the job required that her attention be on the clients and that no fights form between them. However, as soon as she met Eddie Munson, she had to divide her attention so she could see him play from time to time.

Y/N looks up from the bar and notices how Eddie plays the guitar with dedication and seems to enjoy it every time. She smiles as soon as she notices how Eddie searches the audience for someone's gaze, and when he finds it he winks, causing the girl who was ordering the glasses to let out a giggle. It was unbelievable how Eddie managed to make the girl feel shy with just one look.

He was so carefree but that didn't mean he didn't take things seriously. His outgoing personality and confidence made the girl feel attracted. Well, that and Eddie's flirting with her.

The first time Eddie came to the bar, they hadn't met. He was so worried about not forgetting the chords that he barely had time to see the girl who was attentively observing the group. Also, after the performance some girls offered him a drink, and like a gentleman, Eddie couldn't say no. After that night, it became a habit for him to play at the bar, have a few drinks, flirt with some girls—and on some occasions, have more fun with them than he should—and go home smiling from ear to ear.

It wasn't until one night when a client got in over his head with the girl who always treated everyone with respect and sweetness, that he found himself in the position to intervene. Eddie didn't hesitate to hit the man who disrespected Y/N on the chin. He knew it could damage his reputation with the bar boss who had offered him and his band the job. But as soon as he looked at her tender smile, it was all worth it.

From that day on, Eddie never left her side. And as the days passed, he fell for the girl's charms. Eddie knew he couldn't hurt her, she was so perfect and he was so.... Eddie. So he only flirted with her as friends and didn't cross the line, even though inside he was dying to call her his girlfriend.

While the band thanked the audience for their good reception at the bar, Y/N was in charge of preparing drinks for the members.

"Thank you very much for listening to us tonight" Eddie thanks into the microphone "We promise it won't be the last time. Good night"

The people applaud and Eddie begins to put the guitar aside, then jumps off the stage and walks among the bodies receiving congratulations until he reaches the bar, where the girl is waiting for him.

"How's my number one fan doing?" Eddie sits on the little stool. He smiles sideways and his flirtatious expression appears in seconds when he is in front of her.

Y/N smiles and hands him his drink.

"Very good. Especially now that I have your attention; every fan's desire," she jokes, letting out a giggle. Eddie likes that sound of hers.

"Obviously you get special treatment" Eddie says grabbing the glass of beer.

She raises an eyebrow at the game between them. "Oh yeah?"

"Of course. I have to say it so you can keep giving me and the boys free beers," he jokes and she playfully slaps his arm.

"Get a room," says Gareth, reaching next to the curly-haired man.

“Hello Gareth,” Y/N greets, handing him her glass.

"Y/N. Will you guys just fucking admit that you're secretly dating?" Eddie hits the back of his head.

"More respect. There is a lady present" Y/N shakes her head in amusement, but feeling shy all of the sudden. The question lingers in the air.

Jeff arrives at the bar and she hands him her glass, to which he thanks her.

"You guys are incredible," she mentions. She walks away from the bar and Eddie frowns slightly.

"Where are you going?" He follows her with his eyes like a lost puppy.

"I have to serve the table over there" she points and Eddie realizes that it is the flight pilots' table "But i'm going to finish my shift after this table. I'll be back"

He takes her hand before she continues and she looks at him.

"Promise?"

"I promise, Munson."

Don't misunderstand him. There was nothing wrong with Y/N doing her job. Not at all.

But he knew who was at that table.

The boy with glasses who seemed to get nervous every time Y/N approached the table, while his friends teased him until the tips of his ears turned red. Eddie frowned slightly as he stood erect as the girl—his girl in his imagination—came with a smile to serve them. To the boy who always clumsily tried to conquer her as best he could, although he always became a sea of nerves. The boy who always offered to help her clean the tables when she was about to close. The boy who kept looking at her as if she were hanging the stars in the sky.... Eddie agreed with him on that.

That boy's name was Bob Floyd.

Bob was nervous.

It was the fifth time he had come this month and he had never managed to keep up the conversation with Y/N. His nerves got the best of him as the girl smiled at him when asking for her order, although by now she already knew it by heart: peanuts and a beer. His friends made fun of sweet Bob who could barely keep his gaze on her for more than 5 seconds. He was already tired of being a spectator of her beauty and charm, so tonight he would try to make a move.

He would ask her how her night was.

Jake is the first to elbow his arm to alert Bob of her arrival at their table. He stands up straight and a sideways smile spreads across his face, adjusting his glasses.

"Hey guys. How have you been?" she asks with a smile.

The boys knew about Bob's crush on the girl, so they never tried to flirt with her out of respect for him. Maybe the first time they came to the bar they made comments to the girl that made her blush, but seeing Bob's frozen state when he saw the girl, they decided to stop. They had never seen him that way, despite his innate shyness with girls. This time was different for him.

“Hey Y/N, did you miss us?” Bradley asks with an amused tone.

She nods her head, humoring him.

"The place doesn't feel the same without you here" she jokes.

"Ow, she misses us. We need to come more often," Jake mentions. He turns to look at Bob who is trying to work up the courage to finally talk to him. The blonde decides to help him "Right, Bob?"

Bob feels in the spotlight, so he shakes his head to affirm it.

"Yeah, yeah. We should come back here more often. Absolutely," he says hurriedly. She smiles tenderly at him "Hello Y/N."

"Hi, Bob"

The others look at each other and shake their heads. Bradley motions to leave them alone.

"Oh, look the pool table is free" he starts to stand up.

"Oh, come on. I haven't played a game in a while," Phoenix points out.

Bob becomes alarmed suddenly.

"Y/N, do you mind if we play while you bring us drinks? I'm sure Bob can help you and chat with you for a bit," Jake mentions, winking at the one who turns red.

"It's okay. No problem," she says and then looks at Bob. "You don't have to help me, I can bring them in a moment. It's my job after all."

Bob swallows and shakes his head, immediately getting up from his seat.

"I would love to be with you," he widens his eyes at the error of his words. "I mean... I would love to be with you... to help you with the drinks. Yeah, that..."

Y/N laughs and bites her cheek seeing how he gets. "I would love for you to help me. Come with me".

He follows her like his life depends on it. Y/N stops at the bar and begins to prepare the glasses with Bob watching her from across the counter. Eddie is just a few steps away from them, carefully observing the scene before his eyes.

“How was your night, Y/N?” he dares to ask.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. The good thing is that I haven't come across any idiots who want to take advantage or any liquid of strange origin that I have to clean up," she jokes with the last bit. Bob laughs with her.

"If someone is bothering you... I can take care of them" Bob says adjusting his glasses.

"I know, Bobby. I'm counting on you for it," she admits.

Y/N was confused by those little actions Bob did for her. She thought the boy in the uniform and brown hair was handsome and sweet. She could see how difficult it was for him to leave his comfort zone, but she still found him charming. Sometimes the girl was confused by his presence, but at the end of the day she always thought back to the boy with the unruly curls a couple of meters near them. Eddie Munson. Y/N was trying to stay out of the situation, because she was suspecting that Bob might have feelings for her. She didn't want to cause him any confusion or wrong idea that could hurt him, if she wasn't already clear with her own feelings for both boys.

“Y/N?” Bob asks her.

She looks up as she finishes with the glasses.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Bob. What's up?"

Before he can ask the question, a guy vomits on the ground a few feet away from them. Y/N makes a face and excuses herself to him to go clean up the mess, but not before telling him that the beers are ready for him and his group of friends. Bob sighs and begins to take the beer mugs as best he can.

"Hey" Bob turns to see a boy with curly hair come to his side. He adjusts his glasses.

"Hey"

"Is your name Bob?" He nods.

"Yes. And you are...?"

"Someone asking you what your intentions are with Y/N." Bob frowns and is surprised by the boy's behavior.

He had seen him a couple of times playing with his band and talking to Y/N.

"Sorry. I don't understand you," Bob tells him.

Eddie just laughs and raises his hands.

"I'm just asking, buddy," he mentions, "Y/N is my friend and I don't want anyone to hurt her. That's all."

Bob is not intimidated by him and clears his throat. "The last thing I want is to hurt her," Bob finishes before leaving with his beer mugs.

Eddie watches him leave, an uncomfortable feeling invading his being.

Y/N finishes her shift and prepares to join Eddie. She had promised him that she would return to him as soon as her shift was over. She applies lip balm and fixes her hair a little, hoping he'll make a move to let her know if he feels the same way. Some clue or indication that would help her understand that. She felt the tension between them, but she didn't want to get crazy ideas if it didn't turn out to be what she thought it was.

In the books she used to read, it always turned out that the boy flirtatiously teasing the girl was because he felt things. Y/N wanted to check it out that night. When she came out of the bathroom, she looked for Eddie. She smiled to herself as she approached the boy in the leather jacket, but seeing him chatting with a girl and as he held her waist with his arm, the girl stopped a few steps away from him.

Y/N puts her lips in a straight line and doesn't know whether or not to touch his shoulder to let him know she's ready. Eddie senses her presence and turns his body, but without letting go of the girl from his waist.

"Oh, hello. Everything okay?" Eddie asks almost nonchalantly. Y/N nods her head and smiles shyly.

"Yes, I just wanted to let you know that my shift is over" she explains, playing with her fingers.

Eddie opens his eyes feigning surprise.

"Oh, right. You see we were going to get together when you finished" he says and Y/N glances sideways at the girl who caresses the boy's disheveled hair "Would you mind letting me cancel it? I just met Rachel and we're enjoying it"

"Rebeca" the girl corrects.

"Rebeca" Eddie clarifies "I'm sorry"

Y/N feels a weight on her heart and tries to camouflage it with a small, heartless laugh. Eddie looks different, like he's not himself, which leaves the girl confused.

"Um... yeah, totally" Y/N feels her voice break for a moment.

"I'll leave you to continue having fun. See you around, Eddie." She turns on her heel and walks away from both of them as quickly as possible. Eddie notices how her gaze falls and he hates himself for it.

That stupid jealousy he felt made him do stupid things.

On the other hand, Y/N walks past the pilots' table, being watched by most of them, especially Bob. Who never took his eyes off her and witnessed how the girl who frequently invaded her thoughts was hurt by the boy with whom he had exchanged words a few moments ago. The boy with glasses clenches his jaw and rushes to follow the girl of his dreams.

Y/N leaves the bar and takes a deep breath as she walks away from the noise. She doesn't want anyone to see her cry, the mere fact of crying in public embarrasses her, so she goes to an area where the light can't find her. Except, Bob catches up with her.

“Y/N” Bob says as the girl turns her back to him. She hurries to dry her tears and lets out a small laugh, without turning around.

"Bob, what are you doing here?" she asks.

"Y/N. Look at me" he asks her.

"I'm fine, it's just that... the conditioning was almost on maximum and it gave me a cold" she lies.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone more firm.

She swallows and slowly turns around to look at him. Bob frowns slightly when he sees her in that state, he doesn't like it.

"I'm fine," she lies.

Bob shakes his head and hugs her in his arms. She lets herself be hugged and cries. She hides her face in the boy's chest and tries to prevent her tears from wetting his uniform. Bob strokes her hair in a gentle movement, while his other hand hugs her from behind. He didn't expect his night and his attempt to get closer to her to end like this. He had never seen her cry, and he hated that she did. Especially since a curly boy turns out to be the cause of it.

"I'm here. Cry all you need to cry, darling" he rocks her in his arms.

"But I'll wet your uniform," she laughs lightly.

He imitates her, but he doesn't really care.

"It's the least I could care about right now," he pulls away from her and cups her cheek, wiping away the trail of her tears with his thumb.

She sniffles and lowers her gaze. Bob lifts her chin and combs a strand of hair that falls across her forehead.

"You still look pretty" She smiles slightly. Their moment is interrupted by a boy's voice. Eddie Munson.

"Leave her. Now" Bob turns around and puts Y/N behind his body.

Suddenly, his companions and the members of Eddie's band chase him. Eddie stands at the height of the brunette blonde and tenses his jaw.

"You should go. She doesn't need any more trouble from you," Bob says firmly.

"Guys..." Y/N tries to say.

"I see what you're doing. You're trying to play the hero so she can finally see you through different eyes." Eddie scoffs. "Face it, Bob. That's not going to happen while I'm here."

Bob laughs unamusedly. His companions try to stop him, but he does not allow himself to be intimidated. Not now.

"Yeah, right. Meanwhile you give her false hope and flirt with another girl, leaving her crying." Bob intervenes. "You should focus on what you do instead. Because, honestly, you'll only hurt her."

Eddie can't take it anymore and throws the first blow. Bob receives it, but does not stop and fights back. Y/N tries to separate them with the help of the others.

"Guys, stop it!" The girl exclaims.

Jeff and Gareth take it upon themselves to separate Eddie and arrest him. Jake holds Bob so that the fight does not continue and does not escalate, while the girl proceeds to intertwine their fingers to make him stop. Y/N feels guilty and all she wants to do is run away from there. Eddie's breathing is labored by the adrenaline of the moment and his gaze falls to Bob and Y/N's intertwined hands. He feels his chest tighten and looks back at Y/N, who looks at him with disappointment.

“Y/N, I…” Eddie begins.

She shakes her head.

"Save it, Eddie. I can't go on with this," he admits, and feels the verbal vomit coming.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Eddie says.

She lets out a humorless laugh. "But you can do it, right?" She fights back

"It's my problem if I get hurt. I'm a grown woman and if I screw up, fine, I learn from it."

"Don't screw it up with him, then," Eddie admits. He wants to confess what he feels, but that little voice in his head prevents him from doing so.

She shakes her head, puzzled.

"It's true that we both have that flirting game. But I've always given you to understand that I have feelings for you," she admits and Bob next to her lowers his gaze.

"Unlike you, who confuse me with your dates and the trouble you get into with the girls you meet at the bar." The rest remain silent and not knowing whether to intervene or not. "Yes, maybe I'm attracted to Bob too. But I've always stayed away so in that way i don't hurt him or you."

Y/N lets out a sigh and bites her bottom lip. "I can't stay here," she says and lets go of Bob's hand to walk away from the place. Leaving Eddie deep in thought and Bob trailing behind her.

It's been a week since the incident outside the bar. She talked to her boss to see if she could use her days off and stay out of the bar for a while until she cleared her head. He understood her and accepted her without reproach. Y/N was sitting on the porch of her house looking at the starry night. Her emotions were getting the better of her, so she needed a way to distract herself.

Eddie had called her, texted her, and tried to visit, but she wasn't ready to face him, even though she knew she would have to at some point. Not now.

Suddenly he sees a car approaching and frowns because he can't see who it is. The car stops and the brunette gets out, adjusting his glasses in the process. She gets up and watches as he approaches slowly but surely.

“Hello,” Bob greets.

"Hey," she frowns when she sees him approaching.

"How did you know where I live?"

"Clark"

Her boss gave him the address.

She laughs softly and looks down, holding the blanket over her shoulders.

“Bob, I…”

“Y/N, I like you,” he admits. And before she can answer him, he continues, "I know it's a bad time to tell you after everything that happened, but I needed to confess. I've liked you ever since you helped me clean up the mess I made with the peanuts that night at the bar." She remains silent, waiting for him to continue. "You captivated me when you were the first girl who remembered my name every time I went out with the boys somewhere" he adds "But I fell in love with you when I knew I didn't want to stop seeing you. When every time I asked the boys when we would be back to the bar, because you were the only thing that motivated me to go. Just to see you."

Y/N sighs and smiles while her eyes watered.

"I couldn't keep it to myself anymore, I needed you to know, even though I know now is not a good time" Bob says "I'm not expecting you to feel the same, but if that's the case, only if that's the case... I can wait whatever it takes for me to have the honor of calling you mine."

She bites her lip, feeling her heart race.

"The last thing I want to do is put pressure on you so..." Bob is interrupted by her lips.

Bob can swear he's going to melt when he feels her soft lips on his. He hugs her with his arms around her waist and she clings to his jacket, feeling the blanket fall at her feet. They're suddenly out of breath, so Y/N pulls away with a smile on her face. Bob pouts and chases after her lips, but she stops him.

"I like you too, Bob," she admits. He smiles "I would like to try it with you. But slowly, so we can enjoy every moment of this"

He nods quickly.

"As you wish, darling." She laughs shyly.

Bob purses her lips into a pout. "For now, can we continue kissing for a little while longer, if that's okay?" he says into her lips, closing the distance.

"Of course"

They both kiss while the stars witness the beginning of this love story.

Hey! I hope you enjoyed it.

Honestly, this was one of my favorites one shots so far. I love Lewis as Bob and Joseph as Eddie, so when you ask this request I started writing it right away.

Eddie was a little mean here, but we all know he's a sweetheart.

If you like it, tell me what u think in the comments.

Thank you <3333

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #fanfic #fluff

59 notes · View notes

moon---fuu · 4 months ago

Text

« Good things don’t come for free »

::Reo mikage x fem!reader

It takes place after Blue Lock project, so all the characters are aged-up. (It gets suggestive at the end, so if your uncomfortable with it, don’t read it.).

Having, just, won his blackjack game, Reo turned his head to your side, a little smirk on his thin lips. His hair was styled in gel, you did for him two hours ago, while you too were getting ready together. He was wearing your favorite fresh cologne matching with his light gray suit. His purple eyes were dilated, from the euphoria of thoses games, and maybe some liquor.

« How was I, Love ? » he asked you, eyes glimmering mischievously.

You smiled back counting the money he gained from this game. He won all the bets, got you giggling all over him.

« Perfect, as always Baby…», you pressed your revealing chest on his back, while he was sitting in front of you. Then, you kissed, his cheek leaving a red stain on it. It sat so well on his face like it always belonged to him. Well, you belonged to him.

It was not your first night at a casino. And certainly not the last one either. Accompanied by you, Reo would always be down for a game. But truth to be told, if you weren’t there he wouldn’t even think of coming. The atmosphere, in those places, was so boring, that it would bring sleep to an insomniac. But for him, you were the prize of all these games.

Truthfully you had a thing for money, and it wasn’t a secret for anyone, even Reo. So when you told him early in your relationship that his money was appealing, he responded with a deep laugh.

Your straightforwardness made him laugh so much that now, every time he remembered your words, he would let out a little chuckle. Such an attractive woman down for his money, he didn’t see the problem with it. You were honest compared to all those poisonous snakes, who approached him with those same intentions.

But they don’t got your charms and antics. So Reo would be lying if he said you did not have him, all over you.

« Mika...let's go to the roulette …» you whispered, your lips brushing against his left ear. That nickname was so sugary on your lips.

« Whatever you want, Love.. » he said, getting up from his seat, his right hand finding her rightful place on your hips.

How could he, one of the most known soccer players in the world, be so enamored with you?

Well let’s say, that your first encounter was more than memorable.

Two years ago, you just began your morning service, in your new work : Barista. The coffee shop you were working for had the concept of a teddy bear kind of vibe. Very cozy, and convivial. Totally the opposite of you : feisty and energetic. What can you say, it paid well, so it was your best recourse at that time.

That day, having a line full of clients, you took one by one their request. Until you saw a purple haired man, with a three piece grey and white suit on, on his phone. You pondered about how attractive he was, but briefly brushed those thoughts out of your mind. The chances he asks you out are lower than zero. And even if you try to flirt with him, you have a big line of clients to manage. And let’s be frank, you were not in your best appearance either.

Until he came in front of you, taking his eyes off his phone to take his order. Your eyes interlocked, you saw his eyes softening. Confused, you had frown your eyebrows before waving in front of you.

« Sir ? What’s your order ? » you repeated.

« You… » he whispered. You did not hear him, so you turned around to see the menu even more confused.

« What ? What was it sir ? »

« Marry me. » he said more clearly this time.

Surprised, and even stunned, you turned back to his side before opepning your mouth. But none of the words you had in mind came out. Being the heir of the Mikage company, Reo always had what he wanted. That’s why when he felt his heart beating at the sight of you, he decided that you would be the next thing he wants.

It was like this that your relationship began.

To this day, you still do not understand how could he could be so attracted to you, what did he find that much appealing to marry you on the spot, when he belonged to such a privilégied status.

« So how much did we gain from now ? » you heard your boyfriend say to his assistant who was on his other side.

Hearing, how much you gained made you shiver and smile uncontrollably. « What a night » you thought.

« Love » you said, trapping his arm in yours, to hold it to your chest.

You were wearing a purple strapless dress, with a flattering cleavage letting a silver necklace with his initials sitting on your chest. Looking at you, Reo was biting his bottom lip, thinking of so many ways to get it off you.

« Yes ».

Taking your chin in his hand, your doe eyes swallowed him.

« Let me play, please Baby… » you used your charms on him knowing well he can’t resist and he would gladly give you on a silver plate all things you desired.

« Hm…want to play alongside me ? » you smiled at his response and nodded. He caressed your cheek and took your jaw in his hand to steal a sweet kiss from you.

Arriving at the table, Reo sat before you, patting his laps for you to sit on. Without hesitation, you sat on his lap, the rest of the players on the table looking at you both.

« Nice to meet you, ladies and gentlemen » your boyfriend began.

« So are we playing or not ? » you said after hearing them introduce themselves, smiling innocently. You recognized some other famous sports athletes accompanied by their significant other, and some other wealthy heirs from big companies.

The game began, as the dealer of the casino began to annonce, the bet and what colors correspond to what outcome. Impatient, you leaned against the table letting your necklace lean forward too.

« Go first, Sweets » Reo says, as he kissed your exposed shoulder. You began to choose the number you wanted to play with.

« Let’s go with fourteen, my favorite number » you said so sweetly that your boyfriend let out a chuckle. How can you be adorable when your thinking about stuffing the bets…

You eyed the roulette, as the dealer made it roll around, not leaving your number from your eye. Unfortunately for you, you lost.

« Aw, what a shame…right ?» you pouted. Reo held your waist, looking at your pouting face.

« Don’t worry, Love I got you. My turn now. »

All the people around the table swallowed hard. When Reo Mikage was going full all up he wasn’t playing around. And that’s what you like more about him. You like to try and tease him about his money, but truth to be told his ambition and confidence had so much more value in your eyes. When he puts his mind into something, he does not stop until he get it. Some may say he is just being bratty, but for you a driven man was the jackpot.

Manshine City’s chameleon, chose his number based on your birthday, and made his bet. The roulette rolled up a second time, before it stopped on it. You grin even more, and turn to his side to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

« I knew my man was the best one…» you cooed, adjusting yourself on his lap. He smiled and left some light caress on your hip.

You both played, letting the others take their turns, until you eventually got bored, and decided to stop. Even if you ended up losing from stopping the play in the middle of the game, you still had a smile on your face.

No one in this room knew, but this Casino was under the Mikage company. Let’s say it, you would always win in the end. You just enjoyed playing with chance, especially in the arms of such an handsome man.

« What a night, right Love ? » you walked by Reo side, hand in hand, leaving the casino. You wrapped on you, a white fur coat Reo recently bought you.

He nodded, admiring the reflection of the stars in your eyes, as you looked at the clear night sky above you two, before entering his car he opened for you.

« These nights are always perfect with you.. » he flirted back as you crossed your legs after entering his expensive car. He, then too, entered the car, seating by your side before closing it and turning over to you.

You two exchanged a glance full of mischief, playfulness and love. And when you saw his repressed smirk, you did not think twice before taking his tie in your hand to kiss him tenderly.

Your kisses were at the image of your relationship : playful, surprising, filled with affection. You let his tongue get her way in your mouth, discovering it like it wasn’t for the umpteenth time that she was there. Your heart racing, and his hand over your body, your mind was blurry from the intimate contact.

You too were so engrossed in each other that you did not notice his assistant outside, making sure that no one would approach the car. Especially the paparazzi who would die for this kind of scoop.

« What a hassle… » his assistant sighed, brushing his light gray hair back.

As the windows of your boyfriend’s car getting foggy from your breathings, you were thinking about how, maybe, you were not here just for his money after all..

❥I’m writing what i wanted to read..

::Moon

#bllk manga #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk fluff #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock reo #reo mikage #reo x reader #bllk reo #mikage reo x reader #nagi seishiro

84 notes · View notes

mehbles · 5 months ago

Text

Work life balance

Chapter 1: The Stretch of Life

Simon didn’t always live this way. Once upon a time, he had been a man of effortless charm and youthful energy, a rising star in the fast-paced world of car sales. Back then, he’d been lean, sharp, and impeccably dressed. His crisp suits hugged his form in all the right places, projecting the perfect image of confidence and control. Customers trusted Simon because he looked like the kind of man who had his life together.

But at 25, Simon’s life had taken a very different turn.

The once-svelte salesman now found himself confined to a largely sedentary existence, the fast pace of his early career giving way to long hours seated behind a desk, scrolling through spreadsheets, and sipping from a well-worn mug of coffee laced with too much cream and sugar. His evenings were no longer filled with post-work gym sessions or socializing with friends at the local pub. Instead, they revolved around his two great loves: beer and cake.

It had started innocently enough—a cold pint after work to unwind, a treat from the bakery to celebrate a good sale. But soon, Simon had come to rely on those indulgences to punctuate the monotony of his days. The occasional pint turned into a nightly six-pack. The celebratory slice of cake became a nightly ritual, and then sometimes breakfast, too. Simon’s fridge was now stocked with frosted treats, craft beers, and little else. He told himself it was temporary, a small comfort in a stressful job. But the scale didn’t lie.

Simon’s body had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. His once-trim stomach had swelled into a soft, rounded belly that hung over his waistband when he sat down. His love handles spilled out at his sides, pushing against the fabric of his once-tailored suits. It was his shirts that bore the brunt of his transformation. The buttons now strained to keep him contained, creating unsightly gaps at the front, especially around his navel. Simon found himself tugging at the fabric throughout the day, hoping to conceal the evidence of his overindulgence. It was a losing battle.

Every morning, Simon stared at himself in the mirror as he fastened his tie. His jawline, once sharp and defined, was now softened by a growing double chin. His cheeks were rounder, giving him a boyish, almost cherubic appearance that didn’t match the man he thought he still was. His thighs pressed against the seams of his trousers, and his belt dug into his waist, leaving red marks that lingered long after he’d taken it off. Still, Simon clung to his old wardrobe, unwilling to admit that he’d outgrown it.

At work, Simon’s coworkers had started to notice his transformation. No one said anything outright, of course, but there were subtle comments—jokes about office snacks, offhand remarks about “bulking up,” and knowing glances when he helped himself to a second (or third) donut in the breakroom. Simon laughed along, pretending not to care, but inside, he was deeply aware of every pound he’d gained.

The worst part, though, was how it affected his job. Selling cars required confidence, and Simon’s had taken a hit. He felt self-conscious meeting with clients, especially the sleek, athletic types who came in looking for luxury vehicles. He imagined them judging him, silently wondering how someone who couldn’t keep his own life in check could sell them a car. His sales numbers had started to slip, and his manager had begun dropping hints about “recommitting to the hustle.”

But the hustle was the last thing on Simon’s mind. He was too tired, too comfortable in his routine of indulgence. After a long day at work, all he wanted to do was sink into his couch with a pint of beer in one hand and a slice of chocolate cake in the other. He told himself he’d start fresh tomorrow—cut back on the beer, swap the cake for a salad, maybe even go for a jog. But tomorrow always seemed to bring another excuse.

One evening, Simon stood in front of his bathroom mirror after his nightly shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. The light overhead was harsh, illuminating every inch of his body. He stared at his reflection, taking in the changes that had crept up on him. His belly, round and heavy, jutted out in stark contrast to his spindly arms and legs. His chest, once firm and flat, now had a slight sag to it, the beginnings of what he’d heard cruelly referred to as “man boobs.” His love handles curved out from his sides, and his navel was now a deep crease in the center of his bulging stomach.

He poked at his belly experimentally, watching it jiggle slightly before settling back into place. He sighed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that barely fit anymore and a t-shirt that clung to his midsection like a second skin. He felt a pang of shame, but it was quickly drowned out by the thought of the leftover cheesecake waiting for him in the fridge.

As Simon settled onto his couch, fork in hand, he told himself it wasn’t so bad. Sure, he’d put on a few pounds, but he was still young. He could turn things around whenever he wanted. For now, though, he was content to indulge, to let the softness of his body mirror the comfort of his life.

Chapter 2: A Split Decision

The day started like any other for Simon. He rolled out of bed, feeling the familiar tightness in his waist as he tugged on his trousers. They were snug—too snug—but Simon convinced himself they’d stretch out over the course of the day, like they always did. Still, fastening the button required a deep exhale and a firm tug. He slid into his blazer and glanced in the mirror. The fit wasn’t ideal, but he told himself it was fine. He’d be sitting at his desk most of the day anyway. No one would notice.

Or so he thought.

It wasn’t even lunchtime when Simon’s day took a turn. A client had come in, a wiry older man with an angular face and an easy grin. He wanted to see a car—one of the new models Simon had just added to the inventory—but it wasn’t parked in the showroom. It was in the back lot. Simon, ever the professional, plastered on a confident smile and assured the client it would only take a moment. Inside, though, he was dreading it. The lot wasn’t far, but it was cold outside, and Simon hated the idea of leaving the comfort of his desk.

As soon as Simon stepped out into the crisp January air, he felt the chill bite through his clothes. He tugged his blazer tighter around him, already regretting his decision to skip breakfast and replace it with coffee and cake. His belly grumbled in protest as he trudged toward the far end of the lot, where the car was supposedly parked. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over rows of gleaming vehicles. Simon wiped at his brow. Was it that warm, or was it just him?

Halfway to the car, Simon realized he was out of breath. His chest rose and fell with an embarrassing intensity as he tried to mask his discomfort. His legs felt heavy, his thighs brushing against each other more noticeably than ever. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and his tie felt like a noose. He couldn’t stop tugging at it.

When he finally spotted the car, Simon felt a wave of relief. It was a sleek, black sedan, parked at the far end of the lot. “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, picking up the pace. As he did, he felt it—a slight tearing sensation. It was faint, like the sound of paper being slowly ripped in two. He froze, a cold pit forming in his stomach.

No. It couldn’t be.

Simon glanced around, his face reddening as he reached behind himself to feel for the damage. His worst fears were confirmed when his fingers brushed over the unmistakable tear in his trousers. The seam along the back had split, exposing a sliver of his underwear to the chilly air. He stood there for a moment, paralyzed with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. How had it come to this?

Desperate to keep his composure, Simon pressed forward, hoping the client wouldn’t notice. Each step only made the tear worse, the fabric pulling further apart as his thighs strained against the already overburdened material. By the time he reached the car, Simon’s shirt had come untucked, his face was slick with sweat, and his trousers were barely holding together.

“Here it is,” Simon said, his voice breathless. He gestured toward the sedan, trying to distract from his disheveled appearance. The client raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing Simon’s discomfort, but said nothing.

Simon fumbled with the keys, his hands clammy and unsteady. The car beeped as it unlocked, and he pulled open the driver’s door with an exaggerated flourish. “Take a look inside. Great legroom,” he said, forcing a laugh.

The client climbed into the car, giving Simon a chance to step back and assess the damage. He turned his back to one of the parked SUVs and discreetly tugged at his blazer, trying to cover the gaping hole in his trousers. His heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from sheer humiliation.

When the client finally emerged, Simon was ready to get this over with. “It’s perfect,” the man said, oblivious to Simon’s misery. “I’ll take it.”

Simon forced another smile, nodding as he guided the man back toward the showroom. Each step felt like a lifetime, the ripped seam flapping with every movement. By the time they reached the desk, Simon was ready to collapse.

As soon as the paperwork was signed, Simon all but ran to the staff bathroom. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the wall, letting out a long, shaky breath. His reflection in the mirror told the full story: his sweat-drenched shirt, his red face, the tear in his trousers that exposed far more than he’d like.

Chapter 3: The Weigh-In and Gym Sign-Up

Simon sat slumped on his couch that evening, still reeling from the humiliation of the day. He had managed to sneak out of the office with his torn trousers hidden under his blazer, but the embarrassment lingered. His belly pressed into his thighs as he hunched forward, a half-eaten slice of cheesecake on the coffee table in front of him. He stared at it, feeling a pang of guilt. Something had to change.

The next morning, Simon woke with a rare sense of determination. After dragging himself out of bed, he rifled through his closet, searching for something loose and comfortable. He pulled on an old hoodie and sweatpants that had been shoved to the back of a drawer, a relic from his fitter days. The waistband of the sweatpants dug into his belly slightly, but at least they fit. Today was the day. He was going to sign up for the gym.

The gym was only a few blocks from Simon’s apartment, but by the time he arrived, he was already winded. The walk had seemed longer than he remembered, and he was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as he stepped inside. The sleek, modern interior was a stark contrast to Simon’s sweaty, rumpled appearance. Rows of treadmills and weight machines gleamed under bright lights, and the faint hum of pop music filled the air.

A young, impossibly fit man behind the front desk greeted Simon with a cheerful smile. “Hey there! Looking to sign up?”

Simon hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. His oversized hoodie couldn’t fully disguise the curve of his belly or the way his sweatpants clung to his thighs. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Great!” The man’s enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. “We’ll start by getting your details and doing a quick fitness assessment. Follow me.”

Simon reluctantly followed him to a small office tucked in the corner of the gym. Inside, a digital scale and a body composition analyzer sat on the floor, waiting. “Step on the scale, and we’ll get your weight first,” the trainer said.

Simon hesitated, his palms suddenly clammy. He hadn’t weighed himself in months—maybe even a year. Steeling himself, he stepped onto the scale, feeling the cold metal under his feet. The machine beeped, and the numbers blinked before settling on the final result.

Simon stared at the screen. 256 pounds.

For a moment, he thought there must have been a mistake. He remembered being 185 pounds not that long ago—or at least, it felt like not that long ago. Now, his weight had soared far beyond what he’d imagined. He felt his cheeks flush as the trainer jotted down the number.

“Alright,” the trainer said, unfazed. “Next, we’ll take some basic measurements and talk about your fitness goals.”

Simon nodded stiffly, his mind still reeling. As the trainer wrapped a tape measure around his waist, chest, and thighs, Simon couldn’t help but notice how tight the tape felt around his belly. He wanted to disappear.

After the assessment, Simon was led back to the front desk, where he filled out his membership forms. “You’re all set,” the trainer said with a grin. “When do you want to start?”

Simon forced a smile. “Uh, tomorrow, I guess.” It was a lie. The idea of walking into the gym, surrounded by people who were fitter and stronger than he’d ever been, filled him with dread. But he couldn’t back out now.

As he left the gym, Simon felt a strange mix of emotions. He was embarrassed by how far he’d let himself go, but there was also a glimmer of hope. Signing up was a step in the right direction, even if it was a small one.

That evening, Simon stood in front of his bathroom mirror again, the memory of the scale’s display still fresh in his mind. He pinched at his belly, watching it jiggle slightly, and sighed. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he had to try.

#belly gainer #exjock #fat moobs #fat muscle #gainerjock #gaining #ex twink #gaining fat #male bhm #musclechub #fat male #male gaining #gainer stories

87 notes · View notes

marlynnofmany · 7 months ago

Text

A Feat of Minor Daring

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

If you have to wait around for a client to bring you something to deliver, waiting on a landing pad with spectacular scenery is not a bad way to do it. Most of the rest of the crew was inside the ship — shuffling the boxes from our other client of the day, and doing any number of other mundane things — so it was just Paint and me enjoying the alien landscape. Their loss.

I was appreciating the views, while Paint was really there for the smells. I kept pointing out particularly vivid splashes of color among the sea-anemone-shaped trees, while Paint caught whiffs of enticing things.

“Ooh, what do you think that sharp scent is?” Paint asked when a cool breeze gusted past. She pulled her heat scarf closer. She was also wearing a heat sticker plastered to her scaly chest, which seemed like overkill to me, but I wasn’t a coldblooded lizard alien. I just had a sweater for the chill.

“Your guess is better than mine,” I said, sniffing the air. “I’m going to go with ‘some sort of plant.’”

A cheerful jumble of musical notes chimed from the treeline where winged fauna hid among tentacle-branches. It sounded remarkably like several ringtones going off at the same time. I was about to ask Paint if she thought it was animals imitating tech, or maybe just a coincidence of evolution, when wild flapping heralded an explosion of feathers across the clearing.

Colorful bird-things soared over us, their wings a riot of fiery shades and their bodies lined in speckled back feathers over bright blue scales. It was a glorious streak of color, and they sounded like a pile of phones all ringing at once. I had to grin at the sight.

Paint just said, “I think they’re the source of the smell. How lovely.”

Then a straggler flapped out after the others, and I stopped grinning.

It was trailing a plastic bag caught around its foot, just like the ones still causing trouble for animals on Earth. The poor thing must have been scavenging in town. By the time it collapsed halfway across the clearing, I was already moving, tugging my sweater off and sneaking up on the bird.

Paint squeaked, “What are you doing?”

“It needs help,” I said, keeping my voice low. The alien bird was breathing hard from the effort of fighting that much extra drag, and hopefully no additional problems. It hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Why is that your responsibility?” Paint hissed in concern. “It could bite you! You don’t even have scales, and you’re not wearing an exo suit! Why did you just take off your soft armor?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” I murmured. “But somebody’s got to.” I eased forward and took a long-legged jump to land with one foot squarely on the bag, then tackled the bird to wrap it in my sweater.

It, unsurprisingly, objected. And it was stronger than it looked.

“What are you doing??” Paint repeated. “You’ll get hurt!”

I fought to get a hand around the bird’s head and keep it from pecking me anywhere important while also holding its wings in. It did its level best to accomplish fight and flight at the same time. It even regurgitated a splash of food, which I managed to barely dodge. It smelled unpleasantly fishy.

But I got the bird’s head pinned down in a way that hopefully didn’t restrict its breathing, and I ended up crouched over the thing using my legs to keep its wings folded. My other hand was doing the important job of preventing it from wriggling free. That didn’t leave any hands for removing the bag.

“Paint! I need your claws!”

“What? No!” She sounded more than a little panicked.

“Just get the bag off its foot!” I said, jerking my head back to where the bag rustled behind me. “Then I’ll let it go!”

“That doesn’t look safe!” Paint insisted.

The bird bucked and thrashed. “It’s not going to get any safer! Come on, it needs help!”

Paint hissed a string of what were probably swear words as she darted forward and approached the talons. I couldn’t see what she was doing from my angle, but I heard the rustle of plastic. I wanted to ask how it was going and give pointers, maybe suggest stepping on the bag to hold it tight, though I didn’t know if that would help or not. I kept quiet.

“Got it!” Paint leapt back, holding up the torn bag in triumph.

“Great!” I said. “Does its leg look injured? Did the bag dig into it or cut off circulation as far as you can tell?”

Paint stepped forward gingerly, then shook her head. “No, the scales look fine.”

I let out a breath. “Extra great. Okay, stand back.”

Paint scampered over to stand by the ship, taking the bag with her, while I got my feet under me. In as smooth a motion as I could, I jumped sideways and rolled away, trailing my sweater. I would have preferred to stand and exit with dignity, but this was faster. Dignity wasn’t worth getting pecked in the knee.

In a whirlwind of feathers, the scaly bird scrambled into the sky. I sat up to watch it go. While I expected a dramatic arc into the distance, it only got as far as the biggest amoeba-tree. I worried that it was injured after all. Then I saw the cluster of tiny beaks that reached up as it landed.

I grinned all over again, watching the reunited family greet each other. A rustle of plastic told me Paint stood beside me. I looked up at her. “We did it.”

She watched the nest with wide eyes, clutching the bag. “We did. And it mattered.”

“It always matters.” I got to my feet with a wince, hoping that wasn’t going to be a bruise on my hip. “Thanks for helping. That was a deed well done.”

Paint was still staring. “Do you think it will have enough food for all the hatchlings? After spitting some at you?”

A glance told me the bird was feeding its young in the time-honored vomity fashion. “I hope so,” I said. “Scavenging for more might lead to another trash adventure, though maybe this was a learning experience.”

Paint stood up straighter. “Let’s check the species database and see what it eats,” she said. “That smells a lot like the canned fish I’ve been saving. We can put it out where they’ll find it.”

“A fine plan,” I told her. “Let’s get cleaned up first so we don’t leave bird germs in the kitchen.”

We’d only taken a couple steps toward the ship before Eggskin met us at the door with concern on their scaly face. “Kavlae said there was some sort of commotion outside, and someone might be hurt?” They brandished the medscanner.

Before I could answer, Paint held up the crumpled plastic bag. “We saved a creature that was trapped in this!”

Eggskin cocked their head, clearly about to ask why, but Paint was still talking. She gave a dramatic recounting of the whole affair. Eggskin turned on the scanner and checked us both for contamination while she talked. Clear. (Whew.)

“…And now it’s safely up in the nest with its hatchlings, and it wouldn’t have made it up there if not for us, and they would have starved and died, and we saved all of them!” Paint said, waving the bag. “It always matters! Now where’s the can opener? I want to leave them some of my fish.”

Eggskin blinked. “Third drawer on the right, where it should be. Unless someone’s misplaced it again. Put that in the biohazard bin and wash your hands.”

“Got it, thanks!” Paint was gone in a rustle of plastic.

Eggskin looked up at me. “Is ‘pack bonding’ contagious?”

I laughed. “I couldn’t tell you. But it always matters. Would you mind keeping an eye on that nest over there while I go change clothes? I’ll wash my hands too.”

Eggskin sighed. “Please do.”

They stood outside the ship watching the distant family of scaly birds, wearing an expression like they were trying to figure something out. I smiled and left to get cleaned up. I’d check the species database afterward. Maybe I had some food they’d like too.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#check out the link; it's very cool!#and I wrote this story the morning after Thanksgiving #between visits with family for copious festivities #they all wanted to read it too #which is nice #my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #pack bonding #sci-fi #writeblr #writers of tumblr

126 notes · View notes

domm1etae · 10 months ago

Text

Under His Control

san x wooyoung

oneshot | mdni

1.2k

In the high-stakes world of Choi Corp, CEO San and his devoted secretary Wooyoung navigate a twisted relationship of power, submission, and pleasure, where boundaries are pushed, and desires are fully satisfied

nsfw tags under

m/m, top san, bottom woo, anal sex, rough sex, dominance, submission, public sex, humiliation, degradation, voyeurism, light bondage, forced orgasm, brat taming, sex toys, exhibitionism, aftercare, dirty talk, begging, discipline, deepthroating, office sex, kissing

author's note: first time writing Woosan, yay! just a reminder that my stories are purely fictional and are not intended to represent the idols’ real-life personalities

San is the young and charismatic CEO of Choi Corp, a man known for his relentless drive and handsome looks. Wooyoung, his stunning secretary, is always by his side, ensuring that everything runs smoothly. San's life is a whirlwind of meetings, business deals, and constant pressure as he works tirelessly to expand his company. Fortunately, Wooyoung is there to support him, handling paperwork, managing schedules, and taking care of business matters with meticulous precision. He's the perfect secretary, always looking sharp and working even harder.

But there's more to Wooyoung's role than just being an exceptional employee. What really makes Wooyoung San's favorite is his ability to relieve San's stress and frustration in the most intimate ways. San doesn't hesitate to bend Wooyoung over the backseat of his car on the way to meetings, or take him in the elevator, on the office couch, or even pressed up against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows—just because he can. Wooyoung, always willing and eager, lets San have his way with him anywhere, anytime, until he's left a blabbering, drooling mess who can barely stand.

Wooyoung takes it all without a word of complaint, embracing his role with shameless enthusiasm. He's more than willing to do anything to keep San satisfied, his only goal to have his slutty hole filled with San's cock. He never hesitates to beg and cry for it, always ready to hop on whenever San demands. Wooyoung's favorite moments are when San is focused on an important project, and he's on his knees under the desk, deepthroating San’s cock. He takes it all in, choking and crying, and hums around San’s length when he feels him respond.

When Wooyoung gets too bratty, San knows exactly how to handle him. He'll stuff one of Wooyoung’s fancy ties into his mouth, bind him to a chair, and shove a vibrator up his ass, leaving him to writhe and whimper in a corner of the office while San finishes his work. San loves watching Wooyoung like this—flushed cheeks, tear-streaked face, a trembling, desperate mess.

And when a crucial meeting with big clients isn't going well, San has a unique way of sealing the deal. He offers them the chance to fuck Wooyoung, right there on the office couch. San watches as Wooyoung is pounded by strangers, never breaking eye contact, knowing Wooyoung won’t complain. After all, Wooyoung lives for this—getting his loose hole used and abused.

Later, once the office is quiet again, San will shower Wooyoung with kisses, thanking him for his service. He’ll buy him expensive underwear as a reward, and Wooyoung will make sure to show San just how good he looks in his new boxers every time.

Despite all the intimacy and heat between them, the dynamic between San and Wooyoung is always clear. Wooyoung knows his place, understands the power San holds over him, and he thrives on it. San, on the other hand, enjoys the control he has over Wooyoung, both in and out of the office. He appreciates how Wooyoung's submission feeds his own ego, how it fuels his desire to dominate.

One of San's favorite things to do after a particularly stressful day is to strip Wooyoung down to nothing and have him stand before the large glass windows of his penthouse office. The city sprawls out beneath them, the night alive with lights and motion. San loves to see Wooyoung’s reflection in the glass, standing naked and vulnerable, knowing that anyone could look up and see him in such a compromising position. The thrill of exposure makes Wooyoung’s cock hard, and San takes his time, teasing him until Wooyoung is a shaking mess, desperate to be fucked.

Sometimes, San makes Wooyoung wait, prolonging his agony just to watch him squirm. He’ll circle around him, whispering filthy things in his ear, grazing his fingers over Wooyoung’s sensitive skin but never giving him the release he craves. Wooyoung’s begging only makes San more determined to draw out the torment, loving the power he wields over Wooyoung’s body and mind.

When San finally decides to give Wooyoung what he wants, it’s always worth the wait. San’s touch turns rough, his words sharper, as he bends Wooyoung over the desk or forces him against the cold glass. The contrast between the cool surface and San’s hot, demanding presence drives Wooyoung wild, pushing him to the edge with every thrust. Wooyoung’s cries echo through the office, a symphony of pleasure and pain that San never tires of hearing.

But San isn’t just satisfied with owning Wooyoung’s body; he wants to possess every part of him. This is why he often tests Wooyoung’s loyalty, throwing challenges his way to see just how far he’ll go to please him. Whether it’s taking on additional work tasks without complaint or submitting to even more degrading sexual acts, Wooyoung never fails to prove his devotion. Each time Wooyoung passes these tests, San rewards him with more attention, more affection, and sometimes, more control in their encounters, though it’s always temporary and on San’s terms.

On occasion, San will take Wooyoung out of the office, bringing him to exclusive parties where the elite of the business world gather. Wooyoung is always the perfect companion, attentive and charming, but behind closed doors, San enjoys showing off just how much Wooyoung belongs to him. In private lounges, away from prying eyes, San will have Wooyoung on his knees, performing for him and anyone San deems worthy of watching. It’s another form of power play, another way for San to exert his dominance, and Wooyoung submits to it all, knowing that it pleases his boss.

San’s possessiveness over Wooyoung doesn’t just stem from a desire to control him, but also from a twisted sense of care. He likes to pamper Wooyoung, buying him expensive gifts and taking care of his needs, but it’s always with the understanding that Wooyoung belongs to him. The gifts are a reminder of that ownership, tokens of San’s dominance. And Wooyoung, ever the eager submissive, takes pride in these gifts, flaunting them whenever possible, as if to say, "Look how much my boss loves me."

Even though their relationship is far from conventional, there’s an undeniable bond between San and Wooyoung. They understand each other in ways no one else could, their connection built on power, submission, and a mutual satisfaction that goes beyond the physical. Wooyoung may be San’s plaything, but he’s also the one person who truly sees San for who he is—both the ruthless CEO and the man who craves control in every aspect of his life.

And for Wooyoung, that’s enough. He doesn’t need love or romance; he’s content with the attention, the rewards, and the sense of purpose he gets from serving San. In his mind, there’s no greater pleasure than being the one to satisfy San’s every need, no matter how twisted or demanding. It’s what keeps him coming back, day after day, ready and willing to be used however San desires.

In the end, both men get what they want—San, the perfect blend of control and satisfaction, and Wooyoung, the fulfillment of his deepest desires. Together, they create a world where power and pleasure are intertwined, where boundaries are pushed, and where both of them find exactly what they’re looking for in each other.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #kpop #kpop smut #atz #yeosang fanfic #smut #woosan #ateez woosan #wooyoung #choi san #san smut #wooyoung smut #woosan smut #woosan fic

107 notes · View notes

sashiavi · 2 years ago

Text

•······🍑·······• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓔𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•·······🍑······•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 2023

#8•𝚂𝚎𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗•#8

𝙰𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙺𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚑 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ².⁷ᵏ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

ᵀʰᶦˢ ᴾᶦᵉᶜᵉ ᴹᵃʸ ᵇᵉ ⱽᶦᵉʷᵉᵈ ᴬˢ ᴰᵘᵇᶜᵒⁿ ⁻ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᴰᶦˢᶜʳᵉᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᴵˢ ᴬᵈᵛᶦˢᵉᵈ

This was supposed to be a simple endeavor. Scout out a new location for Kaveh's client and be done with it. But no, of course not, of course something had to go wrong. Kaveh alone was already a liability to his own health. Add [Name] into the mix? You've got yourself twin tornadoes, barrelling tail first into trouble and chaos. Now they weren't lost, insists Kaveh, just taking the scenic route. Yeah, the scenic route joins [Name]. Alhaitham's eye twitches, he wasn't born yesterday unlike these two bone heads. He can see the slight confused head tilt Kaveh gives towards the map in his hands and the anxious glances their other travel companion gives the forest around them.

Alhaitham couldn't remember how they even managed to convince him to tag along, he wasn't a part of their respective Darshans, nor did he have the freetime. The forest was humid, typical for Sumeru's tropical landscape, his body felt clammy and gross. At least they weren't in the desert he supposed, there'd be a lot more whining and a vast lack of shade. Plus, he'd rather have his boots caked in sticky mud and leaves than have sand in his shoes.

"If you keep scowling like that you'll age worse than you already are." The prissy voice of Kaveh snaps him out of his train of thought.

Alhaitham's eye twitches again, Archons, sometimes he wanted to strangle him. Squeeze his neck while his pretty vermilion eyes roll back into his skull, forcing pretty glittery tears to roll down his cheeks. What..? Nothing. If there were someone reading his mind he'd tell them it was a joke. Blink if you're a mind reader. He ignores the passing glance [Name] gives him, blinking in concern, preparing herself for an explosive argument. Alhaitham signs and wipes his palm over his face, perhaps he ought to relax, it was a rare opportunity to be partnered up with the rowdy pair.

"Gah! What in the name of the Sevens- What is that!?" Never Mind. Relaxation ruined. Kaveh's screeches were back in his ears. Alhaitham's irritance is quick to fade when his eyes reach towards the sound. Kaveh sputters and coughs, frantically swatting a thick pink dust away from his face. [Name] was not faring any better, equally as coated in the mystery cloud as Kaveh. Alhaitham is quick to find the source, an otherworldly flower, stained pink and red with ornate petals. The plant had sprayed some sort of spore or pollen over the pair, perhaps a defense mechanism of some sort - Alhaitham was no Amurta student, this was definitely out of his realm of knowledge. He sucks in a breath, staunching over and brushing the pollen from the two, ignoring the sneeze you blow into his face. The pollen tickles at his nose, nearly forcing his throat shut, his body was definitely aberrant to inhale whatever the substance was.

The group manage to control the spore cloud, swiftly trekking down the path to avoid the majority of the affected area. A thought strikes Alhaitham; Was the plant toxic? He hadn't particularly worried about it in the moment, and the group seemed to be fine. Visibly, Kaveh and [Name] were stained a little pink, a thin sheen of dust covering their hair and clothes. Otherwise, they seemed completely normal, even though he wasn't feeling any concerning side effects - Apart from an itchy throat and a runny nose.

"How are you feeling?" He directs to no one in particular. The pair hum and shrug in response, they seemed to be fine. The group continue on their search for the elusive location for Kaveh's next big project.

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

They were not fine

At least an hour had passed since the pollen incident, everything had felt fairly normal. If you discount the warm, tingling feeling the group felt in their tummies. Until now, symptoms were at an all time low.

Kaveh was not faring well. His stomach felt cramped, tight and nauseating, sending cold shivers down his arms. His legs wobbled as he walked, he had half the mind to catch any imposing stumbles. His skin was warm, unnaturally so, clammy, sweaty and cold, unusual for the Sumeru weather. Was he sick? He felt feverish, the unbearable kiss of a migraine threatened to break in his head.

One glance at [Name] and even he could tell she was in a similar state, face flushed and breaths shaky. Small Kitten-like cries whimper from her throat with every few steps she makes. She hugs her arms to her body, eyes glazed and bleary, barely focused on the road ahead.

Alhaitham notices the state of his travel companions, swaying from one side of the path to the other, boots catching on pebbles and nearly toppling them over. It's Kaveh that's knocked down first, landing right on his knees, scuffing them into the mud below. [Name] spins around blearily, mumbling a short 'huh?' Barely managing to keep herself upright. Alhaitham is quick to his side, knees bent, hands hovering over his form.

"Kaveh, are you alright? Can I touch you?" He asks. Kaveh groans and nods dopily in response, a large frown sits itself on his face. Alhaitham presses his palm to the blonde's forehead, he was definitely warm, unnaturally so. He keens into his hand, eyebrows scrunched inwards, his discomfort well shown on his face. Alhaitham's head swims for what to do next, give him water? Some food? Let him rest? He wasn't well versed in the human body - Humans in general for that matter.

Alhaitham slides his palm to Kaveh's cheek, just as warm, as he suspected. The blonde hiccups a small cry, squirming in his spot in the mud. Alhaitham brings two fingers to Kaveh's neck, pressing into the hot pulse point under his chin. Kaveh keens, moaning breathily at the hard press of his fingers at his throat. He must really be feeling sick if he was moaning in pain like that - Alhaitham muses.

Kaveh whines as he pulls away from him, crouching and sifting through his pack, ready to get to the bottom of the situation. Alhaitham is quickly stunned however, when he feels a soft press on his front, down there. He looks down, finding a flushed Kaveh nuzzling his nose into the crotch of his pants. His hands hook into his trousers, snatching him down, closer into him. Alhaitham lands on his behind, ass in the wet mud of the forest floor. He leaves wet kisses against Alhaitham's clothed cock, staining his dark pants with his spit. The pit of Alhaitham's stomach warms, head spinning momentarily, what had gotten into Kaveh? And why wasn't he stopping it? Alhaitham wracks his frazzled brain - The Pollen. Gods he could feel it now, his body burning hot, cock aching in his trousers. He sucks in a breath as Kaveh mouths at his clothed head, kissing open mouthed, breath hot through the now tight fabric.

"K-Kaveh- This isn't funny-" His words are cut short buy a hard lick on his trousers.

Alhaitham feels a breath against his neck, he nearly jumps back. A soft, low moan erupts from [Name's] throat, right into his ear. Her arms wrap around Alhaitham's front, pressing him into her chest. She kisses at Alhaitham's skin, warm, glossy lips stick to his neck, leaving sweet wet marks over the surface. Alhaitham breathes a moan, bumping his hips into Kaveh's lips. His tongue laps at his cockhead, tasting the cheeky dribbles of pre that seep through his trousers. Archons Alhaitham should stop them, restrain them, anything. They wouldn't do this on their own accord, it was the pollen! But Alhaitham couldn't bring himself to do it, the wet lick of Kaveh's tongue, sweet kisses pressed into his neck from [Name's] soft lips. It was too good to not indulge.

Alhaitham's moral compass is completely shattered by a sweet little moan. He couldn't even remember who made the noise, but he couldn't withhold. He hastily works at the button of his trousers, pulling them down just enough to reveal his swollen, achey cock. He taps his sticky head against Kaveh's lulled out tongue, groaning as he eagerly laps at him. The lips on his neck turn to teeth, sinking softly into his decadent, milky skin. His chest heaves, his breaths shaky and uneven. [Name's] snug grip on him tightens, one hand pets over Alhaitham's ribs, caressing him tenderly. He swallows and licks at his lips, plump and parted from the heavy petting he had been recipient of. He suddenly hiccups, eyes widening and looking down, seeing Kaveh wrap his pretty, pink lips over his fat tip.

Alhaitham let's out a strangled groan, his throat buzzes under [Name's] lips. She giggles a deranged little noise into his skin, breathy and keening before nipping hard at his neck. He swears a short profanity, tilting his head back and nosing into [Name's] cheek. Kaveh's warm mouth engulfs his thick cock, bobbing up and down, licking and kissing at his weeping cock. Alhaitham thrusts his hips forward, gently nudging his cock further down Kaveh's throat. Kaveh whines on his length, greedily wrapping his arms around Alhaitham's hips, hugging at his body as he takes him down his throat.

Gods they were going to kill him. His body was on fire, achey length twitching hard as Kaveh swallows around him. The soft breath in his ear sends hot shivers down his spine, [Name] sinks her teeth into his earlobe and he keens. Not a sound he would usually make. His hands find their way into Kaveh's shiny hair, threading his fingers through the pretty strands. He wasn't going to last, the hot mouth sucking his cock, dribbling drool and pre down Kaveh's chin as he swallowed him down. The sweet caress of his body, the soft pinch at his nipples through his top. His cock aches and his heavy balls tighten, he couldn't take anymore. Alhaitham cums with a startled groan, shooting thick, milky ropes into Kaveh's mouth, who keens and laps at his thick pulsing head. [Name] hugs him tight, hushing his noises with a soft giggled 'shh' in his ear.

Kaveh moans sweetly around Alhaitham's thick cock, licking and suckling at his sensitive tip. He pops off of his cock and climbs over Alhaitham's frame, grabbing at [Name's] chin and pulling her into a searing kiss. They lock lips next to Alhaitham's ear, tounging into eachothers mouths, swapping hot spit and Alhaitham's milky, salty cum. Alhaitham's noses into Kaveh's warm neck, catching his breath as the pair ravish each others lips.

What happens next is a blur in Alhaitham's vision, all happening far too quickly for his gluggy brain to keep up. [Name] straddles Alhaitham's lap, hands planted firmly to his chest, pinning him onto the sticky mud below. She kisses him, tonging through his lips, forcing him to taste his own mess on her tongue. Alhaitham openly moans into her mouth, lapping eagerly at her wet tongue. She giggles airily into his mouth, grinding her hips into his half hand groin. A half rakes through his thick, grey hair, petting him sweetly. Alahitham's eyes crane upwards, finding Kaveh's pretty vermilion eyes staring down at him. How did his head end up in Kaveh's lap? He couldn't recall and frankly neither did he care.

A small hand wraps around his hardening cock, tugging him sweetly, edging his length into a stiff, achey mess. She grips his base tightly, threading his fat tip through her wet creamy folds. Her slick coats over his head, creating the most delicious ache in his length. Gods everything was a blur, he couldn't remember anyone removing their clothes, and yet it somehow happened. His skin finally felt cool in the misty forest air, no longer confined by the thick heavy clothing he wore. His eyes wander back to [Name], her cute, plump thighs straddle his hips, squeezing teasingly.

Her hips lift, catching the thick tip of his cock on her gushy cunny hole, circling his length like a minx. She sinks down, so, so slowly, relishing in the thick stretch of Alhaitham's cock in her cunt. Alhaotham flings his head back, eyes rolling, vaguely seeing Kaveh's face above him. Kaveh tuts, caressing his thumb over Alhaithams lips. He slips his thumb into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, forcing him to look down at his thick cock, stretching out [Name's] sweet pussy. He moans wantonly, pitched high and throaty on Kaveh's thumb. He bottoms out into her, her cunt kisses at his groin, dribbling sweet, sweet slick into his lap.

[Name's] hips bounce up and down on his lap, humping and riding on his thick cock. Her arm reaches, palm wrapping nicely over Kaveh's freed cock by his cheek. She strokes him eagerly as she fucks herself in Alhaitham's lap, grinding her puffy clit into his groin with every hump of her hips. She laughs again, breathy and cunning, she leans down, sinking her cunt right on Alhaitham's cock, forcing his fat tip to kiss at her cervix. She takes Kaveh's pretty pink tip into her mouth, sweetly suckling and kissing him. She humps into Alhaitham's lap as she sucks Kaveh off, kissing and licking at his length while she fucks herself. Kaveh moans deep, pulling Alhaitham by his mouth to his cock. Alhaitham laps and kisses at his milky base, licking heavy lines over the pretty vein that ran under his length.

[Name] pops off of Kaveh's cock, straightening up and slamming her hips into Alhaitham's lap. She grabs his hair, angling his mouth just right for Kaveh to press through his lips. Alhaitham suckles at Kaveh's flushed tip, moaning stupidly as he takes him down his throat, painfully angling his neck to achieve such a feat. Alhaitham felt pathetic but he couldn't care, his mind swam with only them, their lips, their bodies, their sweet and pretty cock and pussy. He ought to take a sample of that dreadful pollen himself, if this was how they were going to behave around him. Alhaitham wraps his palms around [Name's] waist, driving his hips upwards into her cunt.

[Name] squeals as Alhaitham thrusts into her, breaking her pace for something far quicker. Alhaitham whines on Kaveh's cock, fucking up into her juicy pussy feverously. He licks and laps at Kaveh's pink tip, dipping his tongue into his wet slit, drinking up any milky pre that dribbled out. The three cry and moan, thrusting and grinding and fucking into each other with haste. Minds fogged, eyes bleary, cock throbbing and aching, sweet cunny spewing creamy slick everywhere. Gods Alhaitham could feel it, the way Kavehs pretty cock twitches on his tongue, the hard clench of [Name's] cunt on his cock.

[Name] falls first, sweet pussy squirting hard all over Alhaitham's lap, pretty spurts of slick messing everywhere as he fucks her at a brutal pace. She squeals loud, her little cunt clenches on his cock, milking at his fat length with her hot orgasm. Alhaitham fucks thick and hard into her pussy, buying her quivering hole with his slower pace. He groans over Kaveh's cock as he cums again, spouting creamy ropes into her messy pussy. He humps into her, using her pussy to milk up all he had to offer. [Name] giggles dumbly, kissing at Alhaitham's lips, wrapped around Kaveh's length. He pops off of his cock, lapping and licking his aching head, catching his tongue against [Name's] own as they kiss at his slit. [Name] humps her pussy into Alhaitham's lap, whining into Kaveh's cock as she fucks Alhaitham's half hard length.

Kaveh threads his fingers through both of their hair, tugging at the strands, whining as they bring him to fruition. Kaveh cums hot spurts on their lips and tongues, relishing in the two as they lap up his mess between each other's lips. They kiss and suck at Kaveh's leaking head, swapping spit and sharing Kaveh's cum.

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Everything had calmed down, clothes were back on, albeit caked in mud and leaves, heads were clear and some were feeling guilty. [Name] and Kaveh nearly grovel at Alhaitham's feet, sniffing up snot and tears as they apologize to him profusely

"We're s-sorry we're so sorry!" Cries [Name].

"Is there anything we can do to make it better? I'll- I'll clean the whole house for a full year! I'll deliver you lunch! I'll… I'll kiss your boot! I'll-" Kaveh babbles on and on.

Alhaitham huffs, and shakes his head, a ghost of a grin washes over his lips. His eyes fall behind them, on a dainty, pink and red flower. Kaveh paces back and forth, still spouting nonsense before his eyes light up.

"I know! I'll-" He's cut short, in his usual Kaveh manner he poses dramatically as he speaks, subsequently slapping his hand right into the plant. With a sigh Alhaitham holds his breath, watching as the pastel pink pollen fills the air around Kaveh once again.

I usually post 10-11am my time and it's 5pm heheeuhabm oop

In my defense.. I have no defense heheh

Anyway I just think Alhaitham also deserves to be wrecked - initially I was going to have Kaveh but it was his turn ♡

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! Ily ♡

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany @kaijubxnny @omletteattack

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

#ʚ•*°SashiAvi's Kinktober°*•ɞ #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x kaveh x reader #kaveh smut #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham x reader #kavehaitham x reader #kavehaitham

620 notes · View notes