#raw image conversion

[swkrullimaging]

DXO Pure Raw 4

Comparing DXO Pure Raw 4 to Topaz Photo AI version 2.4 in my real world comparison using it as a pre-processor to Adobe Camera Raw and Photoshop. The Problem Unfortunately it has come to my attention that all of my software licenses are expiring this month. That includes DXO Pure Raw 3, and all the Topaz products including Gigapixel, and Photo AI. The two stand alone products Sharpen AI and…

[succubusvalentine]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐚. 𝐂𝐖 : 𝐍𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬.

𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓

You didn't expect the strange situation you were in with your boyfriend and his teammates to progress further than it already had. Simon would send videos and images of you during sex to the men he trusted with his life, you got an ego boost from the desperate praise from said men. Everything was good.

And yet, one day when you were on your lunch break, waiting for your name to be called at the cafe, your phone dinged.

You were slightly confused, assuming it was Simon despite that he rarely messages you while he's on base.

But when you opened your phone, it was a group chat.

And not a new one, no. Because as you scrolled up, you saw videos of you that Simon had sent. And some familiar text messages from Simons teammates.

Your phone dinged again and you were at the bottom of the chat once more. Only to see an image of Johnnys hard dick.

"Christ, Soap. Do we all have to see that?" Price messaged.

"Couldn't help myself. Got excited to see that Bonnie lass finally got added after Simons been edging us for months about it" Johnny responded.

"Don't word it like that, Soap." Simon messaged.

The short conversation between the three heavily amused you. Making you giggle under your breath.

Once you returned to your office building with your treat from the cafe, you put the small paper bag on your desk before going to the bathroom.

You scoped out the place, making sure no one else was in there. Before you quickly unbuttoned your blouse and took a photo of the lace bra you had on. Suddenly thankful it was wash day for your favourite comfy bras.

Almost as soon as it was sent, a flood of messages from all four men came through. Clearly all salivating at the image.

That's how it went for a while, too. You'd started sending pictures of your tits, cunt, a few of your hand (or Simons) under your panties.

It definitely inflated your ego. And you now loved getting demands from the men. You should feel disgusted by them, but reading a text from Price saying "show cunt", with the following messages of his men agreeing and begging for it...Yeah you weren't disgusted. It only made you throb.

Your favourite was when they would send voice messages after one of your pretty photos. Grunts and the slick sound of their hand stroking themselves raw.

You've even gotten a video or two from Simon and Price of Kyle and Johnny sat next to each other as they tug each others cocks, staring at the video you'd just sent of you touching yourself.

And at the end of every week, after the last meeting of the day on base, Price would dismiss everyone but his favourite three. Switching the presentation to the more personal one. Where they go through all the images and videos you and Simon had sent during the week. More often than not, cocks in hand as Simon described how you tasted and felt like. How you sounded.

And if the boys had been good that week, they all got a pair of soaked panties to take home.

Adding you to the group chat was definitely the right idea.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[falesten-iw]

When I first joined Tumblr, I had no idea what I was walking into. There’s no manual for navigating this wild, untamed corner of the internet. My first moment here? I was greeted by an image completely naked, no warning, no explanation. It was just there, bold and unapologetic. That’s when I realized: Tumblr is a place where anything can happen.

But for all its chaos, Tumblr has become something far greater than I ever expected. For us Palestinians, this platform isn’t just a space to scroll through memes or vent about life. It’s a lifeline, a place where we’ve taken the raw, messy energy of this site and turned it into a battleground for survival. Here, we tell our stories, raise funds, and fight for our lives.

I’ve seen campaigns soar past their goals, bringing hope to families barely holding on. But I’ve also seen campaigns like mine, ones that fight tooth and nail for every single dollar, every reblog, every addition, and every ounce of hope. My family’s lives depend on this.

It hasn’t been easy. Zionists flood all Palestinian words with hate, twisting truths and spreading lies. They aim to discredit us, to make people doubt us. It’s exhausting. Some nights, I sit with my phone in my hands, wondering if this fight is too big for me. But then something beautiful happens: a donation comes through, a kind message appears, or someone I’ve never met reblogs my story with words that feel like a warm embrace.

And through it all, people are starting to see the truth. The hate doesn’t drown us; it sharpens our voices. Every day, more people step forward to stand with us, to say, “I see you, I hear you, and I’m with you.” It’s those moments that keep me going.

To everyone who has already helped, whether through verification, donating, wrting post , reblogging, or simply sharing a kind word: thank you. You’ve done more for my family than I could ever put into words. But the reality is, we’re not there yet. My family is still waiting for a chance to breathe, to live without fear, to fill their empty stomachs with warm food, and to wrap themselves in clothes thick enough to keep out the bitter cold. They’re hungry, they’re freezing, and I can’t do this alone.

This fight is hard, but it’s not hopeless. Strangers have become friends, and friends have become family. Some of you have shown up in ways I never imagined, treating my family’s survival as if it were your own. That kind of solidarity? It’s powerful.

Tumblr might be chaotic, unpredictable, and sometimes downright bizarre, but it’s also the place where we’ve built something extraordinary: a community that refuses to look away from injustice. With your help, we can take this fight all the way. My family’s lives are within reach, and together, I know we’ll get there.

This campaign isn’t just about me. It supports 26 people, including two orphaned children and an injured family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. Surgery is desperately needed to replace the infected and failing plates. The needs are urgent, and the future of 26 lives depends on your support.

The video showing the injured family member is shared before in this post: Link.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[serapheseraphim]

Brief shoutout to my wonderful followers. I hope you enjoy me reblogging numerous fandoms I’m not actually in and occasionally making one to five personal posts where I keyboard smash about vampirism. As God intended.

[hanquokkasjeekies]

{ their weird turn ons } - hyung line

stray kids scenarios/headcanons

skz hyung line (individual) x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

genre: smut, established relationship, scenarios

warnings: kissing ⋆ face fucking ⋆ vanilla smut ⋆ blowjob ⋆ mask fetish ⋆

❥ maknae line

~ ~ ~

hyunjin - when you're wearing a mask

you’ve been out shopping with hyunjin, but he’s been way more clingy than usual. you’re beginning to think it has something to do with your face mask, but you’re not sure.

randomly, he’s been acting quite strange. just before, you had pointed out a cute bag to him and he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you through the mask. it wasn’t just a quick peck either, it was full on. you could feel the heat of his mouth and tongue on yours through the material and it was much too passionate considering you were in public.

and then, a while later, he dragged you by your wrist behind a shelf and proceeded to pull down your mask and properly make out with you. you hadn’t noticed but he had smudged your lipstick badly too. the whole time you were shopping, he was holding a part of you– your hand, waist, shoulder and sometimes head.

now, inside a taxi, you decide to confront him about it.

“hyunjin! what’s up with you today? you’ve been acting weird…” your voice trails off as he places your hand on the warm bulge in his pants.

“i know it sounds stupid… but i’m just happy only i got to see your pretty face today.”

any other day you would’ve died from cringe– but today, after all the random kisses and sweet touches, you blush a little; relieved he was just feeling unusually possessive and affectionate.

“you know you can already see my face whenever you want. i'm yours~ whether you like it or not ♡”

changbin - when you're holding hands and you dig your nails in

changbin loves when you hold hands with him. whether it’s lovers’ lock, just loosely holding on or you holding onto his finger– he’ll be happy with anything.

so as you’re sat together on a park bench like an old married couple, you take his hand in yours as you’re having a conversation about pigeons.

“but they’re like rats that can fly!” you say, glaring at the one closest.

changbin’s offended now. “you can’t compare them with rats!” he says in horror, “they’re like the epitome of cuteness and friendliness. and the sound they-” his voice cuts off as you dig your nails into the back of his hand. his breath hitches as you press in harder.

“fuuuck”, he says under his breath, his grip tensing as you loosen your fingers.

“well that shut you up, didn’t it?”

he’s avoiding your gaze now as you look up at him and squeeze his hand. “what did you think of just now?”

“nothing…”

“hmm~ you sure?”, you tease.

“fine. i just, um… remembered last night, you know? when you dug your nails into my back as you came.” he admits, blush creeping over his cheeks and ears. looking down at where your nails indented into his skin, he makes sure to keep a mental image of it.

you smirk at the cute reaction you got out of him,“so you liked that then~ i’ll keep it in mind.”

lee know - when you’re wearing a short skirt

it’s taking everything in lee know to stop himself from bending you over the nearest surface and fucking you raw. the short flowy skirt you’re wearing is the kind he likes best on you; white with a layer of lace peeking out from underneath. and of course you had to be on a coffee date which meant he couldn’t do anything to you, apart from little teases like squeezing your butt, touching your thighs when you’re sitting or lightly grabbing you by the neck when no one’s watching.

and now he's hard. in the coffee shop.

“fuck, baby… why did you come in a mini skirt~?” he’s so whiny and doesn't even care about coffee anymore. his knee is shaking up and down and he's crossing his arms, eyes boring into you. “can’t we just leave already?”

you’re sipping your latte slowly, enjoying this unusual whiny side of him as you say, “not until i’m done. plus, i like it here– it’s so cosy~”

“well, i can make sure you’re even cosier at home.” lee know says through gritted teeth.

“hmm”, you let out, trying to sound bored.

the car ride home is comfortable but lee know’s more focused on the road then usual apart from when he’s massaging your thighs with his free hand during traffic.

as soon as you're through the door, he's all over you. his mouth goes straight for your neck while his hands grope your butt through your little skirt.

“ you did this to me, sweetheart, showing off your thighs to everyone in that tiny skirt like the slut you are.” you moan at his harsh words and cling onto his shoulders.

“got everyone staring up your ass like they don’t know whose girl you are.”

“yours– all yours, lee know” you say breathlessly.

he lifts your chin up to look at him,“i’m not convinced yet, sweetheart; gonna have to remind you all over again– and you're just going to take everything like a good girl, hmm?”

bangchan - when you yawn

the cuteness aggression chan gets when you yawn is on a whole other level. he always says you yawn like a puppy; the way your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a tiny sound makes him wish he could play it on repeat. sometimes he’ll even try to kiss you mid-yawn but it always ends up with both of you in a fit of giggles. other times when he’s working and he hears you breathe in sharply, he’ll whip around in his seat just in time to see you finish a yawn. and when your eyes are just a little watery after you yawn it’ll actually drive chan insane.

another part of his brain, when he sees you with your cute mouth wide open and a tear on the edge of leaking out, just can’t help the urge to see your mouth stuffed full of his dick until you’re choking and properly crying.

and right now, when he’s already a little horny and he sees you yawning all sleepy beside him, his self-control is being tested to its limit. he waits for a while but it’s no use. he pushes up against you under the covers as you turn to face him.

“shit– please, babe; do you think you could help me?”

“what do you want me to do?” you say with fake innocence, “i won't know unless you tell me”

he slightly grinds against your thigh. “i want– wanna fuck your mouth, please”

you move so his dick is right up against your lips and you start kitten licking him. you know he desperately wants more but you keep teasing him with light touches and licks until he can't take it anymore.

holding your head in one hand he thrusts deep into your throat with a loud groan. his dick is warm and he’s using your mouth so hard you start gagging. but it only turns him on more.

it’s barely been a minute and he’s already pulling out and cumming all over your face. he has the most satisfied smile as he admires his work, before he kisses you gently.

“so perfect for me…mmh– love you so much”

❥ maknae line

[kismetlotts]

cw: abusive relationship (not physically), breaking up with Simon, reader is not a pussy, Simons ego is big, Johnny comes to the rescue, taking best friends ex-girlfriend trope?, if you cant treat her right I will, mentions of sexual content, hickeys, angry Simon, mentions of cheating, I wrote this while being half asleep

You were absolutely fucking seething in fury. Red, raw anger pulsing through every envious blood cell of your body because he promised you things were over with her. Swore on lives of everyone he's ever loved, spoke words of rotten lies that fed to the image of him he had made in your mind. A loving boyfriend-truly a fucking manipulative abuser and this time, Simon wasn't getting away.

No more hook-ups, no more late night selfies in another woman's bed just because the two of you fell out- he knew your insecurity and played it like a game of chess and yet somehow; no matter what moves you took, he always knew how to win. Not this time, you'd throw the board before the game is even finished.

Slamming open the dark, wooden doors as the soles of your loved-in trainers slapped each tile of marble. A fancy restaurant that Simon and his friends knew well- full of prestige and pretention. A place where snobby losers and rich cocksuckers can converse without regular, hard-working people being in the way. Perfect for your boyfriend- and soon to be ex.

His gaze flicked to the door, slowly as if he owned time and could use it how he pleased. Reaction not changing in the slightest when he finally saw you almost like he already knew you were the one entering his private dining room. John and Kyle looked over in confusion, John's fingers tracing the stubble on his freshly shaven chin as Kyle leant back in his chair. The both of them oblivious to the drama that was about to unfold and to the way Johnny's eyes struggled to leave yours. Catching his full attention with just an entrance.

"What the fuck 'you want now?" Simon grumbled, lips parted and looking anywhere but your face and you assumed he was embarrassed- not because of his actions, no, of course not. But because you were now seen associated with him. All the men in the room were in their best wear, harsh black suits of charcoal and a contrasting white shirt, the same shirt you ironed, folded and put away for him like a little maid.

And among it all you were stood at the front of the room, dressed in whatever crap you reached for in your wardrobe. Too full of emotion to care, overflowing with feelings to the point you didn't know what to do with yourself but Simon would never understand that. Emotions were a waste of his sweet sweet time.

"I want to let you know, I'm leaving." You spat out, head held high because why on earth would you ever be scared to stand up against him. How could you shy away after he had abused your love and took you for granted? Clenching your jaw tight while wetting your lips, balling your fists up to stop and hide the small tremble the adrenaline left.

The dirt of his pupils holding on yours a little longer than necessary, like he wanted you to say it again and crawl inside yourself- you would've, usually. You would've nodded along to his degradation before walking out silently, making sure to hold your breath until you're in a safe place to cry it out.

Repeating his harsh words when he would call you nothing then ask what you were, trying stop the quiver in your lips when he shouted for you to stop crying but now you weren't his bitch to tamper with. If you wanted to cry and scream you will- without his permission. You'd gauge his eyes out if the two of you were alone and you'd fucking enjoy it.

"Alright then, off you go?" The tone mocking and without even looking down at his chapped lips you could hear the fuckers silent smirk.

"I mean I'm leaving you. Dumping your ass? Breaking up with you because you're so self entitled you have to go fuck other women to hurt me and then fix me up to your standards? I'm done with you, Simon Riley. Officially over." Your shaky hands reached behind your neck as you unhooked the delicate necklace he had brought for you before throwing it with all your force. Hearing the metal clink and sink into his plate of food before turning and heading for the door.

God, it felt good to be free.

The doors shutting behind you with a thud and the same thud sounded in Simons heart. No woman- no fucking whore like you breaks up with a guy like him.

A huff of a laugh left his lips as he reached for the small packet of cigarettes on the table, digging a hand into his suit trousers for a lighter and feeling a soft sheet of sweat coat his back as he moved.

He wasn't scared, or embarrassed- you were on one of your pathetic tantrums again and by the time he gets home you'll have the bed made, food ready and your gaping mouth open and gagging for his big cock. You loved him- sure he tolerated you a little more than the other girls, but you really had a thing for him and it made him feel great. Made him feel powerful that someone needed- relied and only wanted him.

Popping one end of the cigarette in his mouth as Johnny's chair squeaked against the floor. Excusing himself as he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Simon huffed out a laugh.

"Don't bother, she's fine- used to it." But for some reason, Johnny didn't stop walking.

In fact, his gentle stroll to the exit you had previously left from had a developed a little skip in it. Like a little happy child, knowing something good was about to come to him- come for him.

"Oh, I know." The Scotsman voice flooded with an edge of determination. A hint of challenge- humour, whatever it fucking was Simon's gut churned at the sound.

Johnny wouldn't try anything with you- he wouldn't go up against Simon because he knows his worth. Simon is just so much fucking better, he wouldn't fucking dare. Even if he tried, you wouldn't allow it anyway, you always came crying back to him. There was nothing for him to be worried about.

"Then where are you going?" His thumb traced the ridges indented in the lighter before pulling it down and harshly burning the end of his smoke.

Johnny's hands hit one side of the door as he pushed it open, looking over his shoulder with raised eyebrows because- mate, wasn't it obvious?

"To show her how a real man fucks, what other reason could it be, Simon?" The door banged shut behind him. Simon looked over at John who let out a laugh before looking over at Kyle who breathed in heavily before looking at Simon. The three of them were all lost but only one of them was delusional enough to not take it seriously.

Only Simon.

Opening the door to your apartment once the three of the finished up and paid. Seeing the pretty lamp on beside your couch and your figure sat there snuggled up. Nose deep into your book as you breathed softly, reading in the warm lighting. He barley looked at you when he first let himself in because he knew you would be like this.

All forgiving and back to being his precious baby again. Neglectfully dumping his blazer and tie on the countertop, barley folding them up as he ran a hand through his head, noting the silence. A groan left his lips- you were still pissed at him but a little sweet talk from him would do the job.

"Baby, I'm sorry- it was a one-time thing.." He mumbled softly, the lying in his voice so sickeningly obvious even Simon could wince. His large frame approaching you as he leant down closer to your innocent face.

Hair wet and freshly washed from your shower, all comfortable in your favourite pyjamas. His ears perked up at the soft sound of music coming from you and he figured you had your earbuds in. Fingers reaching out to move the hair behind your ear but his eyes locked onto the purple bite marks scattering your neck and trailing down further. His heart fucking dropped. No, you were his.

You turned your head to face him, brows furrowed as you swallowed down the angry words at the tip of your tongue you so desperately wanted to shout out and you bit the inside of your cheek to muffle the hysterical laughter that threatened to surface. His face dumbfounded, shocked and vulnerable. A side of Simon you had never seen before and a side he clearly hadn't either.

His eyes blinking rapidly like he couldn't believe what was right in front of him- like he had lost control of the one thing he had in his grasp. Damaging the artists brushes, breaking the record player not the vinyl- it hurt him because it made him feel weak, you took back what he operated on and you fucked his best friend. His throat ran dry and he opened his mouth to speak when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly with warning. Warning for him to watch his fucking mouth.

And when he turned and looked, there was Johnny MacTavish. Stood equally as wet as you with nothing but a flimsy towel on his waist and a face of pure, smug victory.

"Don't worry, I've got this one from now on, LT."

[rainydetectiveglitter]

Lilith in the Houses: How You’re Sexualized or Misunderstood

Lilith represents raw, primal energy in your chart, and depending on where it sits, it can cause you to be sexualized or misunderstood. Below, I’ve shared some thoughts on how this placement manifests in each of the houses, along with personal anecdotes where applicable. Keep in mind, this is just my anecdotal evidence, meant for fun.

♈ Lilith in the 1st House Aries

People with Lilith in the 1st house often have an intense, captivating aura. There's something magnetic and fiery about you that can’t be ignored, and others tend to sexualize or focus on your bold, rebellious nature. This placement often gets you misjudged as wild or "bad" simply for being unapologetically yourself.

When I think about this placement, I always think of Tiger King. His sexuality was constantly discussed, and in a weird way, he became this spectacle because of it. It’s also fitting for someone like Michael Jackson—you often see men with this placement with makeup, eyeliner, or other dramatic visuals to showcase that captivating energy. Even though their sexuality isn’t always overt, people seem to be entranced by it anyway.

You might feel that society is always trying to push you into the "wild" or "sexualized" box based on how you express yourself. People either want to put you on a pedestal or demonize you for being strong, assertive, or rebellious.

You may choose to reject or lean into this image, asserting control over how others perceive you. You could even challenge the societal expectations placed on you and fight to redefine who you are in your own terms.

Cultivate a deep connection with yourself—embrace your true essence unapologetically. Learning to set boundaries and validate yourself can help reduce the impact of others’ projections.

♉ Lilith in the 2nd House Taurus

People with Lilith in the 2nd house often find their physical bodies or material possessions sexualized. There's this feeling that others equate your body to your self-worth. People might also judge you based on how you express yourself physically, interpreting your appearance or possessions as tied to your sexual appeal.

I don’t have many people in my life with this placement, but it’s interesting because some people do view their bodies almost like a possession—almost as if they think their value is solely based on what they look like. In other words, what you own or how you look can often become a reflection of your sexual worth.

You may feel that your worth is constantly tied to your looks or the material things you own. This leads to external pressure and the need to fight back against these surface-level judgments.

You might either put your worth into material things or rebel against them altogether, which is a big internal struggle. At times it might be hard to escape being seen only through the lens of external value.

Reconnect to your intrinsic self-worth—focus on building value from within. Learning to separate your identity from your possessions or body helps you reclaim your true sense of self.

♊ Lilith in the 3rd House Gemini

Lilith in the 3rd house can turn communication into a double-edged sword. This placement tends to sexualize the way you talk—your voice, tone, and speech patterns are often perceived as seductive or inappropriate. I have this placement, and people often react to my words or how I speak in ways that are totally unrelated to my intent. It’s not uncommon for people to want to take normal conversations to uncomfortable places like phone sex or sexting, especially in dating scenarios.

I can personally relate to this. When I worked in call centers, I got told time and time again how "attractive" or "sexy" my voice sounded—and sometimes people tried to take it into inappropriate directions. Even in group settings, I was often told that my speaking style made people uncomfortable, even though I wasn’t trying to be sexual at all. I’m not a sexual person in nature, but people still tried to pull me into these conversations based solely on how I spoke.

You’ll notice that people often try to make conversations about you sexual or flirtatious. That misinterpretation, where every word or gesture becomes something charged, can make your day-to-day life more challenging, especially when you’re just speaking freely. You may also have the feeling that you’re often misunderstood in public settings or school/work environments.

You might find yourself either resisting or rejecting these interpretations of your communication style, maybe becoming more reclusive or adjusting your approach altogether to avoid discomfort. There could also be moments when you want to “own” that sexualized persona simply as a defense mechanism, but it’s not who you are.

Own your voice and set clear boundaries in communication. When people misinterpret your words, use it as an opportunity to clarify your intent. Confidence in your language can shield you from unwanted projections.

♋ Lilith in the 4th House Cancer

With Lilith in the 4th house, family and home environments become a space for projected misunderstandings about who you are. Family members may make inappropriate or uncomfortable comments about your body or behavior growing up. As you age, they might even sexualize or misinterpret the way you interact or express yourself, often seeing you as "too grown for your age" or crossing boundaries that shouldn’t be discussed.

Growing up with Lilith in the 4th house, you might hear off-handed comments from family that make you feel uncomfortable about the normal, healthy process of growing up. Your behaviors or growth could be taken the wrong way, as if people have the right to define what’s "appropriate" for you in terms of sexuality. This projection can last into adulthood when family members still impose unrealistic or discomforting expectations on you.

Family projections around your body or sexual expression can affect your sense of self at the core. You may feel like you’re being misread or that your home environment doesn’t fully support your evolving self-expression.

You might challenge your family’s views of you or assert stronger boundaries within the family dynamic. There may be tension in these interactions, as your natural growth challenges their limiting expectations.

Establish healthy boundaries with your family and assert your identity on your terms. Communicating your real feelings with those closest to you, while setting clear boundaries around your development, will help shift those projections.

♌ Lilith in the 5th House Leo

With Lilith in the 5th house, your creativity, sexuality, and enjoyment of life become intertwined. You’ll notice that people often sexualize your playfulness, creative pursuits, and even your flirtatious nature. What should be considered playful or creative can sometimes be twisted into something too sexual, especially if you are expressive about your individuality.

People may only focus on the "fun" aspects of your personality and forget that there's much more depth to you. Your free-spirited, playful side can easily be interpreted as promiscuous or “overly sexual.” You might feel misunderstood for simply enjoying life or for being unapologetic in expressing your individuality.

You may lean into this sexuality for a while, either to match people’s expectations or as a way to cope with it, but it’s important to find the right balance. Embrace your creative freedom, but also be firm with others when it comes to how you express yourself.

Set strong boundaries around your creative energy and personal expression. Help others understand that your essence is more complex than how they try to sexualize you.

♍ Lilith in the 6th House Virgo

With Lilith in the 6th house, your workplace interactions or your approach to health can often be misunderstood. At work, others might project a certain sexualized image onto you, particularly in professional settings where boundaries should be respected. In my experience, I've witnessed situations where a male friend of mine faced sexual harassment, which they often brushed off to maintain peace. He dealt with frequent inappropriate advances and even physical groping from female coworkers, yet felt pressured to “laugh it off” and keep things lighthearted. He moved his things to another area in the office after. It's clear that a misunderstanding of professional boundaries happens with Lilith in this house.

While I don’t have Lilith in the 6th house myself, I’ve seen it firsthand. I believe that this placement can create discomfort when others try to sexualize your approach to work or health matters. It's hard because these boundaries often get crossed by people who don't take your professional image or seriousness into consideration.

The 6th house is about routine, health, and service, but Lilith here creates tension, with people viewing your work or contributions through a lens of desire rather than respect. Whether it’s at work or in a healthcare setting, feeling sexualized or disrespected in such personal areas can make you uncomfortable.

You might try to keep your distance or react by shutting people down, asserting your boundaries and your right to be respected. Or, you might even go the opposite route and become very vocal about defending your space, making sure others understand where you stand.

Work on strengthening your boundaries, especially when it comes to professional or intimate health matters. Practice keeping your environment focused on your work ethic, not your sexuality. Keep things professional and assertive, refusing to let others cross boundaries.

♎ Lilith in the 7th House Libra

With Lilith in the 7th house, relationships become a central area where you’re misjudged. People might project their sexual desires or desires for control onto your partnerships, reducing them to something physical or superficial rather than emotional. There's an intensity to how people view your relationships—it’s almost like they see them through a lens of desire and don’t always see you for who you truly are.

I’m curious to hear if anyone else with this placement has had similar experiences, but I imagine people might confuse the depth of your relationships for something too sexual or too chaotic. Since the 7th house is all about partnership, whether in romance, business, or even friendships, the idea of Lilith here could make it feel like every relationship becomes a power struggle or is sexually charged.

It can be tough because it feels like your partnerships are seen through projections of sexuality or power dynamics that you didn’t necessarily invite. These projections can make you feel misunderstood in your closest connections.

You might feel compelled to set extremely firm boundaries within your partnerships to avoid these projections. You may even feel the need to prove your worth in relationships beyond what’s expected of you, sometimes overcompensating for others’ misunderstandings.

Let go of others’ sexualized projections in your relationships. Be clear about your emotional needs and how you define intimacy. Surround yourself with people who value your connection beyond the surface level.

♏ Lilith in the 8th House Scorpio

Lilith in the 8th house is all about transformation, power dynamics, and shared resources, especially sexual intimacy. People might find you intensely magnetic and view your sexuality as your most powerful attribute. However, this can also make others see you as a mystery or a source of intrigue. There is a tendency for you to become sexualized, especially when dealing with issues of intimacy, control, or shared power.

The 8th house often deals with taboos, and with Lilith here, it might amplify that in ways where others expect you to use your power over them in intimate relationships or become seen as an object of both desire and obsession. This can also trigger the deep-seated fears in both you and others regarding trust and control in relationships.

You might be underestimated for your emotional depth, with the focus too often put on your sexuality. This can leave you feeling like you are misunderstood at your core, and that people only seek power through intimacy with you.

You may play into this mystique, allowing others to see you as they want to, or you may put up huge walls around your vulnerability, keeping your power closely guarded. Either way, navigating these intense dynamics can create an ongoing challenge to maintain a sense of self.

Work on transforming your personal power in ways that allow you to reclaim your own identity. Practice embracing deep emotional intimacy and power in a way that doesn’t compromise who you truly are at the soul level.

♐ Lilith in the 9th House Sagittarius

Lilith in the 9th house often leads others to sexualize or romanticize your ideas, philosophies, or your travels. Your belief system and personal growth are powerful, but people might be more intrigued by your provocative ideas or the way you expand their boundaries rather than seeing you as an intellectual authority. There’s an undercurrent of attraction, as others tend to focus on your adventurous or boundary-pushing nature.

The 9th house placement gives you a vast sense of expansion, but Lilith here can make your explorations, whether mental or physical, something others overly sexualize. It’s like you’re seen as someone who’s not just about knowledge, but about breaking every boundary—and that becomes sexualized.

You may feel like your desire for intellectual or physical exploration is misunderstood or reduced to something superficial by others. It's frustrating when what you deeply care about is diminished into sexual projections.

You might find it hard to reveal the true depth of your philosophical or adventurous side, feeling boxed into a role others have created for you. You could find yourself over-explaining or pulling back from sharing ideas at all.

Continue to seek intellectual, philosophical, and physical expansion in your life, but focus on doing it in a way that isn't limited by the projections of others. Reclaim your place as an explorer and learner without needing to fit into a mold others make for you.

♑ Lilith in the 10th House Capricorn

With Lilith in the 10th house, your public image, career, and reputation might get sexualized or reduced to how attractive or enticing you are in the public eye. There’s an intense energy that others sense, and some will focus only on the surface level—either deeming you a “sex symbol” or feeling threatened by your power. I have a friend who’s had similar experiences with Lilith here, where her sexuality was too often emphasized—sometimes by her family, others by society—leaving her struggling to find a way to separate herself from this imposed persona. Despite being talented and multifaceted, others often ignore these attributes, reducing her to a sexualized image.

You may feel frustration with the duality between the image people project onto you and who you really are. The constant struggle to have your full professional capabilities seen without your sexuality being the focus can be draining.

To cope, you might overcompensate by embodying this sexualized image more overtly online or offline, or you may go in the opposite direction and try to downplay your looks and focus solely on your work.

Set clear boundaries with your career and public life. Focus on presenting all the facets of yourself and refuse to be confined to only one. Let your true capabilities define you, not the projections others place on your image.

♒ Lilith in the 11th House Aquarius

Lilith in the 11th house means your presence in social groups and communities often comes with a layer of misinterpretation. People might see you as someone who “stirs the pot” in group settings, whether through your attractiveness, rebellious nature, or just by existing outside of the norm. You might be put in a position where your friendships are subtly (or not so subtly) sexualized, either by others assuming romantic or sexual undertones in your platonic relationships or by social circles treating you like an object of intrigue.

From what I’ve observed, this placement can create situations where people feel weirdly possessive over you in group settings. Friends might project their own insecurities onto you, assuming you must be manipulative, seductive, or disruptive just because of how others react to you. There can also be themes of exclusion—perhaps being ostracized or resented for something that isn’t even your fault.

Friendships can feel complicated. Either people try to control you, define you by your sexuality in group dynamics, or make you out to be a “bad influence.” Sometimes it feels like no matter what you do, there’s an energy that people react strongly to, whether positive or negative.

You might distance yourself from social groups to avoid dealing with all of the drama, or you could lean into your rebellious nature and embrace the fact that you shake things up. There can also be a feeling of wanting to prove that you’re more than the assumptions people make about you.

Focus on friendships and community that truly respect you for who you are beyond any projections. Not everyone will misunderstand you, and it’s okay to be selective with who you surround yourself with. Work on reinforcing your boundaries so that you aren’t constantly put in unfair situations.

♓ Lilith in the 12th House Pisces

This is one of the most hidden yet potent Lilith placements. You might not always be overtly sexualized in obvious ways, but there’s a deep, underlying energy that people pick up on. There can be projections placed upon you without you even realizing it, often behind closed doors or in secret conversations. Some may find you irresistibly mysterious or even dangerous without a clear reason why. Your presence lingers in people’s subconscious, sometimes making them uncomfortable.

This placement makes me think of someone who unknowingly impacts others on a psychological level. People might develop secret infatuations or fixate on you in ways that even you don’t fully grasp. It’s like you move through life feeling somewhat unseen, yet somehow, you’re always affecting people on a level beyond your awareness. People may make assumptions about you without real evidence, particularly in environments like hospitals, institutions, or spiritual communities where secrecy or hidden power is involved.

You might struggle with feeling misunderstood in ways that don’t make sense to you. You could go through experiences of being scapegoated, vilified, or treated as if you’re carrying some sort of “forbidden” energy. People may want to project their desires onto you in secret, which can feel invasive or confusing, especially if you don't know where these emotions are coming from.

Some with this placement retreat into isolation, feeling like it’s safer to remain unseen than to deal with others’ projections. Others might unknowingly fall into roles that confirm what people already assume about them, even if it wasn’t their intent. The struggle here is often about untangling other people’s hidden expectations and seeing yourself clearly.

Find ways to ground yourself in your own sense of identity, separate from what others secretly think or expect of you. Therapy, dream journaling, and shadow work can be powerful tools for unraveling hidden fears or subconscious influences in your life. Recognizing when you’re being scapegoated or unfairly projected upon is crucial, and learning to set firm energetic boundaries will protect your peace.

Do any of these descriptions resonate with you? I’d love to hear about your experiences, especially if you have Lilith in the 5th or 7th house—those are placements I don’t personally have much insight into, so feel free to share your thoughts!

[fear-is-truth]

mature content ; mdni ┆warnings: mentions of sex + pregnancy. baby fever.

BRUCE WAYNE stared at his phone, the latest tabloid cover flashing across the screen. is gotham’s most eligible billionaire about to be a father? the headline was emblazoned next to an out-of-context photo of you—his girlfriend—your hand resting over your stomach as you laughed, caught mid-conversation at a gala. the picture had been taken at the wrong moment, the pose completely innocent, but the image itself stirred something inside him.

it wasn’t a new thought, not really. the idea of starting a family with you had crossed bruce’s mind many times—always during the occasions when he’s hitting it raw, buried to the hilt inside you. it was then, two thrusts away from euphoria (aka pumping your womb full with his cum), that the thought would slip in, unbidden: what if this led to more it? the telltale twitch of his cock was always accompanied with the idea of you, swollen with his child. it wasn’t something he normally dwelled on, but now, with the possibility spelled out in bold, blocky letters on the screen, it was tangible, no longer just a fleeting idea or a half-formed daydream. he couldn’t push the thought away.

he imagined you barefoot in their master bedroom, your bare feet pressing into the softness of the rug as you stood by the window; your figure swathed in the first light of dawn, the sky a pale wash of pink and gold, and outside, the sprawling grounds of the wayne estate stretched out, untainted by the darkness that was gotham city. here, it was truly quiet, the kind of quiet bruce only found when he was in your company. you held your arms.

he pictured your expression, tender and serene, your eyes focused entirely on the baby—his baby—in your arms. the soft, chubby cheeks, the tiny hand curling instinctively around your finger. a connection between mother and child that made his chest ache. it all felt like something ethereal, as if it had been plucked from a dream.

shifting slightly in his chair, bruce frowned as his trousers grew a touch uncomfortable, and the realisation sent a flicker of heat across his face. he pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at himself. this wasn’t like him—getting caught up in a fantasy, letting something as trivial as a tabloid headline get under his skin. brushing a hand across his jaw, he exhaled slowly, as if it helped release the tension coiled in his chest (it didn’t).

maybe this wasn’t something he could keep pushing away.

[miniscapes333]

Passionate confession from your FS (18+) (sweet obsession edition) (part - 2)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)

👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 2]

👆 [PILE - 3]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE 1

You don’t even know what you do to me, do you? The way I ache for you—it’s almost maddening. Like a fire that never burns out, just keeps consuming, deeper, hotter, more unbearable every time I think about you. And I do—I think about you constantly. I replay moments between us like an addict chasing their next high, lingering on the way your lips curve when you smirk, the way your breath hitches when I get too close. It’s a battle I lose every single night, fighting this pull you have over me, but the truth is? I don’t want to win. I want to lose. To you. Over and over again. Because you—you—are the only thing I want to surrender to.

You drive me to the edge of my control, test my patience, push me until I feel like I might just snap. And maybe I want to. Maybe I want you to see what you do to me, how deep this obsession runs. How every time I see you, my hands twitch to touch, my lips part with words I’m not sure I should say just yet—but God, do I want to. I catch myself staring when I shouldn’t, imagining things I have no business imagining, feeling this raw, unfiltered hunger that only you can stir in me. And yet, it’s not just about the way I crave you—it’s deeper than that. It’s the way my heart pounds when I hear your voice. The way I miss you even when you’re right in front of me, because I always want more.

And I wonder—do you feel it too? This tension that coils between us like an unspoken challenge, daring one of us to break first. I see it in the way your eyes flicker when I get too close, the way your body reacts before your mind catches up. Don’t deny it—I know you feel it just as much as I do. And one day, I swear, I’m going to make you admit it. I’ll have you just as undone as you leave me every single night, lost in this sweet, unbearable obsession we’ve wrapped ourselves in. And when that day comes? Oh, love, I won’t hold back. I won’t hesitate. And I will make sure you never forget what it feels like to be wanted like this.

PILE 2

You have no idea how long I’ve been watching you, studying you, memorizing the way your lips move when you talk, how your laughter melts into a room, the way your presence shifts the air around you—pulling me in without effort. I should have kept my distance. Should have let this be nothing more than fleeting curiosity, but tell me… how am I supposed to ignore something that already owns me? You consume my thoughts, even in the quiet, even when I tell myself to let go. I can’t. I won’t. The more I see you, the more I need you. Even when I try to focus, even when I pretend I’m above this, my mind betrays me. I replay our conversations, I search for traces of me in your gaze, I wonder if you know—if you feel—the tension I bite back every time I’m near you.

It’s intoxicating, the way you make me lose control. The teasing, the stolen glances, the way you tilt your head just so, testing me, daring me to make a move. And God, do I want to. But I can’t just have you—I need to unravel you first. I want to know what makes you tick, what sets your skin aflame, what leaves you breathless in the dead of night. I want to see you undone under my hands, knowing it was me who got you there. You make me restless, make me second-guess my own composure, and I swear I’ve imagined a thousand different ways to finally close this unbearable distance. Slow, teasing, pushing you past your own restraint. Or maybe all at once, like the dam finally breaking, like neither of us can hold back any longer.

I think about you when I shouldn’t. Late at night, when the world is silent and my thoughts are anything but. You haunt me, linger in the spaces between my breaths, and I wonder—do I do the same to you? Do you feel the heat between us even when we’re surrounded by others? Do you catch yourself staring when you think I won’t notice? Because I notice everything, love. Every flicker of your gaze, every shift in your body when I get too close. And one day, I won’t just stand here and watch. One day, I’ll lean in, brush my fingers along your jaw, and make you admit that you’ve been craving this just as much as I have. And when that day comes? I promise, I’ll make sure you never forget what it feels like to finally be mine.

PILE 3

You don’t understand what you do to me. How your presence alone is enough to send a slow burn through my veins, a warmth that lingers long after you’ve gone. You move like you know exactly who you are—unapologetic, untouchable, and yet, I want to be the one who reaches you. The one who reminds you that you don’t have to be so strong, so guarded, because with me? You are safe. And maybe that’s what scares me the most. This need—no, this ache—to give you everything. My hands, my time, my devotion. I want to spoil you, not just with gifts, but with the way I touch you, the way I look at you like you are the only thing worth chasing. Because you are. And if I have to spend forever proving that to you, I will.

I know you feel it too. The tension, the unspoken promises in the way our fingers brush when we stand too close, the stolen glances that last just a second too long. It’s maddening, this game we play. The push, the pull. But let’s be honest, love—we both know where this is leading. One day, I won’t hold back. I’ll have you pressed against me, your breath warm against my skin, and I’ll make sure you never doubt just how much I want you. I want to worship you, learn every inch of you, taste the way your body reacts to my touch. Slow and teasing, making you beg, or deep and consuming, leaving you breathless. You deserve that. You deserve everything. And I swear to you, I’ll spend every moment proving it.

But it’s not just about the physical—it never was. It’s the way you see me, even when I don’t have the words to say what I feel. It’s the way you laugh, how it lingers in the air like a melody I never want to stop hearing. It’s the way I want to earn your love, not just claim it. So let me. Let me trace my fingers down your spine and memorize the way you shiver. Let me whisper your name against your skin and watch as you melt beneath me. Let me love you the way you were always meant to be loved—fully, entirely, without hesitation. Because, my love, you are the one thing in this world I will never stop wanting.

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[beloveds-embrace]

rugby player Simon and his pretty little balerina partner. Thats it. Thats whats currently plaquing my mind

Now that you’ve said it I’m thinking about them too because YES 😩 i tried a more headcanony style for this, really had no idea what to write as a drabble

• You first met Simon “Ghost” Riley during an injury rehab session. He’s there nursing a rough tackle, while you’re recovering from an overworked ankle. Despite his intimidating size and silence, he notices how gracefully you move even while stretching, and you can’t help but admire his sheer size even if he’s making the nurses nervous.

• Ghost is, honest to god, shy about approaching you at first; why would delicate, lovely you want someone of his type and build to approach you? But he still gets roped into conversation when you tease him for struggling with a basic stretching exercise. “I’m built for smashing into blokes, not folding like you do.” he grumbles, but he doesn’t sound truly bothered. You are sure you can even hear the amusement. And this is how you end up exchanging number and texting, until he finally asky you out on a proper date.

• He’s genuinely amazed at your discipline and talent, often catching himself zoning out while watching you rehearse. You tease him for staring, but he’s truky awestruck by how effortlessly you glide across the floor, almost looking weightless.

• You love watching him play rugby. Seeing him control the field with raw strength and precision is hot. You start attending his matches, cheering louder than anyone else when he tackles an opponent or scores. His favorite cheerleader- his best girl <3

• Ghost introduces you to his gym routines, and you try (unsuccessfully) to keep up with his weightlifting. You love the view of his muscles flexing, though, and you don’t try to hide it. You also love sitting on his back while he does pushups, giving him a kiss ever so often in encouragement.

• In return, you teach him some basic ballet moves to improve his agility to help him. The image of this massive, intimidating man attempting pliés is hilarious, but he’s surprisingly nimble. “Don’t tell the lads, yeah, doll?” he huffs, though his amusement is clear and it has you giggling.

• Simon loves how tiny you feel when he wraps his arms around you. After games, he picks you up effortlessly, spinning you around as you laugh and lean down to kiss him much to the whistles and hoots of his teammates. Neither of you care anyways.

• After a game, he’s all adrenaline and intensity, body taut. You tease him by saying, “Don’t you dare bring that sweaty self near me, Simon Riley.” but he pulls you into a heated kiss anyway, pinning you gently against a wall in the hallways of the stadium.

• He loves when you practice in front of him wearing your ballet leotard. The combination of your grace and your form-fitting outfit gets his heart and more racing, though he keeps his composure… mostly.

• Simon is also your biggest cheerleader during your performances, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers that looks comically small in his massive hands. He always looks proud, even if he doesn’t say much. And he absolutely glares or shushes anyone who is causing a ruckus and taking the spotlight off you.

• He joins you most of the time in the backstages, and when you’re feeling nervous before a performance, he cups your face in his big, warm hands and whispers, “You’re the most talented person in the room. Show ‘em who you are.”

• You return the favor by helping him relax before games. You massage his shoulders and give him little pep talks, which he pretends not to need but secretly loves. Sometimes of them are even recorded on his phone for the very rare occasions you can’t make it to his games.

• Said it before but I’ll say it again: you love how his body feels next to yours- rugby has made him all broad shoulders and powerful muscles, and he loves how delicate your hands feel running over his skin. Likewise, he loves caressing your skin and rubbing creams and ointments to your aching feet muscles.

• He calls you “Twinkle Toes” which sounds sarcastic at first but is said with so much affection that it melts your heart.

• You call him “Big Softie” because, despite his tough exterior, he’s the sweetest with you. He pretends to hate it, but he secretly loves when you use it in private. Had a stupid smile on his face when saw it was how you had your contact for him saved.

[moonreader1010]

How your FS will act after your first night together 💋

-by Valerie 🧿

Please pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. ^

Note:- 1. Pick the pile that calls you.

2. This is an 18+ reading. Mdni

3. The pictures used don't belong to me. All rights go to the original owners.

4. Have fun 💋

Pile 1

The Eternal Dream

The morning after your first night together feels like stepping into a romantic dream they never want to end. They wake up before you, lying still, watching the rise and fall of your breath. Their heart swells as they take in the sight of you—hair tousled, your skin glowing in the golden morning light. It’s not just lust or infatuation; it’s something deeper. They reach out to softly brush a strand of hair from your face, their fingers lingering just a moment longer as if savoring your presence.

When you wake up, they greet you with a gentle, almost shy smile, their eyes holding a new softness you hadn’t seen before. “Good morning,” they murmur, their voice lower than usual, and it sends a warm shiver through you. They can’t help but pull you closer, their lips grazing your forehead. They whisper something vulnerable, like, “You’re more beautiful than I even imagined.” The intimacy feels different now—deeper, more magnetic.

As the morning progresses, they’re utterly attentive. They insist on making breakfast, but only after stealing kisses along the way. There’s a playfulness in their actions, but beneath it, a raw sincerity. Over coffee, they speak of the future in subtle ways, mentioning how they’d love to wake up like this every day or teasingly asking, “How would you feel about dogs running around the house?” Their mind races with images of shared moments—lazy mornings, cozy nights, and everything in between.

But when you least expect it, their passion flares. They lean in mid-conversation, pinning you with their gaze, and kiss you again, this time slower, deeper. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” they confess, their voice thick with emotion. They aren’t just falling—they’ve fallen, and they’ll spend the rest of the day showing you just how much.

Pile 2.

The Passionate Realist

They wake up with a fire in their chest, the events of the night before replaying vividly in their mind. For a moment, they lie still, their hand resting on your waist, feeling the warmth of your body against theirs. It’s a grounding moment, as if they’re telling themselves, This is real. This is mine. When you stir, their lips curve into a slow, devilish smile. “Good morning,” they say, their voice husky with lingering desire.

They’re not shy about their admiration. Their gaze is bold, their touch purposeful as they trail their fingers along your skin. “You’re stunning,” they murmur, their words dripping with sincerity. They kiss you again, their lips hungry yet tender, as if trying to communicate what words can’t. There’s an intensity in the air—an undeniable chemistry that leaves you both breathless.

As you pull yourself out of bed, they watch you with a smirk, leaning back on the pillows like they’re the luckiest person in the world. “Don’t get too far,” they tease, their tone light but their eyes holding a spark of mischief. Their energy is contagious.

But as the day unfolds, their deeper side emerges. They’ll sit with you, their voice steady as they speak of their dreams, their fears, and their hopes for the future. They’ll share things they haven’t told anyone before, their walls crumbling because of the trust you’ve built together. By the end of the day, they’re more certain than ever: you’re not just someone they desire. You’re someone they’re willing to build their life around.

Pile 3.

The Protective Lover

They wake up as if guarding a sacred treasure, their arms wrapped protectively around you. Their first thought is simple: I need to keep them safe. I need to make them happy. The sight of you beside them is almost too much to take in—your bare skin glowing softly in the pale light, your warmth still lingering in their embrace. They kiss the top of your head gently, as if not to wake you, their lips brushing against your hair in a gesture of quiet reverence.

When you stir, their eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. “Hey, gorgeous,” they whisper, their voice thick with emotion. They trace patterns along your shoulder, their touch slow and deliberate. They’re not just admiring you—they’re memorizing you, engraving every detail of this moment into their mind. You notice something different in their gaze, a blend of adoration and something deeper, like unspoken promises and unshakable devotion.

As the morning unfolds, they show their affection in practical yet endearing ways. They make sure you’re comfortable, fetching whatever you need before you even realize you want it. They’ll bring up little memories, like the first time they noticed your laugh or the exact moment they fell for you, weaving a thread of nostalgia into the morning. But beneath their gentle exterior lies a hint of insecurity, a fear they keep hidden. They might hesitate before speaking, their voice soft as they say, “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

Later, they’ll tease you playfully, their eyes sparkling as they suggest spending the day together doing something spontaneous, just the two of you. But as they hold you close, their touch lingers longer than usual, and you feel their need to protect this connection. They won’t say it outright, but you’ve broken down their walls, and they’re utterly, irrevocably yours.

---------

DM for paid readings 💋💋

[kathaelipwse]

Set Me Off || J.Wooyoung

Pairing: Wooyoung (ATEEZ) x Actress.Idol!Reader

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 7242 words : Reading Time: 26-ish mins

Trope: Idol x Actress | Slow Burn to Lovers | Hidden Relationship | He Falls First and Harder

Warnings: Mild language, mentions of hate comments, slow-burn tension, eventual mild intimacy (towards the end)

Synopsis: Everyone knows you as the queen of K-dramas, always cast in sweet romance roles. But your gritty new action film flips the script—and catches the attention of ATEEZ’s Wooyoung, who’s instantly obsessed. What starts as admiration turns into something deeper as secret messages, live chemistry, and late-night confessions unfold. Fame might complicate things… but love? That’s the real headline.

Author’s Note: This is my love letter to powerful women, supportive men, and the chaos that comes when celebrity crushes turn mutual. Expect flirty tension, viral moments, soft love, and a lot of heart.

Request are open <3

The award show pulsed with manufactured euphoria. Sequins shimmered under the relentless assault of camera flashes, a galaxy of idols clustered beneath the stage lights, their attention divided between the ongoing performances and hushed predictions of who would clutch the coveted trophies. It was the usual orchestrated spectacle: saccharine romance trailers that elicited polite applause, glossy cosmetic brand ads promising unattainable perfection, dramatic teasers hinting at future on-screen turmoil. Fluff and glitter, meticulously curated for maximum impact.

Then, the manufactured brilliance fractured.

The house lights bled out, plunging the auditorium into sudden darkness. A collective murmur rippled through the crowd, a momentary suspension of the carefully constructed reality.

The colossal screen, which had moments before showcased smiling faces and glistening products, dissolved into an absolute, consuming black.

And then your trailer began.

A cacophony of sound ripped through the silence: the sharp, concussive reports of gunshots, the high-pitched whine of tires fighting for traction, the chillingly distinct shick of a blade being drawn from its sheath. And then, you materialized. Stepping into the frame as if conjured from the shadows, clad in a black leather jacket that seemed to absorb the remaining light. Your eyes, sharp and assessing, cut through the darkness. Your lips, painted a defiant blood red, curved into a dangerous smile, a flicker of untamed fire dancing in their depths.

"Target acquired," a voice, low and husky – hers – drawled from the screen. The camera shifted, revealing her perched on a rain-slicked rooftop, a silhouette against the artificial twilight. Black leather molded to her form, a gun holstered with lethal grace against her thigh. Her eyes, lined with a stark precision, mirrored your own intensity. Her lips, too, were curved in a knowing smirk.

The entire auditorium held its breath. The low hum of conversation had vanished, replaced by a profound, almost reverent silence. The collective memory of your previous roles – the sweet ingenue clutching a notebook, the girl blushing over a tentative first kiss – seemed to evaporate into the charged atmosphere.

The images on screen shifted with brutal efficiency. You, a whirlwind of controlled violence, flipping a man twice your size with effortless ease, sending him crashing through a pristine marble table. You, a figure of fierce determination, shooting your way out of a towering high-rise as lightning split the stormy sky. You, smirking, a smear of blood a stark crimson against your flawless cheekbone, your beauty amplified by the raw power you exuded. You were terrifying. And undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

"Tell heaven I sent you," she murmured, her voice a silken threat before the deafening roar of an explosion ripped through the sound system. A car erupted in a fiery inferno behind her as she turned and walked away, her silhouette unwavering against the blaze. And then – another explosion, closer this time, the screen erupting in a blinding, white-hot flash. “Blood Petals” – A Netflix Original. Coming Soon.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a beat, two beats, an eternity.

Then, the dam broke.

A collective gasp swept through the auditorium, a wave of pure shock rippling through the assembled stars. A smattering of hesitant cheers broke out, quickly swallowed by the dominant sense of stunned disbelief.

ATEEZ? Their usual boisterous energy seemed to have been momentarily suspended. They sat frozen, eyes glued to the now-blank screen.

Wooyoung? He was a statue carved from disbelief. Utterly silent, his eyes blinked slowly, as if trying to process a reality that had just violently overwritten his expectations. It was as if his entire definition of an ideal had just materialized on screen, holding a grenade and a vendetta.

“Bro,” San whispered, nudging his arm gently. “Was that… her?”

“She just killed five guys and licked blood off her thumb,” Mingi muttered, his eyes wide and unfocused. “I didn’t know I was into that, but apparently, I am.”

Wooyoung remained unresponsive, his brain seemingly undergoing a complete system reboot. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he breathed, “She’s so hot I think I blacked out for a second.”

And then – your cue.

Blinding spotlights flooded the stage, cutting through the residual darkness. You stepped into the incandescent glow, a vision ripped straight from the aesthetic of your trailer. Your gown, the color of deep red wine, clung to your figure like liquid night, sculpted to every curve and angle. The gloves reached past your elbows, adding an air of dangerous elegance, while the slit in the skirt climbed high enough to steal the breath from every lung in the room. Your hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of your face, your expression a study in cool, lethal grace.

Every single eye in the auditorium was fixed on you.

Including his.

Wooyoung watched, his mouth slightly agape, as if you had indeed descended from the ceiling on a wire, a real-life embodiment of a Mission: Impossible fantasy.

You smiled – a cool, collected curve of your lips that somehow managed to convey both power and amusement – and your voice, smooth and confident, filled the stunned silence. “Best Performance Group: ATEEZ.”

A ripple of movement went through their section. They rose, a wave of applause finally breaking the spell. But Wooyoung? He moved as if through water, a dazed expression still clouding his features.

As Hongjoong stepped up to the microphone to accept the award, the unforgiving eye of the camera captured everything. The genuine gratitude on Hongjoong’s face, the supportive smiles of the other members – and Wooyoung. Wooyoung, who couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. His eyes followed the line of your dress, the sharpness of your jawline, the knowing glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smirk. Your entire aura seemed to have him ensnared.

And then, as you gracefully handed over the gleaming trophy to Hongjoong, your eyes flickered in his direction. Just a fleeting glance. Just one subtle, almost imperceptible smirk.

It was over.

He was done.

Dead.

Buried under a mountain of newfound fascination.

Twitter exploded within minutes.

🎥 “wooyoung folded like a lawn chair watching her walk out I CANNOT.” 📸 “she smirked. he malfunctioned. we all saw it.”

Later that night, back in the familiar chaos of their dorms, the boys were starting to unwind, the adrenaline of the award show slowly dissipating. Everyone, that is, except for Wooyoung.

He was curled up in his bed, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his head, the glow of his phone illuminating his face as he watched your trailer on repeat.

Click.

You walked out of the inferno, the flickering flames casting dramatic shadows across your face, a gun held loosely in one hand, the sharp snap of your heel against the imaginary concrete echoing in his ears.

“Target acquired.”

He exhaled, a long, shaky breath, as if he had indeed glimpsed something divine.

Yeosang cautiously peeked his head around the doorframe. “Are you… okay?”

“She blew up a car. In HEELS.”

“That didn’t exactly answer the question.”

“She’s so cool, guys,” Wooyoung continued, his voice a hushed reverence. “She used to be in all those fluffy romcoms, and now she’s killing people and being sarcastic and walking in slow motion away from explosions. I didn’t know I had a thing for powerful women who could destroy me.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’ve fallen. Hard.”

Mingi punctuated the statement by throwing a soft pillow at Wooyoung’s head. “Confess already.”

“I can’t even breathe,” Wooyoung whispered into his blanket, his voice muffled. “She smirked at me. I think I transcended.”

--

Soon enough The Premiere night descended upon the city like an electric storm, the air crackling with anticipation. Paparazzi, an organized frenzy, lined the velvet ropes like a high-powered firing squad, their flashes a relentless barrage of light. Fans, a roaring wave of adoration, pressed against the barriers, their screams a fervent symphony of excitement. The rapid-fire click of camera shutters punctuated the night, a relentless soundtrack to the unfolding spectacle.

And then, the sleek black car pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows a final veil of mystery. The collective breath of the crowd hitched. The door swung open, and you emerged.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The carefully orchestrated chaos outside the theater erupted into pandemonium. Shouts of your name ripped through the air, drowning out everything else.

You were a vision sculpted from darkness and fire. Custom black silk, impossibly fluid, cascaded around you, embroidered with intricate gold threads that seemed to writhe and shimmer like molten lava. The dress, a masterpiece of design, clung to your form as if painted on, a second skin crafted by mythical beings. A dramatic slit revealed a tantalizing glimpse of leg with every step, while the low back hinted at a hidden strength. Your hair, swept up into a sleek, architectural style, framed your sharp features. Gleaming gold ear cuffs, like miniature sculptures, caught the red carpet lights, adding a touch of fierce elegance.

And your expression? Imperturbable. Powerful. The same captivatingly dark femme fatale aura that had sent shockwaves through the internet after the trailer’s release now radiated in person, amplified tenfold. You were a living, breathing myth, a fire-walking siren who had stepped out of the screen and into reality.

Even as you moved, the digital world was reacting in real-time. Edits began to coalesce on social media, capturing your every step, every glance. Tweets poured in, breathless and awestruck.

💬 “This isn’t a premiere. This is a coronation.” 💬 “She didn’t come to slay. She came to rule.” 💬 “Y/N is literally a Bond villainess and the Bond girl at the same time. My brain can’t comprehend.”

But it wasn't just your otherworldly glamour that held the crowd captive. It was the unexpected glimpses of the person beneath the formidable facade.

As you posed for the relentless cameras, a young female staffer behind you stumbled, her simple blouse slipping awkwardly off one shoulder. In a seamless movement, without a flicker of hesitation, you shifted your position, subtly placing yourself between her and the unforgiving lenses. Your head dipped slightly, and those who were close enough saw your lips move, a whispered word of comfort as the flustered staffer quickly adjusted her top, her face flushing with gratitude.

Moments later, as you made your way towards the theater entrance, a small gasp rippled through the nearby fans. A little girl, her bright pink frock a little too long, had tripped, her face crumpling in distress. Without a second thought, you knelt down in your breathtakingly expensive gown, your movements graceful and unhurried. Your long fingers gently smoothed the ruffled fabric of her skirt, and you carefully adjusted the tiny strap of her heel, offering a warm, genuine smile that melted away her tears.

Halfway up the grand staircase leading into the theater, you paused, your sharp eyes catching a minor imperfection. Your co-star, a usually impeccably dressed actor, had a crooked tie. With a playful shake of your head and a soft laugh that carried in the sudden lull of noise, you reached out and straightened it, your touch light but precise. A blush bloomed on his cheeks, making him look endearingly like a teenager caught off guard.

The internet, already teetering on the brink of collapse, finally shattered.

🎥 “She’s gorgeous, graceful, and kind? This woman’s a SIMULATION. There’s no way she’s real.” 🎥 Fan art, vibrant and immediate, flooded Twitter. TikTok edits set to soaring symphonic music, captioned with the simple, powerful words ‘Queen Energy,’ dominated FYPs. 🎥 # Y/NsEra surged to the # 1 trending spot worldwide, a testament to the captivating force you had unleashed.

And somewhere across the sprawling city, within the familiar, slightly chaotic haven of the ATEEZ dorms, Wooyoung was staring at his phone screen as if it had personally delivered a devastating blow.

She was perfect.

She was unreal.

And she had just posted a picture from the premiere – the black and gold dress shimmering under the intense lights, her gaze direct and magnetic, captioned with two stark emojis:

“🖤⚔️ Blood Petals, now streaming.”

He didn’t pause to consider the implications. He didn’t overthink. His fingers moved with a speed born of pure impulse. He just hit ‘follow.’

And three seconds later, in the small, interconnected universe of social media, the world seemed to tilt again.

💬 “WOOYOUNG FOLLOWED Y/N???” 💬 “We have contact. I repeat. We HAVE CONTACT.” 💬 “Not Wooyoung folding on MAIN like this. I’m deceased.”

Even his own group chat, usually a steady stream of memes and inside jokes, erupted into a flurry of panicked messages.

Mingi: BRO San: no way you just followed her like that Hongjoong: bold. very bold. Yeosang: should’ve made a finsta first lmfao Jongho: you’re so obvious it’s painful Wooyoung: leave me alone Seonghwa: she was really pretty though. and nice. and cool. Wooyoung: I KNOW. I KNOW SHE WAS AND SHE IS.

The next morning, the news broke with the quiet confidence of undeniable success. Netflix officially announced that "Blood Petals" had soared to the # 1 movie spot globally. It had cracked the Top 10 in over eighty countries within the first twelve hours of its release. Critics, who had once pigeonholed you, now lauded your performance, praising the stunning cinematography, the visceral choreography, and your terrifyingly captivating grace. Audiences were spellbound by the transformation, the seamless shift from the soft-spoken sweetheart of romantic comedies to the high-heeled harbinger of doom.

Wooyoung became a dedicated disciple of "Blood Petals." He watched it again and again, dissecting every scene, every nuance of your performance.

But it wasn’t just the movie that consumed him.

He delved into the archives of your public appearances, binging interviews where your witty, sarcastic answers were delivered with a playful smirk that sent a shiver of something he couldn’t quite name down his spine. He watched behind-the-scenes footage, charmed by your easy camaraderie with the stunt team, your genuine laughter at your own bloopers.

And then there were the fan edits. Oh, the fan edits. Compilations of your most striking moments – you in slow motion, flipping gleaming knives with deadly precision, a knowing smirk thrown over your shoulder as you walked away from fiery explosions, all set to a soundtrack of haunting melodies or pulse-pounding club beats.

He was whipped.

Fully.

Entirely.

Completely.

Even the sharp-eyed fans, masters of observation and deduction, sensed the shift in the cosmic balance.

💬 “They haven’t even breathed the same air publicly but I just KNOW he’s head over heels in love.” 💬 “He’s fighting for his life in that dorm right now, trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly.”

And they were right. Because even without a single shared glance captured by the cameras, without a single public interaction…

The ship, fueled by a shared smirk and a single, fateful click of a ‘follow’ button, had already irrevocably set sail.

--

A month had passed since the explosive premiere of "Blood Petals." Your face was plastered across magazine covers, your interviews were dissected frame by frame, and your social media notifications pinged with the relentless energy of a thousand buzzing bees. Your movie reigned supreme, a global phenomenon that solidified your transformation from rom-com darling to action icon. You were booked solid with appearances, endorsements, and talk show circuits.

But through the whirlwind of newfound fame, nothing – and absolutely no one – had managed to truly ruffle your carefully constructed composure. You were a seasoned professional, adept at navigating the chaotic landscape of celebrity.

Until today.

Stepping onto the brightly lit set of a reality show felt different. The studio lights blazed with an almost aggressive intensity, the screams of the live audience were a physical force, and a knot of pure, unadulterated nerves tightened in your stomach, pulling it taut like a drawn bow.

Because today, you were filming with Wooyoung.

Yes. That Wooyoung.

The one who had casually followed you on Instagram weeks ago, triggering an internet meltdown of epic proportions. The one whose award show fancam, capturing his utterly besotted gaze as you presented ATEEZ with their trophy, had inexplicably garnered four million views in a mere seventy-two hours. The one you had, in the quiet corners of your mind, secretly, foolishly, undeniably been crushing on since his debut days.

You’d handled the online frenzy with your usual cool detachment, offering a wry comment here and there, expertly deflecting any direct questions. On the outside, you were the epitome of unbothered grace.

But seeing him in person, sitting across from you at the brightly lit panel table, his fox-like smile radiating genuine warmth, the silver rings on his fingers catching the studio lights, his dark hair artfully messy in a way that somehow only looked perfect on him?

Yeah. Game over. All your carefully constructed walls crumbled like ancient ruins.

“Hi,” he said, his voice a smooth, slightly breathless murmur as you finally settled into your seat. His eyes held a spark of something… intriguing.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice betraying none of the internal chaos, maintaining your signature cool even as your heart rate decided to stage its own private rave.

He leaned in ever so slightly, a conspiratorial air about him. “You look… dangerous.” His gaze flickered over your outfit, a sleek black jumpsuit that hinted at the lethal grace you portrayed on screen.

A familiar smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s kind of the brand now, isn’t it?” You met his eyes, holding his gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary.

The show kicked off, a whirlwind of bright lights and enthusiastic energy. Games were played with varying degrees of success, laughter echoed through the studio, and the usual delightful madness of variety television unfolded. You found yourself surprisingly at ease, bantering with the other guests, your sharp wit on full display.

And then, the host, a seasoned entertainer with a mischievous glint in his eye, turned to you mid-segment, a wide grin spreading across his face. He thrived on creating memorable moments, and the palpable energy between you and Wooyoung hadn’t escaped his notice.

“So, Y/N,” he began, his voice laced with playful curiosity, “people were absolutely obsessed with your bike scenes in Blood Petals. The way you handled that motorcycle in those incredible heels… Do you think you could still ride in heels in real life?”

Without missing a beat, you smoothly crossed your long legs, the movement drawing attention to the very heels in question – a pair of impossibly high stilettos. You casually flicked a loose strand of hair over your shoulder, your gaze steady. “Of course. I could ride in stilettos if I had to. Though I might prefer a slightly more… aerodynamic model than what I usually wear to premieres.”

The audience erupted in cheers and whistles, thoroughly enjoying your confident response.

But the host wasn’t finished stirring the pot. He clapped his hands together dramatically, his eyes twinkling. “Amazing! Absolutely amazing! Well, we have a bike right here on set for our next segment… Anyone here wanna volunteer to ride behind our action queen and, you know, test out her skills?” He punctuated the question with a wink at the camera, clearly intending it as a lighthearted joke. The cast members chuckled, anticipating the usual playful refusals.

Except for one person.

“Yes.”

Wooyoung’s voice cut through the laughter, clear and unwavering. He didn’t even blink, his expression utterly serious, calm, and brimming with a quiet confidence that sent a fresh wave of unexpected butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The entire room seemed to freeze mid-breath. The camera zoomed in on the audience, capturing their collective gasp of shock and burgeoning excitement. Screams started to bubble up from the fans, a sound that was rapidly escalating into something bordering on feral. The other cast members exchanged bewildered glances, some wheezing with suppressed laughter, the staff members behind the cameras cackling with glee at the unexpected turn of events.

And you?

You turned your head slowly, deliberately, to look directly at him. His gaze was intense, a playful fire dancing in his dark eyes. He was smiling at you like the damn devil himself, an irresistible invitation in his expression.

So, of course, you said, your voice a low, challenging purr, “Let’s ride.”

The live segment instantly became legend.

A sleek, black motorcycle was wheeled onto the stage, gleaming under the studio lights. You swung your leg over it with an effortless grace that suggested you had indeed been born on two wheels, the sharp click of your stilettos against the pedals echoing in the sudden hush. Wooyoung hesitated for a split second – just enough to play it off as a moment of playful apprehension – before swinging his own leg over and sliding in behind you, his movements surprisingly fluid.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air behind you, a palpable tension radiating from him.

“Is it okay if I—?” he started, his voice a hesitant murmur.

“Yes,” you said, cutting him off before he could even finish the question, a hint of amusement lacing your tone.

His hands settled on your waist, lightly at first, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your jumpsuit. Then, as the camera zoomed in for a close-up, his grip tightened subtly, a silent acknowledgment of the close proximity. His breath warmed the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low rumble.

“You sure you’re good?”

“You’ve asked me ten times,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. “You nervous?”

“Just trying not to pass out,” he muttered, the words barely audible.

You pretended not to hear the slightly flustered admission, but the knowing smirk playing on your lips said otherwise.

The internet, predictably, imploded. Again.

💬 “The chemistry is NOT just acting. I refuse to believe this is just for the show.” 💬 “They’re touching like it’s a first date AND their third date at the same time. The awkwardness is endearing and the underlying tension is… palpable.” 💬 “Someone check on Wooyoung’s blood pressure. I think it just spiked into the stratosphere.”

After the exhilarating chaos of the live broadcast, as you finally had a moment to yourself, you opened Instagram. Your fingers hovered over his profile for a fleeting second before you made the decision.

And finally – finally – you tapped the ‘follow’ button.

Within mere seconds, the eagle-eyed fans noticed the digital acknowledgment. The news spread like wildfire.

💬 “Y/N FOLLOWED HIM BACK. WE’RE WITNESSING HISTORY UNFOLD BEFORE OUR VERY EYES.” 💬 “This isn’t just a ship anymore. It’s a luxury yacht sailing through international waters.” 💬 “They’re gonna get married and I can FEEL IT in my bones. Save the date!”

Meanwhile, back at the ATEEZ dorm, the atmosphere was one of bewildered amusement.

Mingi burst into the living room with theatrical flair, phone clutched dramatically in his hand. “YOU SAID YES ON LIVE TV?! TO RIDING BEHIND HER?! ON A MOTORCYCLE?!”

Yunho followed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide, slightly incredulous grin on his face. “You looked like you were about to propose on that bike, hyung.”

Wooyoung simply shrugged, a goofy, lovesick grin plastered across his face – the grin of a man who was clearly, irrevocably, way too far gone. “I meant it.”

Mingi and Yunho groaned in perfect unison, collapsing onto the nearby couch.

“You’re down bad,” Mingi declared with mock solemnity.

“Embarrassing,” Yunho added, though the teasing tone lacked any real bite.

Wooyoung just flopped back onto the cushions, his phone already displaying a rapidly growing collection of fan edits from the show – snippets of your confident smile, his awestruck gaze, the charged moment on the motorcycle.

And he smiled, a soft, genuine expression that reached his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet contentment. “I know.”

It starts the night after the variety show.

Your phone buzzes at 1:12 a.m. with a DM request.

Wooyoung.

You open it without hesitation.

@ wooyoung_official Hey… I hope this isn’t weird or too much but I just wanted to say I had so much fun filming today. I meant what I said about the bike thing, by the way. You were incredible. If I came off too strong, I’m sorry—I was just really nervous and trying not to make it obvious I’ve been a fan of yours forever lol. You’re insanely talented. And hilarious. And kind. I don’t usually DM people like this but… I didn’t want the day to end without saying thank you. Hope I wasn’t too much.

You stare at the screen, heart thudding. Not just because it’s sweet. But because it's real.

You reply faster than you probably should.

@ you That wasn’t too much at all. I had a great time too :) I’m glad it was you behind me on that bike. And if you were nervous, you hid it well. We should do that again sometime. (Maybe without the cameras.)

There’s a pause. Then another ping.

@ wooyoung_official …wait was that flirting Are we flirting now Because I’m ready

You laugh, then send your number as he had sent his.

--

From that moment, it takes off.

Texting every day. Morning check-ins. Late-night venting. Voice notes filled with sleepy laughter and dramatic reenactments of chaotic schedules.

You send each other memes, inside jokes forming faster than you can keep track.

He tells you about the stress of comeback season, the pressure to stay sharp, the ache in his bones from back-to-back rehearsals.

You talk about the constant need to be “on,” the way you sometimes feel like a product instead of a person, the weight of comments that cut deeper than they should.

And through it all, Wooyoung listens. Never tries to fix you. Just sees you.

And hypes you—loudly.

When you land another guesting on a show with him, fans immediately clock the shift.

The way he looks at you when you speak. The inside jokes mid-interview. The not-so-subtle way his hand brushes yours during games.

Clips go viral.

💬 “They’re literally in their own world.” 💬 “Why does Wooyoung look at her like that 😭😭” 💬 “Not him fixing her mic like a boyfriend.” 💬 “HE SAID SHE DESERVES TEN OSCARS??? GET HIM A RING.”

It gets worse (or better?) when he starts defending you online.

Any hate comment?

Deleted.

Any fan shading your acting?

He’s replying with full essays about your talent and work ethic.

He comments under your posts with things like:

💬 Queen behavior. 💬 She acts, she slays, she saves lives. 💬 Where’s your award? No seriously. 💬 No one’s touching her. I mean that.

And when you text him—

💬 you You really don’t have to defend me like that all the time, you know. 💬 wooyoung Yes, I do. You deserve someone who shows up for you. Always. I want to be that.

--

One night, after a long shoot, you break a little.

You text: “Some days I feel like I’ll never be enough no matter how hard I work.”

His reply comes thirty seconds later.

You don’t have to earn the right to rest. You’re enough just as you are. And I know this world is loud and cruel sometimes. But when you need quiet? I’ll be your quiet. When you need noise? I’ll be your loudest.

You cry.

And when he sends a sleepy voice note later saying:

“Just wanted you to hear my voice. In case it helps.”

—you fall asleep smiling.

-

One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of whispered messages that painted the dawn, late-night phone calls that chased away the shadows, stolen secret coffee runs in disguise, the comforting rhythm of shared playlists weaving through your days, matching hoodies bought on a whim and worn in the privacy of your own spaces, a silent testament to a connection only you two understood.

You and Wooyoung had cultivated a world just for yourselves, a sanctuary built on stolen moments and shared laughter. It wasn't about hiding from the relentless glare of the public eye, though that was a necessary byproduct. It was about cherishing something precious, something untouched by the often-brutal scrutiny of public opinion. It was yours, and his, and belonged to no one else.

He had become your unwavering safe place, the calm in your often-turbulent storm. You, in turn, had become his soft landing, the quiet reassurance in the demanding world he navigated. You had shared everything – your fears, your triumphs, your silliest jokes, your deepest vulnerabilities.

Except for this.

Your next movie. A project shrouded in secrecy, filmed during snatched moments over the past six months. A bold, breathtaking action-romance that promised to redefine your range, where you played the lead opposite a talented rising actor. And yes – there were intimate scenes. A handful. Tastefully shot, with a closed set and an intimacy coordinator ensuring everyone felt safe and respected. Carefully choreographed, like any other dance sequence.

Necessary for the story, your director had emphasized, his artistic vision unwavering. And executed with professionalism and respect, you knew. You believed in the script, in the message it conveyed. You loved the complexity of your character. You just hadn’t… told him.

You had envisioned it as a surprise, a new facet of your artistry to share when the time was right, perhaps at the official trailer drop. But when the first press article landed, its headline screaming the word “intimate” in bold, accusatory letters… it wasn’t the carefully curated reveal you had planned.

Your phone began to vibrate incessantly, a relentless buzzing that echoed the growing unease within you. Notifications flooded your screen – concerned messages from your team, speculative comments from fans, and then, his name flashed across the display.

💬 Wooyoung: Can we meet? Just us. Please.

The café was a hidden gem, tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street in the familiar bustle of Mapo-gu. The early afternoon crowd was sparse, mostly locals lost in their own conversations. No one paid you a second glance as you slipped inside. He was already there, seated in your usual corner booth, the familiar soft grey of his hoodie pulled low, the brim of his black cap shadowing his usually bright eyes.

As you slid into the booth opposite him, he looked up, and a sharp pang of something akin to guilt and worry twisted in your chest. He wasn't angry, not outwardly. But an almost palpable anxiety clung to him, a restless energy that made him seem smaller, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. It was as if something was crawling under his skin, an invisible itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice a gentle anchor in the tense atmosphere.

"Hey." He offered you a tight, strained smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then he exhaled sharply, the sound filled with a nervous energy. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you out like this, I just… I couldn't keep it in. Not for another second."

Without a word, you reached across the small table, your hand finding his. His fingers curled around yours instantly, his grip surprisingly tight, as if he needed the physical connection to ground him. He took another shaky breath before the words finally tumbled out, quick, nervous, raw with vulnerability.

"I trust you. You know that, right? God, you have to know that. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met. But when I saw those articles, the way they were talking about it, the… the emphasis on those scenes… I—I just panicked. My head went somewhere I didn't want it to go. I know it's acting. I know it's your job, your art. But I couldn't stop imagining it, replaying scenarios in my head. I hate that I felt this wave of… of jealousy. It's so stupid. I hate that my brain spiraled like that. I just—God."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb tracing small, agitated circles on your skin.

"I think… I think I love you so much it scares me sometimes. It makes me… irrational. I don't ever want to be the guy who tells you what to do, what roles to take, what not to film. That's not who I am. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't make this awful knot form in my stomach, like I was losing you. Or worse… that I didn't deserve you, that someone else… someone else would see that side of you, that intimacy, and… and that I wouldn't be enough."

Your own chest tightened, a wave of empathy washing over you. You understood his vulnerability, the quiet insecurities that even his bright stage presence couldn’t always mask.

Without a word, you slid out of your seat, moved around the small table, and knelt down in front of him, your knees pressing gently against the worn wooden floor. You reached up, your hands framing his face, your thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones.

"Wooyoung," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "You're allowed to feel all of that. Every single bit of it. You're not wrong for being scared, for letting your mind wander. It just proves how much you care. But you're not losing me. You've never even come close."

His dark eyes darted across your face, searching, questioning, glassy with unshed tears that made his eyelashes look impossibly long. “I just… it’s just that the way they wrote about it…”

"I love you." You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, the contact a silent reassurance. "I love you. Jung Wooyoung. Not anyone else. Not any character I play. Not any co-star I share a scene with. Just you. Always you."

He blinked slowly, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. “You… you do?” The question was barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of disbelief and a fragile hope.

"I have for a long time," you confessed, your voice soft but firm.

Then you kissed him.

It was a tender kiss, slow and deliberate, a silent language of reassurance and unwavering affection. It deepened gradually, becoming a heartfelt expression of everything you had ever wanted to say, everything that words often failed to capture. His hands, which had been gripping yours so tightly, now moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his own lips finally responding with a fervor that spoke volumes of the restraint he had been holding onto.

You broke apart just enough to breathe, your lips still brushing against his.

"The scenes in the movie?" you said gently, your gaze unwavering. "They're choreography, Wooyoung. They're storytelling. They're a performance. Not emotion. That has never, and will never, be a part of what I feel for you."

You pressed a soft kiss against his jawline, feeling the slight tremor beneath your lips.

"My heart doesn't perform for a camera. It beats for you, and only you."

You stood, taking his hand, your fingers lacing together as if they were meant to be intertwined. You left the quiet café hand in hand, two figures melting into the anonymity of the afternoon shadows, a shared smile gracing your lips – the quiet, knowing smile of two people who had just reaffirmed something precious and unbreakable.

And maybe you had stolen something from the universe. The unwavering certainty of each other's love, a bond forged in vulnerability and trust. And that, you knew, was a treasure beyond measure.

--

Two years. Seven hundred and thirty sunrises witnessed through sleepy eyes, countless whispered "goodnights" across continents, an immeasurable tapestry woven from secret smiles exchanged across crowded rooms, stolen moments tucked away from prying eyes, phone calls that stretched into the velvet depths of midnight, sharing the quiet anxieties and exhilarating triumphs that came with navigating your extraordinary lives. It was about fiercely protecting something real, something fragile and precious, in a world that seemed determined to twist every genuine connection into a sensational headline.

But love, as it often did, bloomed in the quiet spaces, making you both a little braver, a little more willing to step out of the carefully constructed shadows.

So there was no dramatic announcement, no carefully worded statement released through official channels. No grand, orchestrated gesture, no notes app apology for… well, for simply finding happiness. Instead, you both eased into the public acknowledgment of your relationship with the same gentle tenderness that defined your private world—slowly, softly, like the first blush of dawn.

A seemingly innocuous selfie, posted amidst a flurry of solo shots, where a familiar black jacket was just-so-casually draped over your shoulders. A behind-the-scenes video from a shoot where a distinct, joyful laugh echoed in the background, a laugh that sharp-eared fans instantly recognized. A fleeting glimpse of a hand, undeniably his, resting near yours in a group photo.

The fans, those astute observers of every pixel and every shared glance, already knew. They had suspected, theorized, and meticulously documented every potential clue for months. Edits set to romantic ballads, intricate timelines of your subtle interactions, and countless “I swear they’re secretly dating” comments had flooded every corner of the internet you both inhabited.

So when it finally became “official”—just a casual, almost offhand, "yes, we’re together, and we’re really happy" during a lighthearted interview about your recent projects—the internet didn't explode in scandal. Instead, it melted with an outpouring of genuine joy and heartfelt congratulations. It wasn't a shocking revelation; it was a confirmation of something beautiful that they had already sensed. It was a celebration of a connection that felt real, honest, and earned.

And Wooyoung? He never stopped being your biggest fan, his unwavering support now blossoming into something even more profound. Every post you shared, no matter how trivial, received his immediate like, a digital affirmation that always brought a small smile to your face. Every press junket, every interview you gave, he watched with an almost reverent pride. Every stray negative comment, every whisper of doubt from the darker corners of the internet, he seemed to drown out with an even louder, more radiant display of his affection.

You weren’t just a fleeting “celebrity crush” in his eyes anymore. You were his. His partner, his confidante, his equal. His favorite person in a world filled with dazzling lights and fleeting connections.

And he was yours. The steady anchor in your often-turbulent sea, the warm hand that always found yours in a crowded room, the comforting voice that whispered reassurances in the quiet hours.

The premiere night of your latest film was, as always, a dazzling spectacle. The relentless flash of cameras, the chorus of voices calling your name, the crimson carpet stretching out like a runway leading into the starlit sky. You stood tall, radiating confidence in a gown of rich crimson velvet that seemed to absorb and reflect the light, your poise a silent testament to the journey you had navigated.

Wooyoung didn't walk beside you, his arm linked with yours for the cameras. That wasn't your story. But he was there, a steadfast presence tucked away in the guest section, the hood of his jacket pulled up, the brim of his baseball cap low, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made you feel like you held the very moon in your hands.

Every time your eyes met his across the crowded theater, a fleeting, private moment amidst the public frenzy, your smile softened, a genuine warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the flashing lights.

Later, as the buzz of the after-party began to fade, the air thick with congratulations and champagne bubbles, the two of you slipped away unnoticed, seeking the quiet solitude of a rooftop overlooking the sprawling cityscape.

The city hummed below, a symphony of distant traffic lights flickering like fallen stars, the faint wail of sirens a melancholic counterpoint to the gentle breeze that kissed your skin. You leaned against the cool metal railing, the vastness of the night sky stretching above you. He stepped up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close until your back rested against his chest, his chin finding the curve of your shoulder.

"You killed it tonight," he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned in his embrace, your hands finding his. “You always say that.”

He smiled, a soft, genuine curve of his lips that you knew so well. "Because it’s always true. You shine so brightly, you know that?"

A comfortable silence settled between you, the city lights twinkling like a silent audience. The air tasted like something sacred, a shared moment of quiet intimacy amidst the surrounding chaos.

“I don’t want to lose this,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability of the past two years momentarily surfacing.

His grip tightened gently on your hands. “You won’t,” he replied, his voice firm, filled with a quiet conviction. “Not if we keep choosing each other, every single day. Not if we keep protecting this, our own little world.”

You nodded, a small, understanding smile gracing your lips. You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, the familiar scent of his cologne a comforting balm.

And in that quiet space, between the distant hum of the city and the steady rhythm of your heartbeats, you both silently reaffirmed the promise you had made to each other long ago – to never let the relentless demands of the world, the intrusive glare of fame, the insidious tendrils of fear and doubt, or the deafening noise of public opinion come between the fragile, beautiful thing you had built.

The next morning, as the world began to stir, a blurry, zoomed-in shot surfaced on Twitter, quickly going viral. It was an imperfect capture of a perfect moment. You were laughing, your hand playfully covering your mouth, your head tilted towards Wooyoung, who stood close beside you, his hand gently, possessively, holding yours. The background was indistinct, the focus soft, but the emotion captured in that single frame was undeniable.

The caption, simple and heartfelt, resonated with millions:

“When your celeb crush becomes your person.”

And just like that, the world kept spinning, the endless cycle of news and gossip continuing its relentless churn. But for once, it felt like the universe was tilting ever so slightly in your favor, bathing your quiet, hard-won happiness in a warm, gentle light.

-- THE END

[melanchoire]

MAKE IT TO THE HIGH FASHION ──── yu jimin.

── ( 📸 ) as two of prada’s most coveted faces, you and karina, former lovers torn apart by a whirlwind of rumors and a devastating lack of trust, are unexpectedly thrust back into each other’s orbit for a high–stakes photoshoot, and as the camera flashes capture not only the clothes but also the raw emotions simmering beneath the surface, karina seizes the opportunity to finally explain the truth behind the infamous dispatch scandal, leaving you to decide if forgiveness and a second chance are worth risking your heart all over again.

pairing. dom!toxic ex girlfriend!karina x sub!ex girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). angst (kinda), cheating, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out, pet names, squirting.

word count. 10,8k

requested? yes.

the flashing lights of the stage are blinding, but you navigate them with a practiced ease. your movements are sharp, your gaze intense, and the roar of the crowd fuels you. another performance done, another wave of deafening cheers washing over you.

being an idol was everything you’d ever dreamed of, the culmination of years of grueling training and unwavering dedication. being an idol is a whirlwind of constant performances, relentless practice, and the ever–present scrutiny of millions.

but it came with a price. a price you were currently paying with a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

the unspoken rule looms over you: romantic relationships are a liability. fans, in their adoration, often see their idols as belonging to them, their fantasies woven into the perfect image projected on stage. to shatter that image with the reality of a partner is to risk their ire, their disappointment, and ultimately, their support. and beyond that, dating someone within the industry is akin to walking a tightrope, a constant balancing act between public perception, competitive pressures, and genuine affection.

being an idol meant living under a microscope. wvery move you made, every word you spoke, was scrutinized and dissected by millions. maintaining a squeaky–clean image was paramount. and that meant keeping secrets. especially secrets like the one you shared with karina.

karina. the leader of aespa. your rival group. and, impossibly, the woman who held your heart.

you remembered the early days, the awkward interactions backstage at music shows. you were both rookies then, navigating the treacherous waters of the industry, trying to make a name for yourselves. aespa and your group often found yourselves promoting at the same time, leading to a whirlwind of shared stages and fleeting conversations. you always found yourself drawn to karina’s quiet confidence, her sharp wit hidden beneath a cool exterior.

you’d make silly faces at each other across the stage during encore performances, earning a playful glare from your manager later. during music show wins, you’d subtly angle your phone during a group shot to get karina in the frame, much to the amusement (and knowing smirks) of your members. you meticulously learned the choreography of “girls” just so you could tease her with it backstage. these interactions were small, seemingly insignificant to the outside world. but to you, they were everything. they were a lifeline in a world that often felt isolating and manufactured.

until finally you two had a decent interaction, meaning you had the balls to approach her without getting cold feet in the process; when your group and hers had overlapping promotion cycles, you’d make sure to seek her out. a quick hug backstage, a shared compliment about each other’s stage outfits, a genuine smile for the cameras. you remember one instance vividly: uour group had just finished performing your latest title track on a music show. exhausted but exhilarated, you spotted karina across the backstage chaos. she was radiant in a shimmering silver dress, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed with her members. you approached her, offering a playful bow.

“karina–ssi, your performance was amazing today! that high note gave me chills.” you said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

she returned the bow, her cheeks flushing slightly. “ah, (y/n)–ssi, you were incredible too! that break dance was killer.”

fans, of course, noticed. they speculated. they shipped. they created elaborate fanfiction scenarios, fueling the flames of their own fantasies. “le sserafim x aespa crumbs!” they’d squeal in the comments sections. little did they know, the “crumbs” they were seeing were just the tip of a very carefully concealed iceberg.

little did they know, those fleeting moments were lifelines, secret signals in a world that demanded you keep your true feelings hidden.

but the stolen glances, the brief touches, the whispered phone calls late at night, were never enough. griendship evolved into something deeper, something undeniable. you fell in love, slowly and irrevocably, her strength and kindness drawing you in like a moth to a flame. the joy you found in her presence was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the manufactured smiles and rehearsed interactions that often characterized your public life.

keeping your relationship a secret wasn’t easy. you navigated crowded events with coded glances, orchestrated meet–ups under the cover of darkness, and perfected the art of communicating volumes with a single squeeze of the hand. but the fear of exposure was a constant companion, a nagging voice whispering in the back of your mind.

the industry thrived on these manufactured interactions. inter–group friendships were good for publicity, harmless fodder for variety shows and social media engagement. what wasn’t good for publicity was a genuine romantic relationship, especially not one between two female idols from competing companies.

you and karina knew the risks. you knew the potential backlash. but you couldn’t deny the connection that had blossomed between you. late–night phone calls stretched into hours, filled with whispered confessions and shared dreams. secret meetings in secluded cafes, faces hidden behind masks and oversized hoodies. the thrill of the forbidden, the electricity of stolen moments, only intensified your feelings.

but secrecy was a heavy burden. the constant fear of discovery hung over you like a sword. you had to be careful, always meticulously planning your rendezvous, scrubbing your digital footprint, and carefully curating your public persona. it was exhausting.

then came the fateful night. you and karina, desperate for a few hours of normalcy, had planned a late–night dinner at a small, tucked–away restaurant. you meticulously planned every detail; you’d chosen a restaurant tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the bustling city center. you both donned your best incognito outfits — baseball caps pulled low, dark sunglasses, and layers of clothing designed to obscure your identities. karina, ever cautious, had even suggested wearing masks, but you’d argued against it, fearing it would draw more attention.

the evening was perfect. you laughed, you talked, you forgot, for a few precious hours, the weight of the world and the expectations of millions. you held her hand across the table, her touch sending a familiar shiver down your spine. for a moment, you let yourself believe that you could have it all — your career, your love, your happiness.

that illusion shattered with the flash of a camera.

as you left the restaurant, a flash of light erupted from the darkness. a paparazzi, lurking in the shadows, had captured the moment. the grainy photo, capturing you and karina holding hands, faces partially obscured, was splashed across the internet the next morning.

your world imploded.

the next morning, your phone exploded. notifications flooded your screen, a torrent of comments, messages, and articles screaming the same thing: you and karina. a grainy photo circulated online — you, holding hands with a woman who was undeniably karina, bathed in the harsh glare of a flashbulb.

the world went into meltdown.

your phone became a weapon of mass destruction, buzzing incessantly with notifications. fans, stans, haters, news outlets — everyone had an opinion. the comments ranged from outright vitriol to tentative support, but the overwhelming sentiment was shock and disbelief.

“OMG! is this real?”

“unbelievable! they’re dating?!”

“my ship has sailed! i knew it!”

“(y/n) is cancelled! how dare she keep this from us?”

“leave them alone! it’s their life!”

the outrage, the speculation, the sheer volume of noise was deafening. you felt sick to your stomach, a cold dread creeping into your bones.

your company scrambled to contain the damage, issuing a statement that confirmed the rumors. karina’s agency followed suit. but the language was vague, both statements were carefully worded, emphasizing the “close friendship” that had “unexpectedly blossomed” into something more. the language was sterile, devoid of the warmth and passion that characterized your relationship. it felt like a betrayal, a public dissection of something so private and precious.

then came the dreaded request: the handwritten letter. you were instructed to write a letter to your fans, a heartfelt apology for “keeping this secret” and a plea for understanding. the words felt hollow, disingenuous. you wanted to scream, to defend your right to privacy, to express the pure, unadulterated joy that karina brought into your life. but you knew you couldn’t. you were an idol, a product, and your image was carefully controlled.

you stared at the blank page, the weight of expectation crushing you. how could you possibly explain the complexities of your heart to millions of strangers? how could you apologize for loving someone, for finding happiness in a world that so often seemed determined to deny it to you?

but you knew you had no choice. you were an idol, and your fans were the lifeblood of your career. you owed them an explanation, even if it felt like a violation.

you sat at your desk, the blank document on your laptop mocking you. you typed, deleted, and retyped, trying to find the right words, the words that would appease your fans without sacrificing your integrity. it felt like an impossible task.

finally, you settled on something carefully crafted, something that acknowledged the situation without revealing too much.

you wrote, pouring out your heart in carefully chosen words. you apologized for keeping the relationship a secret, explaining that you had only wanted to protect your fans and preserve the image they held dear. you apologized for not being more open, you thanked your fans for their unwavering support, and you promised to continue working hard to earn their love and respect. you carefully avoided mentioning the word “love” in relation to karina, you only spoke of your respect for karina, your admiration for her talent, and your gratitude for her unwavering support.

posting the letter felt like a betrayal. a betrayal of yourself, a betrayal of karina, a betrayal of the truth. but you knew it was necessary. it was the price you had to pay.

the response was… mixed. some fans were supportive, offering words of encouragement and understanding. they celebrated your courage and wished you both happiness. others were devastated, feeling betrayed and heartbroken. they accused you of lying, of manipulating them, of shattering their dreams. the hate was vicious, personal, and relentless.

the initial backlash was fierce. hordes of fans felt betrayed, accusing you of lying and manipulating them. they flooded your social media with hateful comments, demanding your resignation. other fans rallied to your defense, praising your courage and supporting your right to love. the fandom was fractured, divided.

the weeks that followed were a blur of damage control. you and karina faced a barrage of criticism, scrutiny, and speculation. every move you made was analyzed, every word you spoke dissected. the media feasted on the drama, churning out endless articles and videos dissecting your relationship.

the online world became a battleground, a toxic landscape of love and hate. fan wars erupted, fueled by jealousy, insecurity, and the insatiable hunger for gossip. you watched in horror as people you’d never met tore each other apart over something so deeply personal.

and then there were the whispers, the insidious rumors that threatened to undermine everything you’d worked for. accusations flew — that you were using karina for fame, that she was manipulating you to boost her own career, that your relationship was nothing more than a publicity stunt.

the hate was relentless, particularly aimed at karina. she was branded as a homewrecker, a fame–seeker, a talentless hack. the comments were cruel, vicious, and deeply personal. you wanted to shield her from the storm, to protect her from the ugliness of it all. but you couldn’t, you weren’t the emotionally strong one in the relationship; if just reading the negative comments about karina made you shed tears, how are you supposed to console her without breaking down? karina was the leader of her group and therefore always had to appear serious and mature to the public, and you knew that she cried easily, so you didn’t see yourself capable of comforting her if she felt affected by the criticism because seeing her sad would hurt you and that would end with you crying and karina consoling you.

the weeks that followed were a blur of anxiety and uncertainty. you canceled public appearances, retreated into the safety of your dorm, and tried to avoid the relentless media attention. you felt isolated, vulnerable, and utterly powerless.

you had stopped uploading photos to your social networks since the comments started to be only about the public asking about karina and leading to debates in the comments section, it hurt you to see people having opinions about things without knowing about them and having a rather questionable point of view but reading your fans defending you even without knowing if the rumors were real was like a cute bandage on a deep wound.

but no matter how much you stopped being active on social media and stopped talking on weverse, the comments didn’t stop; logging off your public social media was a relief for you, but by using your private accounts that only your members followed, even then there was content talking about you and the controversy appeared in content recommended for you — at this point, smashing your phone against the wall seemed to be the only option left.

despite the chaos, you and karina clung to each other. you found solace in her embrace, her unwavering belief in you a beacon in the storm. you reminded each other of the love you shared, the strength you drew from each other, and the dreams you still held dear.

the pressure was immense, but you refused to break. you knew that your relationship was worth fighting for, and you were determined to weather the storm, no matter how fierce. you looked at karina and saw not a rival, but a partner. you saw not a risk, but a reason to be brave. and you knew, with a certainty that defied all the noise and negativity, that you would face whatever came next, together.

karina, strong and resilient as always, became your rock. she reminded you of your worth, of your talent, and of the unwavering love that you shared. she encouraged you to focus on the positive, to ignore the noise, and to trust in the power of your bond.

the initial storm was a blur of frantic calls, hushed meetings, and the constant, gnawing anxiety of what was to come. you remember the hollow feeling in your chest as you typed out the apology, each word a carefully constructed lie of omission. you hadn’t intentionally kept it a secret to deceive anyone, but to protect something precious in a world that often felt determined to tear it apart.

the backlash was ferocious, predictable, yet still somehow shocking. the usual suspects emerged: the shippers furious that their carefully constructed narratives were shattered, the possessive fans feeling betrayed that you belonged to someone other than them, and the vultures who thrived on drama, dissecting every interaction, every lyric, searching for hidden meanings and ammunition.

you watched the news reports, read the comments, felt the weight of the world crushing you. your groupmates offered their support, but their words felt distant, muffled by the roar in your ears. the company’s damage control team worked overtime, trying to stem the tide of negativity. you threw yourself into work, rehearsals becoming a refuge, the music a momentary escape from the chaos outside.

karina, ever the stoic, seemed to weather the storm with a grace you envied. she addressed the situation with a calm, measured statement, emphasizing the importance of respect and understanding. you admired her strength, but also worried about the toll it was taking on her. you found solace in her presence, a shared understanding that transcended the noise.

slowly, painstakingly, the tide began to turn. some fans, initially hurt and confused, started to see the sincerity in your relationship. they realized that your happiness was ultimately what mattered. supportive comments started to outweigh the hateful ones. fan projects emerged, celebrating your love and advocating for acceptance. you and karina began to incorporate small, subtle gestures into your performances, a knowing glance, a matching bracelet, a shared smile, acknowledging your bond without being overtly performative.

you started doing small, public acts of support. like attending karina’s group performances and screaming your lungs out from the crowd. or karina appearing backstage at your concert, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. these little things, these small victories, slowly chipped away at the wall of negativity. you started noticing a shift in the atmosphere at fan meets, the questions becoming less accusatory and more curious. more fans were asking about your favorite memories with karina or her favorite qualities. you and karina were both careful, never revealing too much, carefully curating your image.

over time, the initial frenzy subsided, replaced by a cautious, grudging acceptance. you and karina had proven that you could navigate the treacherous waters of the industry while staying true to yourselves and each other. you had shown that love could, in fact, conquer all, or at least, most. you felt a sense of accomplishment, a quiet pride in having weathered the storm and emerged stronger, together. you had even started to feel comfortable with some of the public displays of affection, hand–holding during award shows or subtle winks at each other during interviews.

then came the bomb.

it started subtly, a whisper in the dark corners of the internet. a blind item on a gossip site, hinting at a member of a popular girl group being seen with another female artist. you dismissed it as just another baseless rumor, another attempt to stir the pot. but then came the picture.

a grainy, blurry image, supposedly taken late at night. it showed a figure resembling karina holding hands with another woman. the woman’s face was obscured, but her build and the style of her clothing were vaguely familiar to a karina’s acquaintance. the post that came with the picture claimed the unnamed woman was a popular idol from fourth–generation girl group.

your blood ran cold. you stared at the picture, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. doubts, long suppressed, resurfaced with a vengeance. you tried to rationalize it away. it could be a body double. it could be photoshopped. it could be anything but what it seemed to be.

you called karina, your voice trembling. she answered on the third ring, her voice sounding strained. “hey.” she said, her tone wary.

“have you seen the picture?” you asked, skipping any pleasantries.

there was a long pause. “yes.” she said quietly.

“what is it?” you demanded, your voice rising. “tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

another pause. “it’s... complicated.” she finally said.

that was all you needed to hear. the fragile peace you had built shattered into a million pieces. all the pain, all the sacrifices, all the struggles, suddenly felt meaningless. you felt betrayed, humiliated, and utterly heartbroken.

“who is she?” you choked out, the words catching in your throat.

“it doesn’t matter.” karina said, her voice pleading. “it’s not what you think.”

“then what is it?” you screamed into the phone. “tell me what it is, karina!”

she hesitated, then began to explain, her voice a jumble of excuses and half–sruths. she claimed it was a misunderstanding, a harmless encounter blown out of proportion. she said she was just being friendly, that the other woman was going through a hard time and needed support. but her words rang hollow, and you couldn't bring yourself to believe her.

the fight that followed was a blur of accusations, tears, and recriminations. you confronted her with your fears and insecurities, the doubts that had been gnawing at you for months. she denied everything, but her eyes betrayed her. you saw the guilt, the regret, the unspoken truth that lay between you.

in the end, there was nothing left to say. the trust was broken, the foundation of your relationship crumbled. you hung up the phone, your hands shaking, your heart aching with a pain you had never known before.

the breakup was messy and public. both companies released carefully worded statements, citing “irreconcilable differences” and asking for privacy. but the media frenzy was relentless. every detail of your relationship was dissected and analyzed. you felt like you were living your worst nightmare on repeat.

you retreated into yourself, isolating yourself from friends and family. you stopped promoting with your group, unable to face the constant scrutiny and speculation. you spent days in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events in your head, searching for answers, for some way to make sense of it all.

one day, your groupmates came to your apartment, unannounced. they sat with you in silence, offering their support without judgment. they reminded you of your strength, your talent, your resilience. they encouraged you to focus on yourself, to heal, to move on.

slowly, you started to listen. you started writing music again, pouring your pain and heartache into your lyrics; fans loved it when you participated in composing your group’s songs since you and yunjin always managed to write the best songs on the albums, whether it was something powerful like self–love and a response to criticism or something more basic and common like a lyric about love.

it wasn’t easy. there were days when you felt like you were drowning in sorrow, when the memories of Karina were too much to bear. but you kept pushing forward, one step at a time. you realized that you were stronger than you thought, that you could survive this, that you could even emerge from it a better, more resilient person.

you eventually returned to work, your voice stronger, your spirit renewed. your fans welcomed you back with open arms, their love and support unwavering. you continued to make music, to perform, to inspire. you never forgot karina, but you learned to live without her. you learned that love could be both beautiful and painful, that it could lift you up and tear you down. and you learned that even after the most devastating heartbreak, you could still find your way back to yourself.

until that day arrived.

the flashing lights assault your vision as you step onto the pristine white set. the air crackles with a controlled energy, the kind that always precedes high–profile shoots. you force a smile, the practiced one you’ve perfected over years in the industry, and greet the waiting team. they return your greeting with enthusiastic nods and bows, their faces a mixture of respect and anticipation. you’re used to this. you’re an idol, a performer, a brand. your emotions, raw and real, are secondary to the image you project.

“ready to work your magic, ms. (y/n)?” the photographer, a renowned name in the industry, asks with a charming smirk.

“always.” you reply, the word feeling hollow even to your own ears.

you move towards the rack of clothes, a carefully curated selection of prada’s latest collection. the vibrant colors and intricate designs usually excite you, fill you with inspiration for future performances and personal style choices. today, they feel like meaningless fabric, just another layer of armor you have to don.

the flash of the camera is almost blinding, but you’ve learned to navigate it. pose, smile, angle. repeat. the prada backdrop stares back at you, its stark minimalism a stark contrast to the whirlwind in your head. you force yourself to embody the spirit of the brand: sophisticated, aloof, powerful. it’s a mask you’ve perfected over the years, one that hides the raw, pulsating ache beneath your skin.

the news broke like a damn, a tidal wave of speculation and judgment. the breakup. it’s been a couple of months, but the wound feels fresh, a raw scrape constantly being rubbed with salt. the news spread like wildfire, fueled by speculation and fueled by the insatiable hunger of the public. every detail of your relationship with karina, every whispered secret and stolen glance, was dissected and analyzed. you retreated, focusing on your work, burying yourself in rehearsals and promotions. you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of validating their opinions with your pain.

your manager had warned you about this photoshoot, mentioned karina’s involvement almost casually, as if it were just another detail in a long list of engagements. you had dismissed it then, telling yourself you could handle it. you are, after all, a professional. but now, standing in the sterile environment of the studio, the reality of facing her again hits you with full force, a wave of nausea washing over you.

you quickly change into the first outfit, a sleek, minimalist dress that clings to your curves. the stylist fusses with your hair and makeup, smoothing stray strands and applying a layer of flawless foundation. you stare back at your reflection, barely recognizing the composed, confident woman staring back. where is the girl who laughed with karina until her stomach hurt? where is the girl who could spend hours just talking about nothing?

the stylist steps back, satisfied. “perfect. you look stunning, ms. (y/n).”

“thank you.” you murmur, the words feeling like a lie.

you walk onto the set, striking a pose you've struck countless times before. the photographer calls out instructions, guiding you with meticulous precision. you move and pose, a puppet on a string, your mind a million miles away.

“excellent, (y/n)! now, let’s try something with a little more… emotion.”

emotion. that’s the last thing you want to tap into right now. you force yourself to focus on the music playing softly in the background, letting the rhythm guide your movements. you imagine yourself on stage, lost in the performance, the energy of the crowd fueling your passion.

“just a little more intensity in the eyes.” the photographer instructs, his voice echoing in the vast studio. you nod, focusing on a point just beyond the lens. Intensity. you know intensity. you feel it simmering in your chest, a potent cocktail of anger, sadness, and a terrifying vulnerability.

the shoot progresses in a blur. you change outfits, adjust your expression, and follow directions with robotic precision. each pose feels like a performance, a carefully constructed illusion designed to shield you from the prying eyes of the world.

during a brief break, your stylist offers you a bottle of water. you take a grateful sip, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of your heart. you scan the studio, a cavernous space buzzing with activity. assistants scurry, lighting technicians adjust equipment, and makeup artists touch up faces. but your eyes are drawn to one figure in particular, standing near a rack of clothes, her back to you.

karina.

even from this distance, you can recognize her. the elegant curve of her spine, the way her dark hair cascades down her back, the effortless grace that permeates her every movement. a wave of conflicting emotions washes over you: longing, resentment, and a desperate, childish urge to run.

she walks onto the set with an effortless grace that always captivated you. karina. she’s wearing a sharp, tailored suit, the fabric shimmering under the studio lights. her hair is styled in a sleek, modern cut, framing her face perfectly. she looks breathtaking, undeniably beautiful.

your heart clenches, a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

you force yourself to breathe, to regain control. this is work. you are a professional. you can handle this.

but your carefully constructed facade begins to crumble as she turns around. her eyes meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks, the studio fades away, and it’s just you and her, standing in the wreckage of what used to be.

her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, a mixture of sadness and… something else you can’t quite decipher. jer eyes are different, you notice. there’s a weariness there, a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. Is she wearing the same mask as you? is she hurting too?

even though months passed, you could never stop worrying about her. first hate for dating you and then hate for her apparently cheating on you; the opinions of fans and internet users on it were varied, and with good reason. no one knew the true story, not even you knew it, you only knew the little that karina wanted you to know. however, every day you thought about how she was, if she was receiving love from her fans when her group had a new hit and extended its popularity or there were still people who hated her and attacked her for things they saw on social media — but you didn’t dare search for her name on social media, you couldn't even look at a photo of karina without wanting to turn off your phone instantly.

then, she schools her expression, a professional mask sliding into place.

“hello, (y/n).” she says, her voice cool and composed.

your throat constricts. “karina.” you manage to croak out, the sound rough and unfamiliar.

an awkward silence descends, thick and heavy with unspoken words. you want to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words catch in your throat, trapped by a labyrinth of pain and regret.

“you look good.” she finally says, her gaze flickering over your outfit. it’s a standard compliment, the kind exchanged between acquaintances, but in this context, it feels hollow, almost cruel.

“you too.” you reply automatically, hating yourself for the banality of the exchange.

another silence stretches between you, punctuated only by the distant click of a camera shutter. you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if she can see through your carefully constructed defenses and into the mess that you’ve become.

“so,” she says, breaking the silence again, “this is... awkward, isn’t it?”

you let out a humorless chuckle. “that’s one word for it.”

“i... i wanted to say," she hesitates, her eyes searching yours. “i’m sorry. sorry for...”

the apology hangs in the air, heavy with implications. sorry for what? for the argument that ignited the firestorm? for the public scrutiny that ripped you apart? for the broken promises and shattered dreams?

“sorry for what, karina?” you ask, the words sharper than you intended.

she flinches, her eyes clouding with pain. “for everything.” she whispers.

“everything?” you repeat, a bitter taste rising in your throat. “that’s a pretty broad apology, don’t you think?”

“i know.” she says, her voice barely audible. “but i don’t know what else to say.”

“maybe you should have thought about that before you–” you stop yourself, biting back the words that threaten to spill out. before you what? before you agreed to the photoshoot? before you let the media tear us apart? before you broke my heart?

you take a deep breath, trying to regain control. this isn’t the time. this isn’t the place. you can’t afford to fall apart here, in front of everyone.

“it doesn’t matter.” you say, forcing a casual tone. “it’'s over. we both need to move on.”

she looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. “is that what you really want, (y/n)?”

the question hangs in the air, a challenge, a plea. do you really want to move on? do you really want to let go of everything you shared?

the truth is, you don’t know. you’re torn between the desire to protect yourself, to build walls around your heart, and the desperate longing to reach out to her, to try to salvage something from the wreckage.

but the fear is too strong. the fear of being hurt again, of being exposed, of being vulnerable. you can't afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

“yes.” you say, the lie tasting like ash in your mouth. “that’s what i want.”

she nods slowly, her expression unreadable. “okay.” she says softly. “if that’s what you want.”

the moment stretches, taut and unbearable. you want to say something more, to confess your doubts, to beg her to stay. but the words remain trapped inside you, unspoken, lost in the noise of the studio.

the tension in the room is palpable. the crew shifts uneasily, their eyes darting between you and karina. the photographer clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“alright, ladies, let’s get started. we’re thinking a few shots together, a little bit of playful competition, a sense of… camaraderie.”

camaraderie? you almost laugh, a bitter sound that catches in your throat.

you and karina are positioned side–by–side, the photographer directing your poses. he wants you to look like friends, like rivals, like two powerful women supporting each other. it’s a cruel irony, a twisted caricature of what you once were.

you can feel karina’s presence beside you, a magnetic pull that you desperately try to resist. you can smell her signature perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and vanilla, a scent that used to fill you with comfort and desire. now, it just reminds you of everything you’ve lost.

the photographer snaps away, capturing every calculated smile, every carefully choreographed movement. you’re both experts at this, masters of deception. you can project any image, any emotion, no matter how false.

but as you stand there, shoulder–to–shoulder with karina, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. you remember the way her hand used to fit perfectly in yours, the way she would trace patterns on your skin when you were falling asleep, the way her eyes would light up when you surprised her with her favorite flower.

those memories are like shards of glass, sharp and painful. you try to push them away, to focus on the task at hand. but it’s impossible. the weight of your shared history hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

“okay, ladies, let’s try something a little more intimate.” the photographer says, his voice booming through the studio. “i want you two to look… close. like you’re sharing a secret.”

your stomach drops. this is it. this is the moment you break.

you glance at karina, your eyes pleading. but her expression is unreadable, her mask firmly in place.

the photographer positions you so that you’re facing each other, your bodies almost touching. he wants you to lean in, to whisper something in each other’s ear.

you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. you can feel karina’s breath on your face, warm and familiar.

“just relax, ladies. pretend you’re the only two people in the world.” the photographer coaxes.

the only two people in the world. that’s what it used to feel like, when you were together. the rest of the world faded away, and all that mattered was karina.

you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. you try to remember that feeling, that sense of intimacy and connection.

and then, you open your eyes.

you look at karina, really look at her. you see the sadness hidden behind her professional facade, the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to conceal.

and in that moment, you realize something. you’re not the only one who’s hurting. you’re not the only one who’s lost something.

you catch glimpses of karina throughout the day, standing in the shadows, her eyes following you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. you try to avoid her gaze, to focus on the task at hand, but it's impossible. she’s a constant presence, a reminder of everything you’ve lost.

as the day draws to a close, you find yourself standing near the exit, waiting for your manager. you see karina approaching, her expression serious.

“(y/n),” she says, stopping in front of you. “can we talk? just for a few minutes?”

you hesitate. “i don’t know, karina. is there really anything left to say?"

“please.” she says, her voice pleading. “just give me a chance.”

you look at her, really look at her, and you see the vulnerability in her eyes, the pain that she’s been trying to hide. you see a reflection of your own broken heart.

against your better judgment, you nod. “okay.” you say. “a few minutes.”

she leads you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the prying eyes of the crew. the air is thick with anticipation, with the weight of unspoken words.

“what do you want to talk about, karina?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

she takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “i want to talk about us.” she says. “i want to talk about what happened.”

and in that moment, you know that you can’t run away anymore. you can’t hide behind the mask of indifference, the facade of strength. you have to face the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

you brace yourself, ready to confront the past, ready to confront karina, ready to confront yourself. the chaos may not be over, but maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for something new to emerge from the wreckage. the path ahead is uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.

“but not here. come with me.”

before you could form a coherent question, a protest against her abrupt departure, or even just a simple “where are we going?” karina tugged you forward. her grip was surprisingly firm, her usually playful eyes holding a glint of urgency you hadn’t seen in a long time. she navigated the throng of exquisitely dressed guests with practiced ease, a sleek black panther moving through a jungle of sequins and stilettos.

the click of the door closing behind you echoed in the small space, a definitive sound that amplified the tension crackling in the air. you found yourself trapped, not physically threatened, but emotionally cornered. karina stood between you and the cold, unforgiving wall, her gaze locked on yours. the familiar scent of her perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and sandalwood, both comforted and disoriented you.

the air hung thick with unspoken words, with the weight of weeks of distance and carefully constructed silences. you could see the conflict raging in her eyes, the vulnerability she usually kept so carefully hidden.

“karina.” you began, your voice barely a whisper. the name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, a word you used to utter with such ease and affection. “what’s going on?”

she didn’t answer immediately. instead, she took a shallow breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the silk of her designer dress. finally, she spoke, her voice low and laced with a tremor you could feel resonate within you.

“we need to talk.” she said, the words hanging in the air like a fragile ornament.

you knew what she meant, of course. “talk” wasn’t just a conversation; it was a confrontation with the elephant that had taken up residence in the room, the elephant that had been stomping all over your relationship for weeks.

it had started subtly, almost imperceptibly. a shift in her usual radiant smile, a slight hesitation before reaching for your hand, a growing distance in her usually all–consuming gaze. then came the late nights at the studio, the canceled dates, the vague explanations. you’d tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to the pressures of her demanding career, to tell yourself that you were being paranoid.

but the whispers had started, those insidious little rumors that spread like wildfire through the interconnected world of k–pop and its surrounding entertainment industry. whispers that had finally culminated in the gut–wrenching article splashed across dispatch, the infamous gossip site known for its relentless pursuit of celebrity scandals.

the headline screamed accusations: “karina caught in romantic entanglement?” the accompanying pictures were grainy and taken from a distance, but they were undeniable. karina, laughing and holding hands with another woman, a rising starlet named yuna, after a late–night dinner.

you knew yuna. you’d met her a few times at industry events. she was talented, beautiful, and charming. and, according to dispatch, she was also the reason your relationship with karina was crumbling.

the article was a carefully constructed narrative, a tapestry woven with half–truths and suggestive speculation. it didnt explicitly accuse karina of cheating, but it didn’t have to. the implication was clear: karina was having an affair with yuna while still dating you.

the fallout had been immediate and devastating. your phone exploded with messages from concerned friends, frantic family members, and opportunistic journalists. your social media was flooded with hateful comments, accusations of being naive, and gleeful pronouncements of your impending doom.

you’d tried to talk to karina then, but she’d been elusive, distant. she’d denied the accusations outright, but her voice had lacked its usual conviction. “it’s just a misunderstanding,” she’d said, her eyes avoiding yours. “the company is handling it. don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

but everything wasn’t fine. the seed of doubt had been planted, and it had taken root, poisoning the foundation of your relationship. the dispatch article had not only exposed your personal life to the harsh glare of public scrutiny, but it had also driven a wedge between you and the woman you loved.

now, standing in this sterile dressing room, with karina so close yet feeling so far away, you finally understood. the “misunderstanding” wasn’t going to magically resolve itself. your relationship wasn’t going to survive on platitudes and empty reassurances. you needed the truth, no matter how painful.

“karina.” you said again, your voice stronger this time. “tell me what happened. tell me about yuna. tell me everything. i don’t want secrets this time, i don’t want you to hide from me the things you’re afraid to tell me because you don't know how i’ll react. i need you to tell me things as they are, no matter how harsh the truth is..”

she closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her strength. when she opened them, they were filled with a raw honesty that pierced through your defenses.

“it’s… complicated,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “yuna and i… we were working on a collaboration, you know, sometimes artists have group performances with members of other groups. we spent a lot of time together, late nights in the studio, brainstorming sessions… it was intense, creatively fulfilling. and… and she made me laugh. she understood the pressures i was under, the isolation of being in the public eye. she was… supportive.”

she paused, searching for the right words. “it started as friendship, a genuine connection. but… there was an undeniable attraction. something… electric between us.”

your heart clenched. you knew it was coming, but hearing the words spoken aloud was like a physical blow.

“did… did anything happen?” you asked, the question scraping against your throat.

karina looked away, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond your shoulder. “we kissed.” she admitted, the word barely audible. “once. maybe twice. it didn’t go further than that. i swear. it was just a moment in the moment, when we were left alone without the choreographer and backup dancers… we only kissed because we finished the night practice exhausted and at one point we just stopped talking and– there was some tension. i can’t help it, she looked very beautiful and i just had the urge to kiss her.”

the world tilted slightly. you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. just a kiss. twice. but that was enough, wasn’t it? enough to shatter the trust you had placed in her, enough to make you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship.

“and what about me?” you asked, the question laced with a bitterness you couldn't suppress. “what about us? were you just going to pretend nothing happened? Were you just going to let the company handle it, let dispatch write the narrative, and hope i would just… disappear? would you have even informed me of this if dispatch hadn't found out about all this before i did?”

tears welled in her eyes, blurring the perfectly applied eyeliner. “no!” she said, her voice cracking. “that’s not what i wanted. i was terrified. i didn’t know what to do. i was afraid of hurting you, of losing you. i still am.”

she stepped closer, reaching out to cup your face in her hands. her touch was gentle, tentative, as if she were afraid you would recoil. “i love you.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i do. and i’m so, so sorry. i messed up. i made a mistake. olease… tell me what i can do to fix this. tell me what i can do to earn back your trust.”

the desperation in her eyes was palpable. you saw the years of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and unwavering support reflected in her tearful gaze. u saw the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind a carefully constructed facade.

you also saw the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty that had been eating away at your own heart for weeks. the dispatch article had been a catalyst, but the underlying issues, the unspoken anxieties, had been there all along.

you wanted to believe her. you wanted to forgive her. you wanted to erase the image of her kissing another woman from your mind. but could you? could you ever truly trust her again? you wanted to do it, but you weren’t entirely sure.

the answer, you realized, wasn’t going to come easily. it wasn’t going to be found in a sterile dressing room in the middle of a chaotic after–party. it was going to require honesty, vulnerability, and a willingness to confront the uncomfortable truths that had been lurking beneath the surface of your relationship for far too long.

“we have a lot to talk about.” you said, finally meeting her gaze. “but not here. not now. we need to go somewhere quiet, somewhere private. somewhere we can be completely honest with each other, without the pressure and the expectations of the world watching us.”

you reached for her hand, your fingers intertwining with hers. her grip was firm, reassuring.

“and karina.” you added, your voice firm but laced with a hint of hope. “if we’re going to fix this, we need to be honest about everything. no more secrets, no more half–truths. just us, facing the truth, together.”

the words hung in the air, laden with unspoken expectations and a fragile hope. the honesty in your voice seemed to give her strength. she took a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours.

“okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a newfound determination. “okay, let’s do that. let’s be honest. let’s fix this.’

the tension in the room was still thick, but now it was mixed with a flicker of hope. you squeezed her hand, offering silent encouragement. she looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. then, she lifted her gaze back to yours, her eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache.

and then, she did something unexpected.

she leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours, and gently pressed her lips against yours. it wasn’t a passionate, fiery kiss like you might expect after such a confession. it was soft, tentative, a plea for forgiveness, a silent promise of honesty.

your initial reaction was one of shock. you had braced yourself for tears, for arguments, for a long and difficult conversation. but this… this was something else entirely.

but as her lips lingered on yours, a slow warmth began to spread through you. it was a familiar warmth, the warmth of her touch, the warmth of her love. it was a reminder of all the good times you had shared, of all the reasons you had fallen in love with her in the first place.

you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the kiss, to savor the delicate brush of her lips against yours. the kiss deepened slightly, her hand moving from yours to cradle the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. you responded in kind, your own hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer.

the kiss wasn’t just an apology; it was a reawakening. it was a reminder of the intense connection you shared, the unspoken language you spoke with your bodies. it was a promise of more, of deeper intimacy, of rediscovering the passion that had perhaps been overshadowed by the pressures of her career and the anxieties of public life.

as the kiss intensified, the world around you seemed to fade away. the sterile dressing room, the chaotic after–party, the prying eyes of the media – none of it mattered anymore. all that mattered was karina, her lips on yours, her body pressed against yours, her heart beating in sync with your own.

you parted slightly, gasping for breath, your foreheads touching. her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the kiss.

“i…” she started, her voice husky. “i want you. i need you to know that. yuna... it was a mistake. a stupid, awful mistake. but you, you are everything to me."

her words were like a balm to your wounded heart. you knew that there was still a long road ahead, that rebuilding trust would take time and effort. but in that moment, with her arms wrapped around you and her lips whispering promises against your skin, you knew that it was possible.

you leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more passion, more urgency. it was a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, of hope, of a future where you could both be honest and vulnerable with each other, free from the secrets and the lies.

her hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the line of your spine. you moaned softly, the sound lost in her mouth. you felt her smile against your lips, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her eyes.

“i missed you so much, i missed being with you so much, having your body against mine… i really missed you a lot, your absence was noticeable and every day that passed i felt it more than the last. and you have no idea how much i fantasized about you every time i missed you and needed to settle just thinking about you.”

her fingers found the hem of your skirt, gently pulling iupwards. you didn’t resist. the need to feel her, to be close to her, was overwhelming. the touch of her skin against yours sent shivers down your spine.

once you give her a nod of confirmation, karina pushes you gently but firmly against the brick wall, her hands roaming over your curves possessively. she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

her hands slid down to grope your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she ground her hips against yours. you could feel the heat of her core even through her clothes, the evidence of her intense arousal.

karina broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your pulse point. she sucked on your skin, nibbling the flesh between her teeth, leaving a reddish bite mark that would soon turn purple and darken a couple of shades, letting you know that it would be noticeable for a couple of days and would probably take around a week or so to fade completely — but you didn’t care about that, in fact, that was what you longed for. being back with karina felt like heaven, and you wouldn’t complain at all if she felt the need to mark you,

after all this was what you wanted: although you had missed her so much in the loving and emotional sense, you also missed her so much in the... physical and intimate sense. you were so used to her touch on your body and how good she made you feel that at the time of the breakup it was a pain having to satisfy your needs yourself, but the past is over! and now, karina is here, ready to fuck you.

she murmured huskily against your skin. “fuck, i want to devour every inch of you, (y/n). i want to taste your essence, feel you quiver and shake with pleasure as i take you to heights you’ve never experienced before… i need to make up for my absence and all my mistakes. show you how sorry i am.”

her hands slid under your skirt to caress the smooth skin of your thighs, inching higher and higher until her fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties. she rubbed you through the material, feeling the growing wetness that slowly wet your underwear.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful growl as she panted softly against your neck. “spread your legs for me, baby. let me feel that sweet little cunt that’s just begging to be filled. i’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

“what if someone hears us?” fear and anxiety were evident in your tone. well, of course, you were locked with your ex in a room and about to fuck at your workplace, while your stylist was probably looking for you all over the building. being found out was something you were terrified of because it put you in danger of losing your job and leaving a bad image in front of the public, and they would have the right to be so in that case! but in this case, maybe you could have fun properly and have a good time just by knowing how to be stealthy…

karina smirked wickedly at your nervously spoken words, a devilish glint in her eye. “mmmh, what if someone does hear us? wouldn’t that be so hot, having an audience listen to you scream in ecstasy as i fuck you senseless? when i say i miss you, i mean it, and i want everyone to know that. everyone knew how much i loved you and i was never afraid to make it clear, so what’s the difference now? is my love language.”

she punctuated her words by slipping a hand into your panties, her fingers finding your slick folds and stroking them teasingly. her thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck involuntarily.

“but don’t worry, baby, no one’s going to interrupt us. everyone here is busy: the other models are on the sets in the middle of photo shoots and the staff is with them to make sure everything goes perfectly. no one will walk near here, this little hideaway is our secret spot.”

she murmured under her breath, giving you a suggestive look from under her eyelashes, along with a glint of mischief that seemed similar to that of a animal watching its prey in detail. karina brings her face closer to yours, nibbling on your earlobe, making you sigh and unconsciously move towards her touch. “besides, i want to hear you moan, to cry out my name until the whole city knows who’s making you feel this good.”

karina slid two fingers deep into your tight channel, pumping them in and out at a steady pace. her palm pressed against your clit with each thrust, stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves until your walls fluttered around her invading digits.

“that’s it, baby, let me hear those sweet sounds. fuck, your cunt feels incredible, it’s gripping my fingers so tightly.” she praised, her voice ragged with lust. “i can’t wait to feel it squeezing my tongue, my lips, while my fingers fucking you hard and deep until you’re sobbing with pleasure.”

karina scissored her fingers inside you, stretching you open as her thumb continued its relentless assault on your throbbing clit. she could feel your juices dripping down her hand, coating her fingers with your arousal.

“come for me, love.” she urged, her voice a low, seductive purr. “let me feel you come on my fingers like the dirty girl i know you are. drench my hand in your cum, baby, show me how much you need it.”

karina could feel your body tensing, your walls clenching around her plunging fingers as your orgasm rapidly approached. she curled her digits just right, rubbing that special spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that’s it, baby, give in to it. let it happen.” she coaxed, her voice a low, encouraging rumble. “i want to feel you shake and tremble, want to hear those beautiful sounds falling from your lips as i make you cum so fucking hard.”

she captured your mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of ecstasy. her thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

with a final, hard thrust and press of her thumb, she sent you hurtling over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and wrist.

karina groaned into the kiss, feeling your essence coat her fingers and drip down to her palm. she worked you through your climax, her fingers pumping and stroking until the last aftershock faded away.

finally, she pulled back to look at you, her eyes dark and hungry as she brought her soaked fingers to her mouth. she licked them clean, savoring your taste with a low, appreciative moan.

“i need your mouth on me.”

you don’t know where that came from. you don’t know where you got the courage to talk to karina like that without blushing in the process. not even when you were dating karina were you so daring, because you were always embarrassed when you got intimate with her, blushing at the simple fact of having to take off your clothes in front of her even though you had already done it multiple times before, leading karina to be the one who takes the situation into her own hands — but it’s not like it was something that bothered karina, on the contrary, she loved being the one who took control. maybe it was the position of leader that made her love being the one to take the lead, but karina just loves to take charge and let you lie in bed while she takes care of the situation.

karina’s eyes flashed with intense lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across her face. she wasted no time in giving you what you needed, what you craved.

“mmmh, as you wish, my naughty little minx.” she purred, dropping to her knees before you. she hitched your skirt up around your waist, exposing your dripping panties to the cool air.

with a wicked smirk, karina leaned in and pressed her mouth against the soaked fabric, her tongue delving between your folds to lap at your essence. she groaned at the taste, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs.

“fuck, you’re absolutely drenched.” she murmured appreciatively, tossing your panties aside carelessly. she pushed your thighs further apart, making room for herself as she settled between your legs.

karina’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you flush against her eager mouth. she dove in, her tongue parting your glistening folds to seek out your aching clit. she circled the sensitive nub teasingly, flicking and stroking it until your hips bucked against her face.

“oh fuck yes, ride my face, baby.” karina encouraged, her voice muffled against your cunt. “grind that sweet pussy against my mouth, use me for your pleasure.”

she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, her tongue flicking rapidly over the throbbing bud. at the same time, she thrust two fingers deep into your dripping channel, pumping them in and out at a steady, relentless pace.

the combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, and you could feel another orgasm building rapidly deep in your core. your walls clenched and fluttered around karina’s plunging fingers, drawing them in deeper.

karina could feel your body tensing, your thighs trembling on either side of her head as she brought you closer and closer to the edge. she doubled her efforts, sucking and licking and fucking you with wild abandon, determined to make you come undone.

karina could feel your body shaking, your thighs quivering with the force of your impending climax. she could sense that you were right on the cusp, teetering on the brink of a mind–blowing orgasm.

she pulled back just slightly, her heated gaze locking with yours. her lips and chin glistened with your juices, a few stray drops dripping down her chin. she licked her lips slowly, savoring your taste.

“come for me, babe.” she commanded, her voice low and thick with lust. “i want to feel you come all over my face, drench me in your sweet nectar. give me what i need, baby girl. give me one more.”

with that, she dove back in, her mouth latching onto your clit as she sucked hard. her fingers pumped furiously in and out of your clenching cunt, curling to rub that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

the combination of sensations, combined with her filthy words, pushed you over the edge. your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing and shaking as you cried out your ecstasy.

“oh fuck karina–!” you screamed, not caring who might hear your cries of pleasure. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and face.

karina moaned against your core as she felt your essence flooding her mouth and dripping down her chin. she greedily lapped it up, swallowing every last drop of your offering.

she worked you through your climax, her fingers and tongue never stopping their relentless assault until the last aftershock faded away. finally, she pulled back, her face a mess of your juices.

shit, you had cum on her face. you had ruined her makeup. in another context it wouldn’t have bothered you too much, but first of all, you guys were in the middle of work things, to be more specific, a photoshoot with a prestigious brand that doesn’t allow things like this during work hours and you were more than sure that your contract would be terminated and your career ruined if some worker discovered that you were fucking your ex girlfriend in one of the locker rooms — and secondly, you had just cum on your ex girlfriend’s face.

karina laughed, a deep, sultry sound that sent shivers down your spine. she swiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing your essence across her cheek. her lipstick was smudged, her eyeliner slightly smeared, but she looked utterly debauched and gorgeous.

“don’t apologize, baby. it’s just a little makeup, it’ll wash off.” she assured you with a playful wink. “don’t worry about my makeup, baby. It's not like it's the first time I've gotten messy for a pretty girl like you, and i think the just–fucked look suits me, don't you? besides, seeing you come undone like that, so fucking sexy and uninhibited... it was totally worth it.”

she leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. you could taste yourself on her lips and tongue, the musky essence of your arousal mingling with the lingering flavor of her lip gloss.

karina pulled back after a moment, a satisfied smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips. she gestured to your skirt, still bunched up around your waist. “but don’t think we’re done yet, gorgeous. that was just the appetizer.”

“i’ve got so much more in store for you tonight. so many dirty, nasty, utterly fucking amazing things i’m going to do to this sexy body of yours…” she purred, her hand sliding possessively over the curve of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she grinded her hips against yours. even through your skirt and her jeans, you could feel the hard, insistent press of her arousal — karina needed to let you know how much she needed you and the effect you had on her body, the type of reactions that your body generated every time it reacted to her touch and the actions that she had on your body, regardless of whether it was something minimal and mild or something more obscene and daring.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful rumble in your ear. “i’m going to take you back to my place, to my bedroom. and there, i’m going to worship this sexy body of yours all... night... long. Ii need to make up for all the lost time.”

she punctuated each word with a sharp nip to your earlobe, sending jolts of pleasure–pain racing down your spine. her hands slid under your sweater, caressing the smooth skin of your back before dipping lower to unhook your bra with deft fingers.

karina’s eyes glinted wickedly as she gazed down at you, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. “what do you say, baby? ready for the main course? we can still have one more before your stylist starts looking for you.”

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the ringing of phones and panicked conversations were replaced by the only the sound of air conditioning (when it worked) and the occasional sneeze or cough. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated — time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than heavily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early, too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become, it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones, professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. He’d even go as far to say you dressed more modestly than most.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional, he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today — black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it — his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong, knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. 

Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there, so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones — greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences, pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting, he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though. The pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want, what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect, the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing, knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day, but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

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join my taglist here!

[driverlando]

sending lando ✨️spicy✨️ pictures while he's at the gym training

“Really? Right now?” Lando murmured to himself, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket as he finished a set of bench presses. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and reached for his phone, anticipating a quick glance before diving back into his workout.

The screen lit up with a notification from you, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He opened the message and his breath hitched. The image of you in nothing but lace, sprawled across the bed, greeted him. Your sultry gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, sending a shiver down his spine.

His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly as he took in the sight. He could almost feel the softness of the lace, the heat radiating from your skin. He swallowed hard, feeling a rush of desire pooling low in his abdomen.

“You’re killing me, love,” he muttered, glancing around the gym. The clatter of weights and hum of conversation seemed distant, his focus solely on you. He quickly typed a response, fingers almost fumbling over the keys.

Lando: What are you trying to do to me? 😮‍💨

He hit send and pocketed his phone, trying to shake off the images that danced in his mind. Each movement felt heavier, more labored as if you had stolen every ounce of his concentration. He managed a few more reps before another buzz pulled him back to his phone.

You: Just a little motivation. Are you motivated, baby? 😘

Lando’s jaw clenched, a low growl escaping his lips. Motivation was an understatement. His mind raced with thoughts of you, your body, the promise in your eyes. He could almost hear your teasing laughter, feel the ghost of your touch.

His fingers moved quickly over the screen.

Lando: You have no idea. Can’t wait to get back to you.

He glanced up, catching his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself, but the heat wouldn’t dissipate. Another buzz. He didn’t hesitate this time, opening your message immediately.

You: Why wait? Come home now 🤭

Lando’s resolve shattered. The weights, the gym, the routine—all of it faded into the background. He grabbed his bag, muttering quick goodbyes to his teammates as he made his way to the exit and back home. His heart pounded, each step closer to you a pulse of anticipation and longing.

He fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door. The house was quiet, but the air was charged with expectation.

Lando’s hands trembled as he pushed open the bedroom door. The sight of you draped in that tantalizing lace, a wicked smile playing on your lips, was almost too much for him to handle.

“Lando,” you purred, stretching languidly on the bed, your body a siren’s call. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” he murmured, voice rough with need. His gym bag hit the floor with a dull thud, and in two long strides, he was by your side.

His lips crashed against yours with an urgency that stole your breath. He tasted of salt and heat, a heady mix that made you moan against his mouth. Your hands roamed over his sweat-dampened shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath, each touch igniting a spark.

“Lace, huh?” he murmured against your lips, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric. “You know what this does to me.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slipped under the lace, skimming over your heated skin. “I wanted to motivate you,” you whispered, arching into his touch. “Did it work?”

Lando’s chuckle was dark, almost a growl. “You have no idea.”

With a swift movement, he pulled your body flush against his, the hard lines of his form pressing into your softness. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer.

“Lando, please,” you breathed, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “I need you.”

His eyes darkened, the raw desire in them making your heart race. “I need you too,” he replied, voice thick with longing. He pulled back just enough to strip off his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and arms, slick with sweat. You reached out, tracing the lines of his abs, reveling in the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

“Patience,” he murmured, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. He made quick work of his gym shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He stood before you, eyes raking over your body, the lace barely concealing the curves he craved.

He moved to the bed, crawling over you with a predatory grace. His hands slid down your sides, hooking under the lace and pulling it off with a slow, deliberate motion that left you trembling with anticipation. The cool air hit your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

Lando’s mouth followed the path of his hands, kissing and sucking at the newly exposed skin. When his lips closed around a hardened nipple, you cried out, the sensation shooting straight to your core. His hands continued their exploration, fingers dancing over your hips, your thighs, before finally slipping between your legs.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. “So ready for me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, hips bucking against his hand. “Please, Lando.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your folds. “Look at me,” he commanded, and when your eyes met his, he thrust into you, filling you completely. You both moaned, the sensation overwhelming.

He started to move, slow at first, each thrust deep and deliberate. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. His pace quickened, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the room.

“God, you feel so good,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. You could feel the tension building, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Lando, I’m gonna—” The words were cut off by a cry as your orgasm crashed over you, your body tightening around him.

Lando followed soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. With a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling into you with a groan.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, hearts racing. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest. “Guess I’ll be coming home early more often,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your slightly sweaty forehead.

You smiled, snuggling closer. “I’ll make sure to have more surprises waiting,” you whispered, already planning the next time.

[xoxxbilliexoxx]

BREATHLESS ON THE BEDROOM FLOOR

Billie took you to the photoshoot for her new perfume and put on a show for you, only to find herself naked on her bedroom floor just a few hours later, shaking and writhing underneath you.

Wrote this super quickly but I had to do something about the way this video made me feel

————————————————————————————

You stared in disbelief, constantly swallowing to fight the endless river of saliva flowing into your mouth. The way she was crawling around the mirrored floor, her own body reflecting back at her in her all white lingerie dress, left you choking down your need.

When she casually asked you to come with her to a quick photoshop you happily agreed. You’d gone to many before to keep your sweet girlfriend company. You always ended up getting turned on, and secretly Billie loved watching you as you thought you did a great job hiding it. She loved acting casual when you got home and waiting as your neediness grew, before finally fucking you senseless.

This time was different though. This wasn’t a slight flutter you could laugh away. This was an almost crippling hunger and you were struggling to keep your composure from. The more you watched her the more it hurt you not having her immediately.

Billie knew exactly what she was doing, and she was having quite a bit of fun with it. Over and over again she would lock eyes with you, a glint of desire sparkling in her eyes, as she crawled towards you, arching her back and bringing her head closer to the floor.

Your legs squeezed shut subconsciously and you almost groaned at the slight relief of built up pressure. But it wasn’t what you wanted, it wasn’t what you needed.

As she continued dancing seductively, she found herself getting more and more turned on too. Her eyes became glued to her own reflection. The sight made her cheeks flush and her eyes glow brighter. The way her cleavage spilled out from the vintage looking bra was making the blood rush to her center. She was feeling the power of herself, of her raw sexual energy and breathtaking beauty.

When her eyes caught yours again she could feel the tension growing within you. She couldn’t help but giggle at the way you were struggling to keep still, to keep your breath steady and act natural.

By the time you were home the pool inside of your lace thong was impossible to ignore, as was the intense chemicals flooding your brain, leaving you consumed by images of her underneath you on her bedroom floor, moving just as she did a mere hour ago in front of all those cameras.

The walk from the front door to her room was a blur, all you could remember was the way your fingers felt laced between hers as you pulled her along, and the way her soft giggles danced between the walls.

You both could feel the heat taking over the entire room as you carefully brought her down to the floor. Your eyes met hers and a million conversations happened all at once. Your expression wasn’t one she was used to. You were looking at her with pure hunger, ready to consume every inch of her. The roles were reversed and she loved it, loved how wanted she felt.

You wanted so badly to rip off all her clothes and devour her but you refused to give in. You needed to match the slow seductiveness she teased you with earlier. When your lips connected passionately your hands worked to find their way under her shirt and the moment they delicately grazed her side her gasp echoed through your lips.

By the time she was naked her own desire was palpable, letting out light whines and subtly writhing underneath you. You leaned back, marveling at the sight beneath you, finally getting her exactly how you needed her the moment you saw her at the shoot, rolling naked across the floor, eyes closed and skin flushed from the arousal coursing through her veins.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and opened the camera, whispering her name and silently asking her permission before taking her photos. She smirked when she saw you, loving how mesmerized you were at the sight of her. Her legs moved side to side as she swayed and wiggled underneath you, occasionally looking directly into the camera with pleading doey eyes. Her hands grabbed her boobs, kneading and toying with her nipples as you switched to video, recording this private moment to watch later.

Her hand began sliding down her stomach and traveling to her core as you gawked at the image being recorded on your phone. She stared into the lens and moaned the second her fingers connected with her core, moving around her wetness before finding her clit and circling it gently. You recorded for just a minute longer before you could no longer keep your hands to yourself.

The phone hit the floor next to you as you moved above her, grabbing her wrists and bringing them above her head as she giggled beneath you. She groaned at the interrupted pleasure but you cut her off “need my hands all over you, need to feel you so bad, need to please you so bad” as your words came to a stop your lips landed on her neck and you felt her throat muscles tighten as she moaned with need.

Your hands left her wrists to grab at her body, everywhere and anywhere you could reach as you sucked and kissed sloppily across her neck and chest.

By the time your fingers slid between her folds they were soaked and so sensitive to your touch. You weren’t ready to give her what she wanted just yet, but you couldn’t resist the desire to touch her all together. Instead, your palm pushed firmly against her clit, loving the way it made her back arch slightly and lips part as she took in a gasp of air.

She was completely hypnotized by the way you were touching her, toying with her, taking her in whatever ways you pleased. You were totally consumed by lust, so aroused by the way she looked underneath you. Her breathing was heavy and an occasional whine slipped from her lips as you continued planting wet kisses all over her naked body.

When your fingers finally began moving against her clit you were getting yourself comfortable between her thighs. Her quiet moans were now freely flowing out of her as you circled her sensitive bud and kissed the soft milky skin of her inner thighs. You took a moment to admire the way you had her pussy dripping before you could no longer resist the urge to please her, to hear her screaming your name.

You slid your tongue gently between her folds and groaned at her sweetness, kitten licking her juices for a moment and taking in the way her wet lips felt in your mouth. At the first moan of your name you dove in, passionately slurping her up and devouring her completely.

Her fingers found their way to your hair immediately as she began grinding her hips up against your face. She was a mess, drunk off the way you were pleasing her so well. soft whispers of expletives and sweet cries of pleasure poured from her lips as you continued to eat her out. The sweet taste of her cunt lit up your brain and traveled back down to your own center, throbbing at the scene taking place in front of you.

Her hands held your head closer and she thrusted her hips against your tongue, loudly moaning out your name. the way her thighs slammed against your neck made you see stars but you refused to stop until her cum was dripping onto the floor.

You continued your intricate movements for a while, with your eyes closed and a soft hum vibrating through your lips every so often, showing just how much you loved what you were doing.

“baby oh, oh my god baby you’re gunna make me cum! gunna cum all over your pretty face mama”

It was the last thing you heard before her loud cries filled the room, howling out your name as her legs violently shook and her body thrashed against you. Her hands pushed your face tighter into her cunt as she came hard, gushing onto your tongue and down your chin.

Your own thighs squeezed together as tightly as they could as you continued sucking her clit, refusing to stop until she made you. Your ongoing acts stretched out her orgasm and the sweet songs of her pleasure became more and more high pitched as your tongue collected all her cum.

Finally, she pushed your head away as she gasped for air. When you pulled away and sat up, you grew breathless at the sight in front of you. If you thought the photoshoot was sexy, you didn’t know what to do with this. Her pink flushed skin glistened with a layer of sweat as her chest rose and fell intensely, working hard to catch her breath after her powerful high. Her dark nipples were stiff from all the erotic touch and her boobs were covered in small bruises from your kisses. Her face was rosy and her eyes looked blissfully and playfully at you with her bottom lip pulled tightly between her teeth.

“Fuck, if that photoshoot made you fuck me like this, I can’t wait to see what you do when you get the pictures and videos from it,” She giggled out playfully. Her words displayed how much she loved what just happened, and it only made you want it all again.

When you fell forward and planted your hands on either side of her head she gasped with a mischievous smile. “fuck you’re so cute, I’m not done with you yet, need to please you again” You spoke your words into her neck as you planted soft kisses on her skin. you giggled with her as she squirmed under you, fully ready for you to fuck her one more time. Or two. or three.