#the other day i got my portfolio back and it was an A-

[reignbowarbiter]

my mom is such a bitch i hate her so much

[fatehbaz]

.

[waffulaa]

[gojover]

so ahead on assignments today im like a winner.

[doodlingwren]

Aughhghghh still busy <3 sorry for the late replies to comments and such lol bye <33333

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part one.

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yourusername a smiley lando is the best lando in my books! to celebrate the end of the 2023 season, here's a handful of my favourite photos from throughout the year!

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mclaren What a happy lad! We can't wait to see that smile again in 2024 😁🧡

↳ yourusername you and me both! 🤝🧡

user she's got the dream job omg

↳ user IKR??? imagine just getting to follow lando around and take pictures of him all day, i'd be dead within the first hour

↳ user he'd smile at me and i'd be asking “what are we” on god 😩😩😩

↳ user is that literally all she does??? she just follows him around and takes pictures??

↳ user there’s probably a technical term for what her position is and i just don’t know it, but bc there’s so much going on around the track at any given moment, sometimes the press and other media workers are focused on something or someone else, so she’s hired on by mclaren to specifically focus on mclaren to make sure that there is content for mclaren or mclaren sponsors to use. she’s not just lando’s photographer, she also takes photos of oscar, the pit teams, and the other staff that work in the garage, but she was hired on when lando started so her portfolio is pretty full of him. hope this helps!

user didn't know i could need so much orange in my life but here we are

user LANDO NORRIS SUPREMACY

oscarpiastri i see who the favourite is 🫤

↳ yourusername you literally SAW me picking photos for your post too

↳ oscarpiastri yeah but you posted his first 🫤

user guys this is the face of the 2024 wdc winner take it in now

user i could write a 50 page thesis on the importance of these photos and what they mean to me and how the serotonin they make me release could replace my depression meds

user lad’s like a mini danny ric with how smiley he is

landonorris best photog right here folks

↳ yourusername you're only saying that bc i always get your good side

↳ landonorris i'll have you know that all sides are my good sides 🤨

↳ yourusername whatev helps you sleep at night luv 😊

In 2019, when you took on the job of being McLaren’s lead photographer, you hadn’t expected it would garner you the amount of attention it has, or that it would slingshot your career to levels of success you never could have anticipated, or that you would get a best friend out of it.

When you first met him back in those early days, you’d thought Lando Norris was an arrogant, pretentious, self-righteous prick who thought he was hot shit because he was a Formula One driver. However, he’d quickly proven you wrong when he’d admitted to you that a lot of the confidence was an act━ carefully constructed to hide his insecurities about his performance both on and off the track.

“I mean, we’re drivers, yeah?” He’d said. “But we’re also actors. We’ve got these personas that we have to uphold even out here on the paddock, and I’m always worried I’m not playing the part well enough.”

It hadn’t made a lot of sense to you then, you thought he was pulling off the persona of Total Douche remarkably well, but in Shanghai, things changed.

After the Chinese Grand Prix, things were dour. Lando had DNFed━ the first in his Formula One career━ which contrasted greatly with his previous accomplishment of P6 in Bahrain. Carlos Sainz hadn’t been doing very well, either, and it didn’t paint a very pretty picture for McLaren so early in the season. You’d thought he’d throw a hissy fit, tear Daniil Kvyat apart for his role in the crash, or at the very least throw some shade his way, but he hadn’t done any of that. He’d accepted his fate with grace, joked to the media about how boring the race had been because of what had happened, and then gone on to congratulate Carlos for at least finishing.

What was even more shocking, was that despite his disappointment and the frustration he must’ve been feeling, instead of going back to sulk in his lonesomeness or drown out his feelings with booze and loud music at some club, he’d comforted you later that evening.

The morning of the race, as you’d been getting ready in your hotel room, you’d gotten a text from an unsaved number admitting to you that they’d been taking part in a months-long affair with your boyfriend but had been previously unaware that he was already taken and therefore wanted to let you know to clear their conscience. You’d managed to hold yourself together then━ mostly because you’d already done your makeup and, quite frankly, didn’t have the time to sob it all off and then attempt to salvage it━ but as the day drew to a close and the adrenaline of the race and its excitement wore off, and with nothing else to keep you distracted, you were struggling to keep yourself composed.

Lando had somehow noticed in that weirdly perceptive way of his that something was off, and he’d sat with you, asked what was wrong, and listened when you━ through tears━ explained the situation to him.

“He sounds like a total fucking muppet,” he’d commented after you’d said your piece, and he’d done it with such a deadpanned expression that it had startled a genuine laugh out of you. Because yeah, you’re (now ex) boyfriend had been a muppet.

After that━ and after all the rom-com and ice cream binging you’d both done in his hotel room afterward much to the chagrin of Lando’s nutritionist and the displeasure of his PR officer━ you’d rescinded your initial judgment of him. He was significantly less dickish than you’d originally thought, and it let you finally understand what he’d meant when he’d talked about putting on a persona.

The cocky, know-it-all prick that Lando pretended to be half the time was all just an act to hide his overly self-critical nature fueled by his insecurities.

By the end of the season, he’d gained a little confidence of his own and had subsequently toned down the assholery when he no longer needed to “fake it til he makes it,” and you were calling him your friend.

It’s 2023 now, and he’s since been upgraded to best friend status━ a role he takes very seriously, and constantly reminds you of.

“I’m your best friend━” case and point, “━you have to come to Bali with me. Literally, like, what am I gonna do without you there? Do you expect me to just go by myself? What if I get lost? Or what if somehow the mafia, who have unknowingly had a hit out on me for years, track me down there and I’m kidnapped and ransomed off for billions of dollars? What will you do then?”

“You just want me to take pictures of you,” you answer, rolling your eyes only because you know he can’t see you through the phone.

He gasps in mock offense. “I cannot believe you think I value you so little! I want you to take pictures of me and be here to help me make fun of awkward tourist spray tans so I don’t feel like a total asshole for being the only one who laughs.”

You laugh at that. “Well, unfortunately laughing at bad fake tans doesn’t pay the bills.”

“But taking pictures of me does.”

“Yeah, when McLaren is paying.” You turn back to your laptop, a photo put on pause mid-edit splayed across the screen. It’s of Lando, as most of your photos tend to be despite your attempts at keeping things even between the McLaren boys. It’s the last of the images you need to send over for their 2023 sendoff, and when it’s finished you’ll officially be without work for a painstaking two months. “I’m on break too, technically, until they need promotional shit for the new season.”

He huffs, and you can almost imagine the childish pout on his face. “What are you even doing, then?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want Lando to know about your winter plans, but because you don’t really know how he’ll react, which means it could be anything between genuine happiness for you and congratulations, or abject horror and feigned screams of anguish. He’s always been dramatic like that, but even more so now that he’s comfortable enough with you and himself to have crawled a decent way out of his shell.

Even still, he’s your best friend and it would make you a pretty shitty person if you didn’t tell him.

“Believe it or not,” you start, wringing your hands together, “but Manchester City actually hit me up with an inquiry. Asked if I’d be interested in working with them on a project documenting their training throughout the winter months. I said I would love to.”

He pauses for a good long moment, and you prepare for the screaming, but all he says is━ “Man City? You traitor. I thought Man United was our forever!”

“Be so fucking real right now, Lando Norris,” you answer, laughing as you do so. You’re relieved, at least he hasn’t gone the feigned anguish route, but you also can’t tell if he’s happy for you or hiding his true feelings behind humor like he’s prone to doing. “You know damn well you only watched them for Christiano Ronaldo and he hasn’t played with United since 2009.”

“Technically he played for them in the 2021-2022 season,” he grumbles.

“Yeah,” you deadpan, “and he was dogshit. We both agreed to pretend it never happened.”

He groans, “I can’t believe this. My day is ruined and my disappointment is immeasurable.”

“Oh, get over yourself. It’s only for the winter. I’ll be back in McLaren Papaya by February when they need me snapping shots of you and Oscar next to the new livery,” you promise.

The reality is that it’ll probably be sooner. McLaren has always been good about getting you back at HQ pretty quickly, either to get some snapshots of the beginning of Lando and Oscar’s pre-season return or to just capture some material of the engineers at work to promote their readiness. You understand why they can’t keep you around all year━ no Lando and no Oscar means no you━ and with the sheer amount of content you capture and edit for them throughout the season, they’ve got enough to last them the handful of weeks you aren’t working.

Unfortunately, you aren’t working with a driver’s salary to keep you sustained over the break and rent certainly hasn’t been getting cheaper. In past years, your bank account has been chirping with crickets when you’ve returned to work after the winter, and that was before your landlord had decided to make your life a living hell.

You have an important job, but it’s by far the most important, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Working in sports media taught you that early on.

“Who knows?” Lando’s voice snaps you back. “Maybe Jack Grealish with his perfect hair and perfect calves will steal you away and you’ll be in sky blue forevermore.”

You laugh, “Jack Grealish is a happily taken man, and although he does have perfect hair and perfect calves, I’m more of a Haaland girl anyway.”

He guffaws. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re so far gone that you already have a preferred player. Jack Grealish is England’s poster boy! Everyone loves him whether they like City or not!” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Christ, I can already feel you slipping through my fingers. I give it a week over there at Etihad before you call me up telling me I can find a new best friend because you’ve replaced me with Phil Foden and Julian Alvarez.”

“For someone who supposedly hates Manchester City, you’re certainly well-versed in their roster.”

“Well duh, I need to know my competition,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Ah, yes,” you snark back sarcastically. “Because you, a Formula One driver, have to be worried about the football players of Manchester City.”

“Apparently I do if you’re calling yourself a Haaland girl now!”

You burst into cackles and he’s following shortly after with chuckles of his own that eventually peter out into a comfortable silence. You are really going to miss him for the few months you aren’t working with him.

The Formula One schedule is so jam-packed across the season that it typically means you’re getting to see him every day for an hour or two at least, if not for the entirety of the time he’s at the track. You follow him and Oscar to their sponsor obligations, their interviews, and everything in between. It’s honestly rare if you’re not getting a moment to goof off and dick around with one another━ and it’s even rarer for you to not actually see one another face to face in passing at the very least.

The off-season is your least favorite time of the year for this very reason, and though it makes you feel a bit full of yourself to think so, you imagine Lando doesn’t enjoy this time of year much either for the same reason.

“I promise I won’t replace you with any of the City boys,” you say after the silence has stretched on a moment longer.

He huffs again, but you can envision the smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose even if you do, I’ll just show up to a match and steal you away again.”

“As if. Have you seen Grealish’s calves?”

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footballfansofficial BREAKING: Manchester City Forward Garrett Ward caught with mysterious woman revealed to be well-known Formula One photographer Y/N L/N! The two were seen sharing a romantic evening on Friday, the 5th of January, ringing in a passionate start to 2024. Garrett Ward has been with Manchester City since 2021 but was out on loan to a lesser-known Championship League team until 2023. He has just recently begun to play for his team again, but an injury early into the season has seen him benched for a majority of his time back. Y/N L/N is a photographer for Formula One racing team McLaren and has been working with them since 2019. Recently, she has been working with Manchester City to help promote a new docuseries following the men’s team’s winter training. Check the link in our bio for the full article!

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user OMG GARRETT WARD??? NOTORIOUS BACHELOR GARRETT WARD???

user who is she? like genuinely how is she relevant 🤔

↳ user no literally cuz like who even gives two shits about formula 1?

user girl works in f1 why can’t she stay there

↳ user i’m sure there are plenty of drivers who’d smash her idk why she needs to try and get footballers too like bffr 😒😒😒

user aint no way this bitch is kissing my man rn

user literally what does he even see in her??? she’s not even cute AND she’s wearing man united colors 💀💀

user Y/N L/N??? I THOUGHT SHE WAS WITH LANDO NORRIS???

↳ user LITERALLY ME TOO?? like she posts him all the time on insta so i just kinda thought they were an item or smth?? trouble in paradise maybe

user she’s fucking ugly wtf

user i wish these footballers who get with regular women would realize there are so many better girls out there that would ACTUALLY treat them well and would support them in their careers. like i bet this girl doesn’t even know anything about football. she works in f1 and that’s where she should stay bc nobody cares about that shit round here. she probably doesn’t even know the first thing about how football works, but i bet she’ll be at matches pretending like she knows what’s happening. garrett ward is gonna flush his career down the troilet for this chick bc she’s gonna convince him his busy schedule ain’t worth it and then city will be down a great forward for good, and it’ll all be her fault

user i mean she’s kinda pretty tbf

↳ user stfu she really isn’t

↳ user she gen looks like any random bitch off the street

user these comments are not it…. 😬

↳ user maybe you f1 fans just don’t know how to handle constructive criticism

↳ user is the constructive criticism in the room with us rn?? cuz all i’m seeing is bullying and hatred directed towards an innocent woman who’s only “crime” was going on a date

user ok so she can take photos?? 🙄🙄 maybe she should get a real job

↳ user she’s probably only with him so she can mooch off of him like a fucking gold digger

user AINT NO WAYYYYYY

user it’ll last a month max 😌 i’m calling it

user ayo lando come get your girl

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette

━━ a/n: here we have it! took me a bit longer than the start of american smile did, but lando's story is officially here! (and it's a whopping 2.9k words to start us off). first and foremost, before we get started, garrett ward is 100% an oc and obviously does not play for manchester city, and this is bc i would feel absolutely horrible portraying a real person in the way that garrett will be later on. gather from that what you will haha! regardless, i hope you enjoy this first part and stick around for the rest!

[joonipertree]

idea for the Boxer!Katsuki and Artist!Reader AU! What if, ON TOP OF a rly bad day w college and being overwhelmed w work, we lost our paints :( n we luv our paints so we cry, but katsuki’s there to make us feel better and get us a new set :3

Thank you so fucking much for this. Idk if you knew but I'm actually making a portfolio for art school and Ive been crying every other night because of how stressed I am and how much I feel like I'm a bad artist. So writing this was cathartic

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: Dom/sub undertones, reader acting out and Bakugo being stern, a peak of what kind of shit I want with older men hsjsjsj, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft katsuki

Katsuki was one of the last people you wanted to see when you're in a bad mood. And that might sound terrible but it's because you never wanted to show such a harsh, negative side of yourself to someone you cared about. You were very much a 'feel and then reappear more regulated' type of person. But Katsuki never let you go home on your own anymore, picking you and dropping you off even on days where he had something to do.

So you trotted towards him with a scowl and no energy to fake anything and he noticed instantly, his own concerned scowl mirroring yours.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said and opened the door, closing it a bit too loudly. You cringed at the sound but buckled yourself in and turned away before the man got in the driver's seat.

"You're shit at lying."

"Fuck off."

Instant regret, a deep inhale from your part as you tensed.

Fuck.

His large hand came on your thigh and you stiffened, all he did was give it a warning squeeze before pulling away. The message was clear. 'Watch it'.

"I'm not willing to discipline you until I know nothing horrible happened but you do know I don't like that shit from you right?"

You said nothing.

"Give me an answer, doll."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah, you are. And you're a smart one that knows that we have rules. That I'd be taking you over my lap if you talked like that."

Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them away, not willing to turn your head to show him.

He knew anyways and he dropped the subject, starting the car and driving off.

Katsuki pulled to a stop at a place that wasn't anywhere near your apartment. You were confused as he got out of the car. Your eyes followed him just as he entered a boba shop.

Oh.

A couple minutes later, he came out with a drink for each of you. You remembered when he said that there just wasn't any point of it, that it seemed stupid and too sweet. But pretty soon, he had his own usual order, which was just Brown Sugar boba tea with the sweetness to a minimum.

Katsuki gave you the drink without even looking your way, sipping on his own. You stared at it for a total of ten seconds before timidly taking a sip. The sweetness broke you out of your sour mood, eyes blinking as you focused on the flavour of your favourite tea. The boba was chewy and soft and it grounded you a bit.

Only after you took a sip, did Katsuki start the car and drive.

When you reached home, the apartment the two of you had started sharing a month prior, Katsuki only gave you time to take off your shoes and put down your bag before he had you over his shoulder.

You struggled, hitting his back and asking him to let you go but he didn't listen...not even feeling it.

And when your ass plopped itself onto the couch, your attempt at running away failed when he easily manhandled you in place.

"I'm not patient enough to coax it out of you, so tell me why you're upset. I'll make it better."

You wanted to refuse but the tears were already dripping down your face.

"I'm so bad at art. I'm so f-fucking bad at it. I don't-" you sobbed and his arms were instantly around you, pulling you onto his lap as you cried into him.

"There's so many deadlines and so many things I have to do and nothing is working. And I don't even know if I'm cut out to be an artist. I'm not good enough, I was never good enough for it. I'm gonna fail-- Katsuki I'm so tired."

Your boyfriend rocked you back and forth, giving you kisses everywhere he could reach, on the side of your face and your head and your hair. And you let the tears fall, hiccuping violently and sobbing without restraint.

"I even lost my fucking paints and I can't live without them and I saved up for them and I'm just doing everything wrong."

You let Katsuki envelope you, squeeze you and warm your inside as you let it all out.

When your sobs died down, Katsuki didn't stop peppering kisses everywhere. It took him a second to speak.

"I didn't know shit about art. It all seemed like fancy, time consuming pictures to me. Hell, even now I don't know shit. But when I saw your art, I felt stuff I thought I didn't know how to feel. And that was the first time I realised that maybe life didn't have to be as shitty as it was. Maybe things didn't have to be ugly."

"When we went to those art galleries, yeah they were cool and pretty but not gonna lie, nothing ever left me speechless like your art did. And yeah...I'm biased as fuck, especially because I thought that the look in your eyes was the prettiest out of everything. That sounds cheesy as shit but you make me feel cheesy as shit."

You had stopped crying, left drained and nuzzled against Katsuki while you looked for an anchor to hold onto. And he held you.

"I like seeing you paint the most though, I like how you focus...I like how you curse under your breath, I like how you grin when something looks right, I like how you scan art supplies before you buy them. I like your paint stained hands and your paint water mugs even when I've accidently taken a sip from them. I like that how you laugh when I do that shit. I love that look of pride you have when you're done and staring at it.

It makes you happy so even if I don't understand the point of it, it means a lot to me because of that. So, whenever that thing stops being fun for you, and really stops being fun for you, I'll support you if you wanna stop. But I gotta keep seeing your work, baby, cuz it's like the inside of your head and it's really neat."

You let a few more tears drop, sniffling and looking into his eyes. There was no ingenuity, only pure emotion. And you let him kiss your tears away, you let him pat your head and you let him make you drink water and feed you.

Because it was never a burden for him to do those things, but a priveledge.

The very next day, the same set of paints were in your bag. Brand new and untouched. Along with three different watercolour paper books. 100% pure cotton, 350 gcm.

With a note that said 'you're still down for a spanking for that shitty mouth of yours. Don't make it a habit.'

[coco-loco-nut]

Miami

Pairing: Logan x reader

Summary: Logan finally asks the girl he has seen around Williams out

A/n: I kinda hate this, but here it is😬

requests open masterlist

———————————

“Y/n!” You boss calls your name from a few cubicles down. You were new to Willams, having just moved from America and the Baseball industry into Motorsport.

“What’s up?” You ask, leaning against the frame of her cubicle.

“Erica is out sick, can you do her sponsorship activation in an hour?” She asks, looking a little frazzled, holding out a folder with some papers to you. You nod and take them, reading the summary sheets on your way to the car.

Your first assignment working with the drivers, thankfully you are used to ad shoots. They were relatively easy, taking pictures for the portfolio, schmoozing the sponsor, and helping marketing keep things in order.

“Coffee?” One of the sponsorship interns offers you, and you furrow your brow.

“Mark, that’s not in your job description, you don’t have to bring me coffee,” you take it anyway.

“BOGO deal. Figured you would like it since you weren’t planning on being here,”

“Favorite intern, right here. I’ll hook you up wherever you want to go after this,” you laugh, navigating through the site. Mark reads the briefs you brought along as you introduce yourself to the media team and the sponsors.

“Hi, I’m Logan,” One of the drivers introduces himself to you, his American accent making your ears perk up.

“Y/n, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand, your mother taught you manners.

“Georgia?” He shakes your hand, curious on placing the accent.

“North Carolina born and raised,” you smile, ignoring the pleasant warmth of his hand.

“Not many Americans around here. What do you do?” He asks. It’s a relief to you, everyone assumes that you are a sports journalist or work in marketing, but he had the decency to ask.

“Corporate partnerships. Getting the team money so you can race,” you explain briefly.

“That’s so cool, I wish I could ask more, but Albono is calling me over,” he waves goodbye.

“You’re in looooove,” Mark teases, standing beside you.

“Shut up. Offer rescinded,” you blush slightly as the blond driver glances back at you.

A few months later you are in America for the Miami GP. Williams did a competition with one of your accounts, so you flew in a week ahead to make sure everything was set, and the working remote was a plus. One day you took advantage of an old connection and got a free ticket to the Marlins game, and got to tag along with them as they worked. The real bonus was the better food and suites, but you didn’t expect to see a certain blond driver throwing the first pitch.

He wasn’t expecting to see you either. Ignoring the marketing intern, he jogs over to where you and your friend are talking.

“Logan! Hi,” You smile, quickly turning to introduce him to your friend, but Logan is one step ahead of you.

“You are here early,” he smiles back at you.

“My account is sponsoring a VIP trip to Miami contest for Williams, so I’m making sure everything is ready to go,” you explain and he nods.

“Have you seen your family?”

“Yeah, they flew down the other day, I got them grandstand tickets,”

“What are their names? I can get them a paddock pass for FP1 and FP2,” Logan says and the marketing intern looks antsy beside him.

“Here’s my number, text me,” you hand him your business card and apologetically smile at the intern.

For some reason, it didn’t take a second thought to accept Logan’s invite. You had the day off tomorrow, your parents were busy, and there was really no reason not to. Your bag was packed and you were in Logan’s pickup truck before you knew it. The radio is on the top 100 station, and the windows rolled down slightly on the highway, the ocean air washing over you both.

“What do you miss most about America while in England?” Logan asks and you pause for a second.

“Peanut butter and jelly’s, they don’t taste the same. What about you?”

“That’s not what I miss most, but it’s a valid answer. I think I miss the Florida beaches, especially at dawn,” he says, letting a calm silence settle in.

“I would agree with that, but make it North Carolina,”

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me, the house feels so empty,” Logan looks at you. You nod, pushing some stray hairs out of your face.

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be shown around by a local,” you grin, locking eyes briefly with him.

“I know this great place for dinner,” he says as he turns off the highway. You learned about him on the drive, including that he owns a beach house and doesn’t live with his parents.

You both walk into the small restaurant, his hand instinctually going to yours before he quickly stops before you notice. You don’t see the way his heart races when you smile at him. You don’t realize that he’s noticed you around the track and sponsorship events, and how he finally built up the courage to introduce himself. He is so excited to take you to a restaurant that specializes in southern comfort food.

“Logan, you didn’t,” you gasp as you look over the menu, your heart swelling.

“I thought you probably missed a taste of home,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You are the best,” you quickly decide on your childhood favorite. The both of you get to know each other more over the meal and flirt a bit while you’re at it.

“I forgot how good that restaurant is,” Logan says as you both walk out of the restaurant, his arm gently going around your shoulder. You blush, but make no attempt to move it. The ride to his house is short.

“Get changed, Logan, we are going for a beach walk,” you tell him after he shows you the guest room. No more than five minutes later, you are both barefoot on the beach, you in a Williams hoodie and shorts, Logan in an unbuttoned shirt and shorts.

You don’t really know when your hands first brushed and connected, but you didn’t attempt to stop it. Logan admired you against the moonlight and soft crashing waves.

“Lo?” you ask as he seems elsewhere.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, turning towards you. All you do is nod, his soft lips brushing against yours as you pull him closer, properly kissing him.

“Wow,” you breathe, a blush covering both of your cheeks.

“I guess I’m not immune to your southern charm,” he teases, causing you to giggle.

“I guess not,” you agree. The walk back to the house is comfortable, and he kisses you goodnight outside your bedroom door. You wake up early for a run, quietly heading downstairs only to find a shirtless Logan doing the same thing.

“Morning run?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah, you too?” You ask back and he nods. You both finish tying your sneakers and put on headphones. He leads your morning run, knowing the streets better than you. You both stop into a coffee shop a few blocks away for breakfast before heading home.

“I’m gonna shower then head out to the beach if you want to join me later,” Logan tells you before heading to his room. Once you finish your coffee, you do the same. There are two towels out on the beach in front of Logan’s house, Logan occupying one. After grabbing your book and applying sunscreen, you join him.

“Blue is a good color on you,” he compliments your light blue bikini.

“What are you reading?” You ask him as you lay down.

“The Great Gatsby,” he observes your book cover.

“Good choice,” you hum as you get immersed in the book. Fifteen minutes later, you see Logan set his book down out of the corner of your eye. He rolls over and you quickly bookmark your book.

“Do you know how hard it is to read while next the a beautiful woman?” Logan asks and your lips quirk up into a smile.

“How hard?” you ask, smiling as he pulls you closer to him, happily kissing you.

“Logan, look at this,” you show him your phone, as you lean over the kitchen island. He sets down his water bottle and takes a closer look.

“I’m surprised they even care about me,” he says, brushing it off. There is a public beach a few houses down, so it isn’t uncommon for someone to stray off it.

“I didn’t think about what would happen within Williams,” you sit on one of the stools. Logan moves to sit beside you, grabbing your hand.

“It’s fine, we can fill out the necessary paperwork. There isn’t a conflict of interest, we are in the same department, it will be okay,” he reassures you. You peck his lips and sigh.

“I’m sorry someone saw us, that makes it harder for you,” you frown. His hand moves up to your cheek, rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

“I’m not. I’m happy to be seen with you,” he smiles before going to start lunch.

“I’m glad I met you,” you tell him, happy to be with someone who isn’t afraid to be in public.

“Me too. Would it be too early to call you my girlfriend?” Logan asks, finishing the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you both have been craving.

“Normally yes, but with you, I would be more than happy to be your girlfriend,” you squeeze his hand. Logan kisses you briefly before starting to eat.

A few hours you make your way back to Miami, Logan having a team meeting that evening. The two of you didn’t see each other much the rest of the week until free practice.

You lead your parents into the Paddock area, taking them to Williams hospitality. You had told them about Logan and they were very excited to potentially meet the driver.

“Hi Babe,” Logan hugs you when he enters hospitality, stopping to say hi before grabbing coffee.

“Hi Lo, ready to meet the parents?” You ask nervously, he kisses your forehead. The rest of the weekend flies by, he charms your parents, you meet his parents, and before you know it you are in England again.

By the time Austin rolls around, you both are inseparable. The team finds it cute how Logan will follow you around like a puppy dog when you are at the GPs and he is free.

“I’m so glad I saw you at the Marlins game,” Logan whispers, his arms wrapped around you.

“I love you,” you whisper back, tilting your head to kiss you.

“I love you too,”

[haleyboook]

Sexiest man alive’s photographer wife pt.l

Chris Evans is to be named People’s 2022 sexiest man alive, what he and his wife don’t know is that his photographer for the magazine is his very own wife. Who better to give the smoldering sexy look to than his wife?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Yes I am still scrambling around London trying to make it back in time for Miles birthday party. The models I’m dealing with here believe I’m a complete ninny. If only they knew the real stars I’ve photographed. Tell me why I agreed to this shoot again?”

He smiles on the other end of the video chat saying “It was something new. You wanted to broaden your portfolio.”

I grumble saying “Biggest mistake ever. Never let me make another like this okay?”

He chuckles saying “I think you’ve spent too much time in Europe, you’re beginning to speak like them. Ninny? What does that even mean?”

I stifle a laugh saying “Gah.. I’m so sorry. I should be home. With you and Dodger. Not here.”

“Hey, we understand. You’re killing it there and we’re couch potatoes while you’re gone. After shooting I’m exhausted.”

I nod saying “How’s the shooting for the red one going?”

“Good. I love Dwayne. I know I said I didn’t know if he’d be weird but he’s so funny and so nice. You’d love him. You need to meet him soon.”

“I’ll be home soon. And I won’t leave again, for as long as humanly possible.”

He nods saying “Sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had.”

I shake my head saying “You look tired. I am screwing up your sleep routine calling you this late. I hate this stupid time difference.”

He shakes his head saying “I can’t and will not go to sleep until we have our nightly calls. You know that.”

I frown and say “Sometimes I hate my job.”

“But, you love it. You know that.”

I shrug as I feel tears produce, “it’s just so difficult being away from you for so long. I don’t know anyone here. My assistants are French and talk terribly about me to each other. And the models think I’m a servant to them. I miss America. I miss you. I miss home.”

His eyes widen and he says “It’ll be done in no time. We’ll be here, waiting. Just do what you’ve gotta do. I can send Scott over if you’d like. He begs to go to Europe all the time.”

I smile as I wipe my tears saying “If he’s my best bet, yeah. But he’s not my first choice in Evans’ visiting me.”

He nods saying “I know how much you love my mom but I think she’s pretty busy in Boston, even though…”

I laugh through the tears at his efforts to make me feel better, my assistant quickly calls for me as I look to the laptop

“Miss Klava is requesting you to do… your job. No offense.”

I sigh as I look to her saying “Klava was supposed to be on set of the shoot an hour ago. She doesn’t run the show here. Get her in makeup and make her look like she cares to be here. I’ll be there soon enough.”

Quickly she leaves as I groan and Chris mellows as I shake my head saying “They can never not interrupt our alone time, can they?”

He shrugs saying “Big shoot day. I know you need to get out there now.”

I look down to my watch saying “No. No, tell me more about what’s going on with you.”

“I got a call from People magazine actually..”

Klava pushes her way into my room, shouting in a language I don’t understand, pointing towards my laptop and huffing and puffing.

Making a whole tantrum in front of me

I shake my head saying “You should be in hair and makeup! You’re so lucky I don’t find literally any other model to replace you!”

She shakes her head saying “I told you I model best. But you waste time with this! This ridiculous device.”

I look to my laptop screen, seeing Chris’ flushed expression. I glare at Klava saying “You can’t barge into my private office-”

My assistant says “She refuses to go into makeup, she claims she looks perfect as is.”

I sigh saying “Get Rachel, send Klava to Wes while I figure out how yo handle this.”

I look to my laptop saying “I’m sorry, Chris. I will call you later. Alright?”

He nods and says “I love you. Good luck with Klava.”

I smile to him quickly, saying “I love you too. Good luck with shooting.”

“You too.”

The call ends and I spend the rest of the day scrambling around, attempting to position and direct models that are nearly more than a foot taller me in heels to do as I request

I didn’t get around to calling Chris again, but I had enough time to check my email before I ultimately let my head hit my pillow and pass out

A rep from people magazine have reached out, asking for a call to speak about a job offer

I set plans and fall asleep with my phone unplugged and with a low battery

Chris messages me as I sleep, giving me updates throughout his day

Only going through to my dead phone

The sun shines in my face and I abruptly sit up, scrambling to read the time “please don’t be late..”

I look to the clock on the microwave, groaning as I rush out of the room.

Another painful day of dealing with models begins as I plug my phone in, missing my daily call with Chris

Missing the email telling me I would receive a call from People magazine’s Zoe.

Rachel pushes my ringing phone to my ear as it answers “Honey, I know I missed our usual call but-”

“Oh? Sorry, do I have the wrong number?”

I set my camera down, grabbing my phone confused saying “Sorry.. thought you were my husband. My assistant didn’t tell me it was a business call. Who is this?”

“Zoe from People.”

“Oh! Hi, sorry. I’ve been swamped here in London. What can I help you with?”

She cheerily says “As you probably know, People announces the sexiest man alive yearly with a large photo shoot and article. And we need a photographer for this years 2022 sexiest man alive. I’ve been following your work for awhile and wow… you’re work is stunning. My employers and I would like to offer you the job.”

My eyes widen and I say “Who would I be working with? Who won?”

Zoe pauses and says “2022’s sexiest man alive..”

I smile and say “Ah.. so confidential for now. When will the photo shoot take place?”

“Soon, as soon as you have an opening actually.”

Debating taking on more work I say “Who’s in the running for the job besides me?”

Zoe pauses saying “We were hoping it’d be you. We have a few people we’ve used in the past but my boss really enjoyed your photos from the Met gala earlier this year. You took some phenomenal photos.”

I pause and say “I don’t finish this job for another few weeks and I- I need to speak to my husband first before I accept another job.”

“We’d be willing to be flexible with times. And we know the model would be too.”

Looking to the models in front of me I say “Can we shoot in Boston?”

Zoe happily says “Yes, wherever you choose to photograph!”

I nod saying “Alright, I’m in. I just need to reassure my husband. I can just do the editing from this job from home. I’m almost wrapped up here. I will send you some dates that work for me, you pick one and let’s set some solid plans okay?”

“Perfect, I’ll expect your email. Thank you!”

I wrap up the call, dropping my phone and saying “Alright, this is the last day of shooting and none of you will have to hear my harping voice again. Just cooperate with me.”

Sending my unedited shots to my higher ups at the magazine I request finishing the final product in the states

With some convincing it’s approved and I call Chris on my taxi ride to dinner

“Didn’t think you’d get some time away to call me.”

I huff a breath in response saying “Yeah. I didn’t either. From the looks of your texts it sounds like you’re enjoying filming on red one.”

“I’m actually about to go meet someone for breakfast. Would you mind if you just texted me what’s up?”

I pause and mask my voice saying “Yeah of course! I’ll talk to you later.”

I hear a couple different voices in the background, one being Scott shouting “tell her I’m booking my flight immediately!”

I smile and Chris ends the call with a hushed goodbye. I sigh and the taxi driver says “Where to?”

“The airport please.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

next>>

Also make sure to like, comment, and re-blog please!

comment to be added to taglist!! ♥️

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

[xomakara]

An Office Affair

SUMMARY |  Doyoung really needs you when he sees that you're wearing a short skirt at the office meeting. PAIRINGS | Doyoung/Fem!Reader GENRE |  non-idol au, office au, CEO!Doyoung, older female/younger male, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, fluff towards the end RATING | Mature LENGTH |  2,775 words AUTHOR’S NOTE |  no words lololol. just more smut lololol

“You can all leave for the day.” Kim Doyoung muttered from where he leaned at his desk and closed the portfolio he was looking at. Running a hand through his dark hair, he watched as the directors and executives filed out of his office. “Oh, Ms Park. Can you stay behind for a moment? I want to go over some things with you.”

Oh shit. What did you do this time?

As the others filed out of his office, Doyoung looked over to where you sat rooted in your seat, fiddling with your thumbs. With a sigh, he made his way over to where you sat and stood in front of you, before removing his black suit jacket and throwing it over your legs. “I swear woman, what were you thinking of wearing something revealing to the office?”

“I had my reasons.” You rolled your eyes, rose from your seat and hung the jacket on the coat rack. You turned to look at him before crossing your arms over your chest, Doyoung looking over at the length of your legs. “Why are you so upset, Doyoung? Unless…”

Doyoung wondered where he went wrong when he started to date this crazy woman. When he first met you, he thought you were this beacon of pure innocence. You had looked all cute and innocent but when he found out that you were actively going to the company's in-house gym, he noticed that you were actually toned in all the right places. It was at that moment that he wanted to get closer to the Financial Director and what better way than to invite you to dinner?

He didn’t care if this woman was older than him by a few years. At first he was hesitant about dating an older woman, especially one who worked in the office with him. But after a few months (and now years) of dating, he came to the realization that he liked being taken care of by an older woman.

And the sex was pretty amazing.

“But really Doyoung.” You ran a hand through your hair and huffed. “This normally doesn’t faze you. Why are you so upset at me today?”

“It’s not that I’m bothered by what you wear.” Doyoung gestured to your skirt. “It’s the looks that others give you.”

“Doyoung, everyone knows that we’re engaged.” You said, an eyebrow arched. “We’re getting married soon. You got jealous because of other guys?”

“Damn it, Y/N. Only I can see your body.” Doyoung muttered, a huff escaping him. “Just the sight of seeing your legs is making me crazy. I just…I just need you so bad right now.”

“Mmmm…I could help with that then.” You chuckled.

Locking the door to his office, Doyoung pulled you to him, giving you a soft kiss. You drew away from him, your dark eyes meeting his own, focusing on his face- to see the change in the austere planes as desire infused and etched his features. Hands on his shoulders, you pushed; he hesitated for an instant, then acquiesced and allowed you to steer him back- until the back of his calves hit the leather sofa in the office. At your prodding, he sat.

You followed, one hand on his shoulder as you brazenly flicked up your skirt and lifted one knee, then the other, placing them on the sofa on either side of his thighs. You sat, then edged forward along his hard thighs, leaned in, breast to chest, and kissed him.

Flagrantly, blatantly enticing; you were sure you didn't need to specify that this was your way of wanting him. Nor did you think, as your lips parted, then fused, as your tongues found each other's and dueled, as his hands rose to close firm and strong about your waist, that you needed to explain which path you wished to follow.

You wanted him.

Doyoung sat back, content with your direction, perfectly content, with your lips ravishing his, to follow your lead, to let you lead for the moment. To let the taste of you writh through his brain.

He unbuttoned your blouse, bared your breasts for his delectation, then closed his hands over them, heard your shattered sighs, felt your flesh warm and firm beneath his palms, and rejoiced. Your lips taunted and challenged. Inwardly smug, he drew you up, one arm across your hips; bending you back, he set his lips to her flushed skin, and heard you gasp.

Doyoung set about orchestrating a symphony from you, one of sensual, abandoned moans and short, breathy gasps, punctuated by near-sobs of pleading. Each sound acted powerfully on him, fled and lured his prowling hunger, made it yearn and strain all the more to break free, so it could feast, so it could gorge on you and be sated. More deeply and completely than ever before.

He feasted on your breasts, as your soft cries sounded delightful to his ears, as he felt your fingers twine and tangle in his hair. You were responsive, made not a move to hide it, no effort whatsoever to conceal all that he made you feel.

You eyes glinted from beneath heavy lids as he raised his head enough to look down on the rosy mounds he'd captured, enough to gloat over their beauty, enough to feel sharp, lancing satisfaction over their swollen roundness, their sumptuous weight, at the tightly furled nipples he'd slowly rolled beneath his fingertips.

You sucked in a tight, tortured breath. Your fingers, locked in his hair, tightened, then clenched. you tugged and he lifted his face- so he could kiss you again, so he could raise one hand and frame your face and sink into the luscious haven of your mouth. So he could taste you again and enjoy it.

He did, then abruptly found his head reeling. You reached down and found him, hard as steel, rigid as iron. You touched, then pressed your palm to his aching length, through the fabric of his slacks and boldly caressed.

And he was lost. Caught and swept adrift on an up swell of sensual heat, on a sharply rising wave of burning desire.

Before he could catch his breath, before he could summon enough wit, let alone will, to catch your hand and remove it, you slumped against him, bare breasts to his now equally naked chest- how did that happen?- and murmured, your voice now low and sultry, a siren's whisper in the night, "So Mr Kim…what else did you want me to help with?"

He couldn't think, so he didn't answer.

"Now that you got your precious fiancée all alone… what do you want?"

The words feathered over his lips as you sipped, supped, then let your lips drift to trace the line of his clenched jaw. All the while your fingers played. His fingers tensed on your back, then slid to the sides and gripped; he should lift you away, at least enough to gather his senses. But your breasts against his chest, was all too tempting.

"I..." He began.

You laid a finger across his lips. "Now Kim Doyoung, tell me what you really desire."

You offered him your mouth and he took it. Between them, you undid the buttons of his slacks; your small hand slid beneath the smooth fabric and found him. His groan rumbled in his throat as you curled your fingers around his hardness.

“Do you want my hands or mouth?” You kneeled in front of him, looking into his eyes. “Tell me what you want Mr Kim.”

His fingers gripped tighter in your hair, dragging your face to his erection. “Both please.”

You lowered your head, licked your lips, blew lightly across his tip. The deep rumble of pleasure tore through him, making him moan, which in turn, made you laugh. A jolt of electric excitement shot through him as you suddenly bent down and licked him from base to tip.

Your hand squeezed his shaft and you lowered your lips to lick the underside of his cock. You kept moving up and down, sliding your tongue around the head of his cock, tasting every inch of him.

Doyoung reached for your head, fingers tangled in your thick hair. “Y/N, baby, don’t stop.”

Gripping his ass, you drew his entire length into your mouth and stroked. Drooling from your lips, hot droplets seeped down onto his cock. You used your saliva to lubricate the full length of his shaft, feeling him shudder. As his orgasm neared, you increased the pace, the rhythm of your strokes matching the frantic beat of his heart. When his release broke free, he bit down on your shoulder and grunted as his cum filled your mouth.

Licking and sucking the remaining cum from his tip, you hummed softly and gazed up at him through dark lashes, licking your lips suggestively.

"Come here." He tugged gently at your hair. You sat back on your heels, catching your breath, letting his cum drip from your chin. He helped you stand, taking your skirt and panties off, and turned you to face the wall. Doyoung fell to his knees and wrapped his hands around your thighs. He gazed up at you and grinned wickedly. "Stroke yourself baby, I'm going to eat you out."

Slowly, deliberately, you slid two fingers inside your pussy, pumping slowly as he looked up at you and licked his lips. Leaning forward, he planted soft kisses along your inner thigh, tantalizing you with the mere hint of his lips on your clit. Your hips bucked, seeking contact. He slid another finger inside and groaned at the wet warmth.

"Keep stroking your beautiful little pussy." He nuzzled the delicate skin just above your hip bone. "Show me how wet you are."

You leaned forward, giving him better access to the most sensitive area of your body. Doyoung continued kissing your inner thigh and trailed gentle kisses up your leg. Then he bit your calf and paused.

He stared into your eyes, as if trying to read you. "You're soaking wet, Y/N. Do you like this?"

“Yes.” You gasped, your fingers still working furiously within you.

Doyoung opened his mouth, and with a single motion, latched onto your pussy and thrust his tongue inside. You cried out, your free hand clutched at his hair, tangling it even more.

You then grabbed the wall with the hand that had used to stroke yourself, bracing yourself. He lapped hungrily at your juices, filling his mouth with the taste of your arousal. He moaned around your clit and started moving faster, taking you deeper. With a loud moan, you came, Doyoung never breaking eye contact with you.

Finally, he smiled broadly and nodded. "That was nice. Now I'll get started on the main course."

Reaching between your legs, he slid his middle finger into your dripping hole.

"See?" He said, teasing you. "Still so fucking wet."

“Fuck, Doyoung.” You moaned out. “I need you.”

He turned you around, wrapping his arms around you, and moved back up to kiss you. Then placed both of his hands under your ass and lifted you up, pressing you firmly against the wall. Looking down, he winked and put his hand behind your neck, guiding you into a heated, passionate kiss.

As his mouth devoured yours, he pushed his hips against yours, sending chills down your spine. Lifting you higher, he began rocking against you, causing a growing ache to start between your legs. One hand traveled to cup your breast and squeeze it firmly, eliciting a whimper from you.

“How bad do you want it?” Doyoung whispered, leaning closer to your ear. “Tell me.”

Without hesitation, you said, “I want you so badly Doyoung. Please fuck me!”

“Mmhmm, good girl.” He whispered into your ear. He continued to grind against you, but slowed the pace, pushing his hardness further inside of you. “Oh yeah, you’re ready for me. How much do you want me baby?”

You didn’t hesitate when answering, “All of it Doyoung. Please fill me up with your cock. Fuck me hard.”

He smirked, “Can you handle it?”

“Of course. I love you Doyoung,” You replied passionately. “Please give me everything you have.”

“Good girl. That’s right, tell me how much you love me.” He thrust into you hard, making you cry out. “That’s right, keep talking. Tell me how much you want it.”

“Ahhhh! Doyoung, I’m begging you. Please. I want you so much. I can’t take it anymore!”

“I know baby, that’s why I love you so much.” Doyoung grabbed hold of your waist and started pounding into you harder. The sensation of being stretched so wide sent shivers down your spine. “Oohhh yes, that’s right. Show me how much you love it.”

He increased the tempo of his thrusts, sliding deeper and deeper inside of you. You could feel his tip hitting the back of your walls each time he plunged. Each time, you called out his name, urging him to go harder. You knew he wanted to hear how much you loved him, so you said it again and again.

Soon, your breathing became labored and your cries were coming faster and louder. Before long, you reached a point where nothing mattered except having him inside of you. No matter how much he pounded into you, it felt so good. Every single second was worth it. In that moment, you forgot about everyone and everything else, and only focused on feeling his presence inside of you. The way your flesh was sliding against each other, the way your nails dug into his arms. You arched your back, drawing him deeper inside of you, and whispered his name.

“Doyoung.” You sighed out, pushing your pussy tight against his cock.

“Yeah,” He said in response. He continued to slide his cock in and out of you, picking up speed. “Say it again. Say how much you love me.”

In an instant, he picked up the pace, slamming his cock inside of you, sending waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body. You cried out his name again, over and over, riding out the waves of bliss.

With one final thrust, he emptied himself inside of you. He let out a long groan as you tightened around him, your pussy contracting wildly. Holding you tightly against him, he leaned down to press his lips to yours, kissing you deeply. After a few moments, he pulled back, gazing down at you tenderly.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly.

“More than okay.” You replied happily. “That was amazing.”

You lay your head on his shoulder and he continued to caress your arm.

“If we were doing this at home, I would give you some rest.” He told you.

“Oh no, we can’t end this here.” You laughed. “There is too much left to be done.”

“You’re so funny. But, we should probably clean ourselves up first.” He said. He took a cloth from his desk drawer and began wiping your body clean. When he was finished, he stood up and pulled you to your feet, holding you tightly against him. He helped you get dressed and straighten your clothes. “Seems like the whole company heard us.”

“Well, you’re the boss.” You chuckled as you gave him a kiss. “So I’m sure everyone won’t care what the boss gets up to with his fiancée in his office.”

Smiling slightly, Doyoung stood and pulled you into his arms again. Holding you tightly, he kissed your forehead. “That is true...so what are we going to do about the rest of the day?”

“What does my favorite workaholic want to do?” You asked coyly, leaning into his body.

“This isn’t over yet baby. We’ll definitely continue this later tonight.” He sighed, his arm wrapped around you protectively. “Does my favorite workaholic want to join me?”

“That sounds like a plan." You playfully slapped his arm. "But first, we need to finish our business meeting for this evening. And then we can head home together. Sounds fair?”

Smiling down at you, Doyoung pressed a kiss to your lips. “Sounds great to me.”

Then, looking up at him, you gave him a playful look. “Did you enjoy yourself today Mr Kim?”

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he tucked some stray hairs behind your ear. “More than you could possibly imagine Ms Park. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You smiled at him and squeezed him tightly. “Now let’s get back to work.”

You walked over to a pile of papers and started picking them up, pretending not to notice the wide smirk on Doyoung’s face.

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 10

Hello! So I’m wondering if people aren’t seeing my posts, I got someone on one these (don’t remember if it was this one or Roads...but they said that somehow they had missed the last three). I also noticed that a couple of the writing tags *I* follow didn’t update when they put out a new part of their story, I only noticed that they put it out because I dig through the #steddie tag several times a day.

So let me know if you’re still seeing my tags or not.

The application process has begun! Just a note on Argyle’s last name. The fandom doesn’t have one for him and they usually don’t give him one. It took a lot of research (the character looks Native American but the actor is an American born to two Mexican parents.) So after some seriously thought I landed on Rivera.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3  Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8  Pt 9

***

The first guy’s name was Keith Langston and he had been learning to tattoo through buying large swaths of pig skin. The guy’s portfolio was entirely of pig skin tattoos.

“Have you ever tattooed human skin or on a live person?” Steve asked looking over the portfolio turning each page slowly. “It can even be yourself. Or even just drawing on yourself?” He added, because that’s how he got into tattooing.

Keith scoffed. “That’s what I’m here for. To tattoo other people. I only go to the best to get my body tattooed.”

Steve smiled. “And who are your favorite artists?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Like only the greats. Leonard Killgrave, Ollie Peterson, Trent Sullivan. You know, those guys.”

How Steve managed to avoid wincing, he could only attest to years of customer service. Because he had never heard of any of them. And Hopper was no slouch in the social aspect of being a tattoo parlor owner. He knew most of the shop owners and good portion of the artists under them. They weren’t from Indy that was for sure.

And then it hit him. They weren’t from Indy. They were probably from Chicago or New York, maybe even Boston. This prick was traveling out of state to get his tattoos.

“I see,” was all Steve said. They talked some more about Keith’s abilities and where he hoped to be in five years.

“Well, you got to where you are in five years,” Keith sneered. “I fully expect to world renowned in that time.”

Steve’s eye twitched. “Thank you so much for your time.” He handed back the portfolio and didn’t even bother to stand.

Keith stormed off muttering about asshole douchebags who thought they were still in high school.

Yeah, Steve was not hiring Keith.

The next one was Eden Bingham. She was the Goth chick with the fluffy black hair and the piercings.

“Hello,” she greeted as Steve stood up to shake her hand.

“Hi,” he said, “tell me about yourself.”

Turned out she was Suzie’s older sister. She had moved out from Utah to get away from her strict parents and to be closer to Suzie after she married Dustin. Suzie was the one that had told her that he was looking for an apprentice and to try for it.

During the course of the interview, Steve was a little disappointed. Eden was good. Damn good in fact. And had been tattooing her friends and roommates for the last year, indie style. But he knew their personalities would clash so hard. And it wasn’t about the aesthetic. It wasn’t.

But he knew where she would flourish though and made a note to have Robin call Hop. Hop’s most recent apprentice had moved up to a chair and chose to move to Chicago to purse their career there and needed a new apprentice.

He thanked her for her time, stood up and shook her hand.

“Hey, look,” he said gently. “I don’t think you would be happy apprenticing under me.”

She smiled. “Probably not.”

“But I know someone who’s just barely had a spot open up,” Steve explained. “He hasn’t had time to put out feelers yet. I think you’d two would be a better fit.”

Eden’s eyes went wide. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

Steve nodded. “And not just because you’re Suzie’s sister, either. Because I think you’re good and deserve a shot. Even if it isn’t with me.”

“Thanks!”

He walked out with her to get Hopper’s number and address. She walked out talking excitedly to Suzie on the phone.

Robin bumped his shoulder. “That was nice of you.”

Steve blushed. “Hop will love her.” He looked at the remaining two. “Who’s next?”

“Argyle Rivera,” she murmured.

Steve turned to him. “Argyle, come on back.”

Argyle leapt to his feet. “Brochacho! I’m super excited.”

Steve smiled and led him to the back room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Argyle handed him his portfolio. “I think it’s so cool you asked for a physical portfolio, dude. Most cats only want a link to some website.”

Steve grinned. “I don’t mind those, it’s just harder to talk while scrolling.”

Argyle grinned back. “Yeah.”

Steve opened it up to see the most beautiful Mexican styled tattoos he had ever laid eyes on in his life. Growing up in Hawkins made for a very thin Latino or Hispanic population so he didn’t see much of this kind of work, but he had always admired it.

“This is amazing,” he breathed. “How long have you been doing this?”

Argyle blushed. “I haven’t really done much. I used marker for the most part because permanent isn’t really my style, bro. But I’ve done a couple stick and poke stuff that was fun. And I am all about the fun. So a friend suggested I should try for this.”

“So you’ve never used an ink gun?” Steve asked.

Argyle shook his head. “Nope!”

Steve and Argyle talked for a bit longer and Steve was really impressed with how open and outgoing he was.

“How do you feel about doing tattoos not in your usual style?” he asked. This was the kicker for most artists.

Argyle lit up. “That would be awesome to learn how to do, dude! I love my style but branching out is what life is all about.”

“And how would you feel about starting off only doing simple tattoos, like the small ones or basic designs?” Steve asked.

Argyle’s face spread out into the biggest grin. “Everyone’s got to start out somewhere, my man!”

Steve was really leaning towards Argyle now. Which was too bad, because he really liked the spunky blonde. No, no, not like that.

He led Argyle back to the reception area and then Robin called the last out. “Chrissy Cunningham.”

Steve smiled at her. “Come on back.”

She jumped up and followed him. “You aren’t going to murder me for the no tattoo remark, are you?” she asked with a grin and a wink.

Steve burst out laughing. “If I killed everyone that thought that, Indy would be down three-fifths of its tattoo artist population.”

She laughed too. “Fair enough.”

“And since we’re on the topic,” he said, indicating for her to sit down, “you don’t look the type anymore than I do.”

She grinned. “I got my first tattoo when I sixteen. My mom didn’t want me cutting my hair so much so that I told her either let me cut my hair or let me get a tattoo, she let me get the tattoo.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit! I’ve never heard of that. It’s hair. It grows back.”

Chrissy grinned. “Her words were ‘At least a tattoo could be covered up, I’d have to look at the terrible hair cut!’.”

“That is fucking insane!” Steve said. “Can I see it?”

She nodded and pulled up her shirt sleeve. Steve could see the nine (yes nine, Pluto counts) planets and at the top was a howling fox.

“That’s cool,” he said. “Can I see your portfolio?”

She handed it over and Steve looked at it. She didn’t seem to have a firm style yet.

He found out they had both gone to Hawkins High. “Wait, no way.”

She nodded. “We all knew who Steve Harrington was. The basketball players all wanted to be him and all the cheerleaders wanted to be with him.”

Steve blushed into his hands. “Oh god that’s awful.”

Chrissy laughed. “Well, most of the cheerleaders anyway.”

“Not you?” he guessed.

“Kind of a large lesbian,” she said with a grimace. “Makes it a tad difficult.”

Steve laughed. “Fair enough.”

He talked with her a bit and then led her out like he had done with Eden and Argyle. He said goodbye and locked the door up behind him.

He turned to Robin. “What did you think of them? Be honest. They probably said a whole lot while they were waiting their turn.”

Robin nodded. “Argyle got Eden’s number.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Yeah, okay I needed that. Did he really?”

“Oh yeah,” Robin said. “It was mildly hilarious how well they hit it off. You couldn’t find a weirder couple.”

Steve put his hand over his heart in mock protest. “Have you supplanted our relationship as the weirdest ever? I’m hurt. Hurt I say!”

Robin laughed so hard she snorted. “All right you drama queen, weirdest romantic couple. How’s that?”

Steve beamed at her. “Perfect!”

She laughed again, shaking her head. They talked about the two candidates and both were really good.  

“I don’t want to pick between them,” Steve whined, hitting his head on the desk.

“So don’t.”

Steve lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

Robin licked her lips slowly. “Steve, I’ve been doing the numbers, if we add in the potential of what they can bring in, by the time school starts back up again not only will we have enough to pay for both of them to stay on, but Erica too, and the new receptionist.”

Steve jerked back. “Wait, what?”

She nodded. “I’m not lying, dingus. I’ll swear on it. In fact, we could probably hire the new receptionist by July.”

His eyes went wide. “Really?”

Robin took his face in her hands. “You are open and friendly. First timers and people who are just nervous in general love coming to you because you put them at ease. People who just want to get a tattoo as memorial or just as a one-time thing, love coming to you. There is this whole untapped market that you accidentally slid into and made it your own. We just need more people so you and I can enjoy our lives for a change.”

Steve blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “You are so good at this. Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve this.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s do it. Call them both and have them come in tomorrow at nine so that we can go over a few things and have them learn how to open.”

Robin nodded. “Sounds good.” She picked up the phone and started doing just that.

Steve watched her with a growing smile on his face. He had a really good feeling about this summer.

***

Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18 Part 19  Part 20  Part 21   Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25 Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Epilogue

I figured as controlling as Chrissy’s mom was in the show about her weight, she would be controlling about the hair too. And ngl this is exactly what my oldest sister did to my youngest niece. It’s hair. It’ll grow back. Nope. The tattoo on my niece’s arm is the one I described here.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk​ @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @aizawa-emma @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @archermightbegay @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination 

[viridian-sky]

I've decided to take some emergency commissions due to some unexpected bills (TL;DR my roof fell on me during a storm+flood so I had to replace it with a makeshift roof, only for it to fall again... that's why I'm thinking of renovating it for real). Kind of desperate right now so I'm increasing the price a little bit from my previous commissions and take less commissions (for the time being I'm only open for 3 slots). I haven't had the time to put together a nice commission detail post so you'll have to bear with me word-vomitting the details below.

Base Prices (ranges depending on complexity of the design and/or pose):

Waist up:  35-40 USD

Full body: 40-55 USD

Extras:

Additional character: +80% of the base price (max. 3 characters on 1 canvas). Special for simple mon design (Digimon/Pokemon): + 20%~50% of the base price depending on the complexity.

Commissions come with no/plain BG, with simple BG (see sample below to see what extent): +0~20 USD depending on the complexity of the BG.

Above are examples of simple BG, though I might charge a small additional price for example in the first (USD 2~5 if I have to draw patterns by hand). My current style is best represented by pic 1 and 3. To give you a general gist about my art style (color choices etc), please go through my blog.

Terms of Service

OK:

OCs/fanart (fictional characters)

het/BL/GL

PG-13

Not OK:

detailed BGs

mecha

furry (kemonomimi OK!)

gore

NSFW

?? (ask, though do note that there might be additional charges for this):

real people

animals/mons (Digimon/Pokemon)

overly complicated armor/weapon

middle-aged/elderly characters

muscular body types

R-15 (suggestive content)

just ask anyway if you’re unsure!

I have the rights to decline or cancel an order if:

I don’t think I can complete the order to a satisfactory standard, or

I am not comfortable doing the order due to ill-intentions or behavior.

*If in any case I am unable to complete your request, I will refund.

Payment

Payments are done through Paypal only (accepted currency: USD).

Payments are paid upfront (full amount).

No refunds if commission is cancelled by the commissioner. As stated before, refunds will be provided if the cancellation is done by me.

Process

Normal working duration (estimation): 1 week ~ 1 month (4 weeks), as I do have a day job at the office from 9 am to 6 pm every weekday, so I can only work at night when I’m home (I usually get home by 7~9 pm) or during the weekends. For that reason please bear with me. I'll try to be as transparent and accountable to the best that I can though.

Max. time limit of completion is 3 months.

I will send you the invoice after we have reached a deal.

I will only start on the commission request after the payment is done.

I will be showing the sketch and coloring processes to you through the provided contact information. 

Max. 3 revisions: sketch, base color, final revision (only minor adjustment can be made during final revision stage).

If you have not heard back from me within one week, please feel free to remind me through e-mail or DM.

Final Product

I will provide the high-res PNG file(s) (with and without background/transparent for commissions with plain background) without the watermark. The resolutions will be min. 1000 px x 1000 px, max. 3000 px x 3000 px (@ 300 dpi). For the record, I usually work with a B5 canvas.

If you want the drawing to be on a larger canvas, please specify beforehand (max. 4000 px x 4000 px). Please be advised that there might be additional charge for this.

Usage

Commissioners may only use commissioned artwork for personal use. You may use it for SNS (profile image, headers/banners, etc.) and can be printed out as long as it’s not for commercial purpose.

Do not claim the commissioned artwork as your own.

I reserve the right to use the commissioned artwork for sales and/or self-promotion on my SNS/online portfolio unless agreed otherwise.

Don’t use for AI/NFT!

If you’re interested, please DM me!

Others

If you’ve got any question before you want to place an order, please feel free to reach out to me via DM.

Sharing is very appreciated. Thank you!

[leighsartworks216]

Somethin' Stupid (Songfic)

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Requested by Cat103005 on ao3:

“I was wondering if you could do a fic based on the song Somethin' Stupid by Frank Sinatra. The song has been giving me major brain worms recently and it's just such a soft song that I can't stop thinking about Astarion when I listen to it.”

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAV SONGS!!! I literally have it in so many character playlists and I just love it so damn much. It's not the plot I went with here, but I like to imagine a bard Tav singing it at a tavern and Astarion slowly realizing they're singing about him 🥺

The lyrics are in italics, but if they're hard to separate from the regular text let me know and I can bold them or put up dash barriers ✌️

Warnings: alcohol, referenced alcohol consumption, mentions of manipulation, slight hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,442

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

I know I stand in line

Until you think you have the time

To spend an evening with me

And if we go someplace to dance

I know that there’s a chance

You won’t be leaving with me

Astarion watched with keen interest as you twirled around the campfire, hand-in-hand with a tiefling. Your cheeks were flushed, from alcohol or merriment, he couldn’t tell. You laughed and spun and twirled and reveled in your victory.

He would have to make a move at some point before the day is out. You usually went around to greet everyone or say goodnight; he’d just have to wait until then. While he waited, nursing a disgusting bottle of cheap wine (if it could even be called wine), he thought up lines that always worked on the others he’d lured in before.

That was the easy part. Now he just needed you to fall for them.

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place

And have a drink or two

And then I go and spoil it all

By saying somethin’ stupid like, “I love you”

I can see it in your eyes

That you despite the same old lies

You heard the night before

And though it’s just a line to you

For me it’s true

And never seemed to right before

Your pupils dilated, your smile stretched wide, your heart still beat quickly in your chest. With each flattering remark past his lips, you only seemed to glow more. “You’re sweet,” you said, “and sillier than I thought.”

He grinned, sly and seductive. “I can go on all night with the flattery,” he promised, “but is that really all you want? How about if I said these little words… Everyone’s favorite…”

He paused, and his mind raced within the second of time. A flood of feelings within his chest, thick and uncertain. A horde of questions asking why saying it this time felt worse than it used to. But once the second ticked away, so did the thoughts.

“I love you.”

Your smile dulled ever so slightly. Your eyes softened, but not with affection. He couldn’t place exactly how they looked at him. You were still enjoying yourself, he knew that much, but something had changed.

“Having fun, are you?”

He laughed, unexpected even to himself. “I am, it’s hard not to with you.” He cleared his throat. “Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each others’ full portfolio of talents once again.”

You giggle softly at his phrasing. Even in the dull light he can see you flush; practically feel the heat radiating off your body. But you shake your head. “I’m sure we will get another chance soon. But…” You offer him a sweet smile. “Not right now.”

“I look forward to the day.” He smiles back, surprised to find he finds he actually believes it. “Meanwhile, my hunger for you will only deepen.”

-

I practice every day

To find some clever lines to say

To make the meaning come through

But then I think I’ll wait

Until the evening gets late

And I’m alone with you

Of everything Astarion could have possibly anticipated on this journey, he never thought… Well, he never believed he could ever fall in love. It was a rough tumble, like he’d been shoved down a steep hill, rolling all the way down to the bottom, but he’d fallen, nonetheless. And for you, of all people.

It was a little embarrassing. He’d put in all this effort to have you fall for him, so you’d never turn around and stab him in the back. And here he was, staring longingly across the camp as you played with Scratch, tossing his ball and cooing and praising every time he brought it back. It was silly. He felt like a complete and utter fool. But… he didn’t mind it. At least, not as much as he thought he would.

Instead of searching across a dingy bar for another victim to lure back and give his body to, he watched as you so unknowingly, and yet so gently, cradled his soul within your hands. Whatever he has left of a soul, anyway.

Scratch fetched the ball, but trotted around you and over to Halsin, where he plopped into the druid’s lap and settled in for the night. You had a stupid, beaming smile on your face. And then you turned and saw him, and your smile got impossibly wider. If he had a heart, it would have burst. You lightly jogged over until you stood right in front of him.

The time is right, your perfume fills my head

The stars get red, and, oh, the night’s so blue

And then I go and spoil it all

By saying somethin’ stupid like, “I love you”

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.”

Your face falls instantly into a concerned frown. He misses your smile already. “Are you alright?”

He huffs a weak laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m fine! I just…” He frowns, unable to keep up the charade. “Feel awful. Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy… Instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it… And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.” He studies your face, searching for rejection. He wouldn’t blame you. But you just look at him with such open, welcoming eyes, worried and attentive. “You… You’re incredible. You deserve something real… I want us to be something real.”

You offer him a smile, but your brow is still tight with worry. “So do I,” you assure him. “More than anything.”

He grimaces. He wishes things were that easy. “I just don’t know what ‘real’ looks like. Not after two hundred years of playing the rake.” He sighs. It’s hard to pour his heart out like this, to admit to so much and hope you won’t run away. He still half-expects you to turn and book it. But you don’t. So he takes a breath and tries to push through the building anxiety. “Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how else to be with someone.” He frowns ruefully. “No matter how much I’d like to.”

Your face softens further. The crease between your brows eases as you carefully take a step forward. “I care about you deeply.”

“Really?”

You nod, but then you step even closer. He doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t even know what you’re doing, until your arms are wrapped around his waist and your head rests on his shoulder. It’s… different, than all the other times he’s been physically intimate with somebody. You don’t grab on like a leech, prepared to suck him dry of his autonomy. No, he knows if he pulled back even slightly, you’d let go. But he doesn’t want you to.

His hands twitched, held out awkwardly from when you stepped forward. And then he lowered them slowly to your back. You were warm. He pressed lightly against your spine, drawing you even closer to him. He leaned forward and pressed his nose against your shoulder, eyes closing almost instinctively. You smelled of campfire smoke and lye soap. It was the best thing he’d smelled in years, because it was you.

After a moment, certainly not long enough, you stepped back. You worried you’d pressed his boundaries too far after his confession, but he only wrapped you up tighter in his arms, pressing his face more insistently against you. He only relaxed again when your hands returned to his lower back, just below his scars. Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt, securing yourself there with him.

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he admits, a mere whisper by your ear. “But I know that this…” He sighs, content, the happiest he has been for centuries. “This is nice.”

The time is right, your perfume fills me head

The stars get red, and, oh, the night’s so blue

And then I go and spoil it all

By saying somethin’ stupid like, “I love you”

“I love you”

“I love you”

“I love you”

---

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[nnight-dances]

HOW TO FALL BACK IN LOVE WITH YEONJUN

pairings: yeonjun x f!reader

tropes: one-sided enemies to lovers >:-)

plotline: yeonjun loves you. you've loved him before but now you're convinced he deserves nothing but your ironic smiles. well, you're wrong. these three acts of your life uncover the truth behind your resentment and the depth of yeonjun's love. plus, an epilogue where we collectively hate on short stories because only poetry can truly capture a writer's horniness!

what to expect: a lot of rambling in parentheses but i promise it's essential to the storyline, (i have many thoughts about how i've used this feature in this story which i can share if anyone's interested.) mbti talk, some tiktok slang.

song recommendations: sweet by cigarettes after sex, moonlight by dhruv, lay all your love on me by abba

—

THE FIRST ACT: 2 THINGS YOU (MIGHT) HATE ABOUT YEONJUN

it’s not a secret that yeonjun does everything with his everything. he’s only invested in his select few interests but just the little things take up all the space in his heart. you could argue for or against his way of living, he’s more than aware it’s not the healthiest to be like this but he’s not ready to change, not while he’s still young. for now, he’s a summation of fixations and obsessions in his world. and it just so happens that one of his obsessions is you.

“what’s this? y/n’s got a new piercing?” he leans back on his heels dramatically, mouth forming an o at the sight of the newly-added butterfly stud on the helix of your ear. “and it’s only tuesday. week not going very well for you.”

you narrow your eyes at him in your typical resting-bitch-face fashion, instantly taking on an aloof demeanor, “i’m extremely uncomfortable with the fact that you’re keeping up with the number of piercings i have. can’t say i’m flattered.”

“ha! at this point, i don’t even have to try to keep count. you get a new one every other day.”

“oh, leave her alone, jun,” calls out taehyun from behind you, “she’s doing it for inspiration for her portfolio that’s due in three days.”

two ring-adorned middle fingers stick up in front of taehyun’s face, your hoarse voice following suit, “you’re a terrible friend, kang taehyun.”

“two days? and you’re not done? sorry, love, but as an ESTP, i physically cannot forgive you. i have to shame you in public.”

yeonjun laughs a little too hard for your liking at that, about to chime in with his own patronizing comment but you cut in, “oh, well, you know who else is an ESTP? donald j. trump!”

yeonjun laughs again at that, enjoying the banter between you and taehyun a lot. he joins in, “i’m an ENFP. that’s the same as katniss everdeen’s, so i’d say that explains why i’m so hot.”

you frown, “you mean you would choose peeta over gale? yeah, i can see why you have such bad taste in everything.”

taehyun howls in laughter at that and yeonjun shakes his head, “oh, ho ho ho,” he shuffles closer to you, “you don’t understand, y/n, how badly you’ve just insulted yourself.”

before you can fully comprehend the meaning of his statement, he’s gone, grabbing (stealing) a can of beer from hueningkai who’s busy forcing beomgyu to arm-wrestle him.

“whatever that means,” you huff out, massaging your temples. taehyun sighs, concealing a knowing smile, “yeah. i’ve no idea what he means.”

you rest your head against the sofa he’s sat on, stretching out your legs, “i actually hate you for betraying me like that.”

“oh god, maybe i’ll stop the day you stop talking like we’re still in the second grade and i’ve lent my eraser to the wrong person.”

“you might as well have!” you complain, not in the least petty because, “choi yeonjun did not need to know i’m behind on my portfolio. god knows what he’s gonna do with that information.”

taehyun snorts, “ah, yes, he’s probably going to plan a full-fledged assassination involving your family and kids simply based on the knowledge that you’re a helpless procrastinator.”

“you know what?” you sit up with a groan, “i think you’re the one i should be worried about sharing my secrets with. you’re the real threat here.”

your ‘friend’ simply chuckles under his breath as he watches you depart his side and hopes yeonjun’s somewhere in the crowd of the party to keep your nerves… unnerved.

yeonjun is present in the crowd, sat on the less than reassuring metal stairs of beomgyu and hueningkai’s shared apartment. his hand fidget with his phone, struggling to stop himself from going on tinder only to be disappointed because he’s just looking for another y/n and that near impossible, unless you break your oath to rely on “real life encounters and experiences” (your very own words) to find love.

he finds you then, in a group of people hanging around the balcony, cigarettes in hand. you stand a little far apart from the others, looking undoubtedly spaced-out as you swing on your heels back and forth. you’re pretty, even though yeonjun can only see one-fourth of your face, what with all the darkness and your hair in the way.

but you hate him. even if your disgusted grimaces and cold glares are all but a joke, you did seem harbor some kind of resentment toward yeonjun. he’d no idea what it was and trust him when he says he’s been putting his neck on the line just to figure out why.

so far the reasons that have him most convinced include,

one: you hate all men in general and he just happens to be a particularly irksome male presence in your life.

this is a pretty likely explanation, he thinks as he approaches you, because even as an outsider to the group you’re in, he can see that you reserve your expletives for certain men.

“…and that’s why i think everything is soup,” yuta finishes saying when yeonjun joins you. for a second there’s silence and even mark who usually can’t control his laughter maintains a poker face. then, you groan, “yuta, if i had a pencil right now, i genuinely would have stabbed you with it.”

now, this makes everyone crack up while you regard them in disbelief with a look that screams you guys know i’m serious right? because you’re dead serious.

so yeah, it’s a good bet to say that men aren’t your favorite kind of people. but still, yeonjun couldn’t shake off the feeling that your dislike for him is more personal. wishful thinking, perhaps? but then, you turn and notice yeonjun standing beside you.

your half-smile tightens into a frown, “when did you get here?”

there it was. that specific tone you use with, that was missing when you’d threatened lucas just moments ago. the grit in your teeth, the intensity of your eye-contact, even the way you say you changes. which brings him to the next and last potential reason that yeonjun has spent days, if not years, pondering.

two: yeonjun had done you wrong without knowing and ever since then, you’ve grown to absolutely despise him.

now, yeonjun knew for a fact that you’re expert at holding grudges, clear from how quick you’ve always been to bring up embarrassing things people around you, specifically taehyun, had done. and to be honest, you’re just good at remembering unusual amount of detail which you use to your advantage.

which is why yeonjun knows you’ll know he’s lying when he says, “i’ve been here for a good ten minutes, y/n. i’m so hurt you haven’t noticed.”

“stop that,” you shoot back instantly, raising a singular but intimidating index finger, “i know what you’re doing.”

yeonjun raises his eyebrow in amusement, “stop what? what am i doing?” he slightly leans in to dramatically tuck in a few stray strands of hair, “please, enlighten me.”

the low, husky voice he uses is not lost on you. despite your flaming cheeks, you scoff, “that! you’re flirting with me!” you reach up and promptly untuck the hair from behind your hair, “these are my slut strands. you’re not allowed to touch them without permission.”

“your—” yeonjun pauses, “slut... strands? right.” he swallows a chuckle, smirking instead, all while internally he’s having a breakdown over how insane you are. like in a good way. in the way that everything you say is fucking crazy but it’s so native to your logic that it drives him crazy and holy cheese, yeonjun is scaring himself right now.

he looks away momentarily to see the rest of the group’s conversation floating elsewhere. he turns back to you, “so you noticed?”

you cock up a brow, “that you’re flirting with me? no shit, yeonjun, you know i may not look street-smart but i have to live with taehyun and his witty ass so trust me, i’m not oblivious.”

“oh, i beg to differ,” he settles closer to you, leaning against the same pillar as you, shoulder flush against yours, “i didn’t think for a second that you were oblivious.”

“that’s why you ran away after telling me i was insulting myself by insulting your taste?”

yeonjun flushes, taken aback by your straightforwardness, coughing to cover up his lack of excuses at that. you breathe out a laugh at his flustered state, “hmm, so goes down the all-mighty choi yeonjun.”

“at least i wasn’t defeated by my inability to complete my creative writing portfolio due in three…” yeonjun looks down at his watch, “actually, now, two days.”

this time, you’re left without a comeback, “that’s a low blow, man.”

he laughs, “come on, isn’t this like your first time being this late?”

“once again, i remain creeped out at you knowing things like that but,” you relax noticeably next to him, “i guess i ran out of ideas this time. not sure what’s wrong.”

“and this had never happened before?”

“i thought you already knew this.” yeonjun rolls his eyes, a complete contradiction to the grin on his face. ”hm, maybe you’ve run out because you’re trying to do it the same way you’ve always done it?”

“i mean, of course i’m doing it the same way,” you mutter, “that’s like the point of having a regular writing practice. it needs to become natural.”

“yeah, but you need spice things up a little sometimes!”

“gross,” you scrunch up your nose, “you sound like you’re prescribing me a threesome right now.”

he shrugs playfully, “if that’s what rocks your boat.” you push him away at that and he laughs out, “okay, okay, but i’m serious. try something new.” you quieten down at that, probably thinking.

“what about…” you look up at him expectantly and he almost fumbles over his words, “um, what about walking around the city?”

—

THE SECOND ACT: LOVE BEGINS BEHIND CLOSED PARENTHESES

full disclosure here: yeonjun’s second reason is right. the first one isn’t completely wrong, but it’s more so the second one that finds you in the gropes of overthinking that night.

you know how at a certain point in the past, you really (really, really, really) like someone but then things don’t work because that person isn’t into you (but more because you’re too caught up in your own self-perception to do anything) so slowly that lots (and lots and lots) of like turns into a lump of resentment? yeah, that pretty much describes your relationship with yeonjun. more or less, you hate him for not liking you (”in the past!! i don’t care about him anymore!” you hastily add from behind kang taehyun who had been narrating this whole paragraph. taehyun poorly covers up an incredulous snort.)

“so now you’re going on a date with him?” taehyun asks a little too loudly, “how does that happen?”

“it doesn’t happen because nothing is happening because i’m not going on a date with him!” you half-scream, hitting the brunette on his head to try and shove some sense into it, “and please, stop being so loud or i’m going to cry.”

“y/n, we live alone. and i think you’re going to cry nevertheless, but okay. if it’s not a date, what is it?”

“it’s just a walk,” you say and when taehyun looks at you blankly, “a walk around the city, in his exact words.” more blankness. more silence. “i was going to go alone but yeonjun said he knows an obscure part of town that would help me become, you know, curious.”

“uh-huh, right, of course…” taehyun purses his lips, intrigued to see how far you’d go with your denial.

“stop looking at me like you’re so much better than me! and no—” you cut him off knowingly, “don’t say that you are better than me. you’re not. what you are is an asshole and i hate you.”

you fall into your sheets with a frustrated wail and taehyun laughs at your state for a few seconds before returning to his role as your therapist slash best friend.

“okay, y/n, i know you don’t like to think about, let alone admit it, but you’re into yeonjun. and since i can’t let what happened a year ago happen again, i’m telling you that i’m almost completely sure that he’s into you, too. so please, don’t be hostile tomorrow on your date— sorry, your ‘walk’ with him. use the opportunity or i’m sleeping over at kai’s.”

—

“i don’t know why i let you talk me into this,” you scoff as you fall into step next to yeonjun. “we’re literally at a stupid park.”

he gasps like the theatre kid he should be, “first of all, this is a huge park and you’ve no idea how much people-watching you can from here. and secondly, i bought you coffee so all you’re being right now is ungrateful.”

you stay silent, eyes scanning a group of middle-aged ladies that passes you. you hear a whiff of their conversation, something about one of them wanting to take a break by the water fountain.

“see? you’re already in the zone and i didn’t even have to shut up.”

you look back at him, awed look morphing into a scowl, “no, i think it’s just really easy for me to forget you’re here.” yeah, it’s safe to say you haven’t taken a word taehyun said to the heart.

but no matter what you say, half an hour later finds you perched on a bench, crouched over your notebook, fingers scratching quick bullet points into the paper. you look up every ten minutes or so, head moving up and then rotating slowly, and then back to writing.

it’s only when yeonjun brings you your second cup of coffee that you notice the stiffness in your shoulders. he smiles at you, brightly. brightly? no, it’s the sun that’s bright, not yeonjun. he’s… moronic.

“wanna take a break?” he asks. you stand up in answer, taking the cup he holds out for you, the words thank you leaving your lips a little too quickly. he doesn’t overreact like you expect him to, his attention on some kids a few ways away from where the two of you are.

“you wanna play frisbee?” you mean to mock, not offer, but yeonjun’s ear perk up and he’s pulling you after him before another word can be said.

“hey, kids!” he greets the children who look like they’re maybe in middle school, “could we join y’all for a bit?”

it’s a a girl in pigtails who answers excitedly, probably encouraged by yeonjun’s looks (hey, yeonjun is objectively good-looking. just because you’re stating facts about his appearance doesn’t mean you’re in love with him. because you’re not in love with him.)

“sorry, this one is a little zoned out most of the time, so just don’t aim at her face,” you hear yeonjun say as you finish convincing yourself of your lack of feelings for him. you resist the itch to flip him off and flash a polite smile to the blonde boy next to you.

he responds with an enthusiastic wave, “hello! i’m ren!” you raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to introduce himself but return with a, “hey ren, i’m y/n. nice to meet—”

you’re cut off by yeonjun’s yell as the yellow frisbee flies your way. your hands come up to shield your face but ultimately it’s yeonjun’s body crashing into yours that saves you. does it, really? you wonder as you groan from under him. the grass is damp and you’re in it and yeonjun’s on top of you. you’re not sure what makes you more annoyed.

“i fucking hate you,” you whisper as yeonjun props himself up. he’s still close enough though so he grins, looking objectively good-looking despite the twig that’s found its way into his hair. “smile, babe, i just saved your life.”

you don’t know how to respond to his outrageous use of the endearment so you’re grateful when ren exclaims, “he just called y/n noona baby!!!! ewww, they’re dating!!”

on second thought, you’re not grateful because apparently, this is enough to wreak havoc among the group of children. weren’t they already at least ten? isn’t that old enough to not be annoying? you don’t find out because next thing, yeonjun’s hand is wrapped around your wist as he helps you up.

you shoot him a glare and the loud boy next to yeonjun screams, “they’re holding hands!!!”

“gosh darn, kids, your parents never touch each other or what?”

“my mother said my father’s breath smells like beer and that’s why she won’t give him kissies like she gives me them!” the girl in pigtails answers, proud for some reason. despite everything, you crack a smile at that, leaning into yeonjun’s side who’s struggling to stifle his laughter.

“i think we’ve had enough of a break, no?” he says to you and you nod, “please, let’s go before i’m forced to write about the bad parenting in my portfolio.”

about five minutes pass in you trying to break free from the group who insist on another round. another round takes two minutes before ren takes a hit to his knee and you both take the chance to leave, with you almost sprinting back to the peace of your bench in the shade.

you fall against the tree next to the bench, yeonjun close behind. “that was…” you take a moment to catch your breath, “not bad?”

yeonjun claps his hands together, “that’s exactly what i’ve been trying to tell you! this park! those kids! me? not bad!”

and well, because you guess you can allow that the whole affair isn’t half bad, it’s already evening when you’re too tired to write anymore. you look away from your almost illegible handwriting to find yeonjun gazing at you. weirdly (longingly).

he clears his throat, “you think you have enough?”

feeling weird (love-struck), you also clear your throat, “um, i should. i hope so, my fingers feel like they’re going to fall off.”

“that’s a good sign you’ve worked hard,” he pats your head. you don’t flinch away somehow. he continues, “it’s also a good sign that we should get some food.” when you narrow your eyes at him, he rushes to add, “you know, to relax your fingers.”

the excuse is ridiculous. the premise of this entire day is ridiculous. hell, yeonjun’s entire being is ridiculous. but you’re spent, your walls aren’t as rigid in the soft light of the sunset, and yeonjun’s eyes have an unreal glow when he’s silent.

and so, ridiculously enough, you answer yeonjun, “we should get sushi.”

—

that night, you return to your place to a tipsy party (?) of taehyun, soobin, and beomgyu with hueningkai glued to his phone-screen in concentration, filming everything. “you’re back!” kai announces when he opens the door, phone still recording, and you flip the camera off, not without a careless smile.

taehyun stands up at the sight of you, “i take it you had a fruitful date?” soobin laughs, so very loudly. “lmao,” (yes, soobin has the ability to say text slang out loud irl, next question please), “get it? fruit-ful? date? dates are fruits? am i drunk already?”

you shake your head at them and simply hug taehyun, feeling unbelievably affectionate today. “oh? what’s this? y/n initiating physical contact? choi yeonjun must be a god.”

you pull away, “this has nothing to do with him,” you say, sounding unconvincing even to your own ears, “i’m just tired. good night. if you make too much noise, i will take kai hostage and—”

“oh, do that anyway!! please, i’ll pay you!!!!” beomgyu shouts enthusiastically and you leave the living room before you have to witness any more of their drunken behavior.

but even in bed, you find yourself unable to sleep, mind occupied with… thoughts (is hanging out with so many men making you slightly dull? maybe. is it making emotionally constipated? absolutely. you make a mental note to schedule a lunch date with yeji later).

to be more specific, the image of yeonjun sat across from you holding out a piece of spicy tuna roll in your direction is too stubborn to leave your head. you think about yeonjun, among other things, that night.

yeonjun is no different, his mind still reeling from the realization that he’s spent an entire day with you. a day. a date? maybe, but whatever it was, you definitely couldn’t hate him too much if you could stand to spend that much time with him. you even shared a meal with him, laughed when he pretended his chopsticks were an airplane transporting food to your mouth. you humored him. you laughed with him. was that real?

—

if you think there’s nothing worse than waking up, walking out of your room— and right into yeonjun, then you’re wrong. because the disorientation you feel comes nowhere close to compare to yeonjun’s condition when he runs into you on his way to the common bathroom. he’s not sure what he else expected but it doesn’t surprise him to see that you sleep in a ginormous graphic tee (with mona lisa’s face on it?) and shorts.

“what are you doing here?”

the sense of deja vu overwhelms yeonjun for a moment before he smiles a little because your tone is not hostile, only confused. could he take this as progress? (or are you just half-asleep?)

“i’m… i’m here for brunch?” he’s a bit out of it by the time you raise your arms to stretch, heaving a half-groan, half-sigh. and listen, yeonjun’s not a pervert but he is considerably in love with you so seeing you with your slightly droopy eyes and slumped shoulders in your perfectly in-character pajamas sets off his imagination. to all kinds of destinations. (you as a domestic cat? you as a tired soul resting in his bed after a long night? god, he’s not doing this right now.)

“i don’t? i don’t remember agreeing to brunch?” you mumble confusedly, almost petulantly.

“you know,” announces soobin, suddenly revealing himself from the shadows (he’s literally been standing beside the two of you for two minutes, waiting for you to notice him. all he gets is the heat of the sexual tension between you and yeonjun. he could cook eggs on that shit.) “yeonjun was our friend before he knew you, y/n. actually, taehyun was our friend before he was your soulmate, so a brunch is a pretty normal occasion for us.”

yeonjun nods and you simply nod your head, probably too sleepy to make any witty comments at that. he shrugs, “but you’re more than welcome to join us if you want. for brunch? i’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything since our— since last night.” why’s yeonjun flustered? he’s only invited to brunch with four other people.

“i’m—” you’re cut off by yeonjun making his way to the bathroom. when he shuts the door behind him with a less than dramatic thud, you look at soobin in confusion. “so many things are happening too early in the morning.”

but brunch becomes a thing. and you join brunch, helping yourself to taehyun’s nearly perfect breakfast spread, your plate filled with bacon, eggs, and waffles.

“i say it’s nearly perfect because all we have in this house is fucking peanut butter!” you cry out, making taehyun give you a glare because he’s heard this many times before, “i don’t know how many times i’ll have to tell you this, but jam! jam is meant to be eaten with bread, it’s the only right way, it’s the way god intended things. do i look like a gym bro to you?”

“lol no,” says soobin, high-fiving you (you’re not sure if he does that because he agrees with your point about the jam, or if he’s also not a gym bro?) “y/n has a point. there’s so much more options with jam, think of all the berries you could be eating! peanut butter is the same old, same old.”

“god, i hate it when these two are in the same room.” you don’t have time to respond to beomgyu’s exasperated comment because yeonjun shifts closer to you on the sofa, coffee kettle in hand.

“want some? i’ll pour it out for you,” he offers, eyebrows raised. you pause for a second, mouth almost hanging open at how motherly he seems, but nod in a daze and watch as he stands up, takes out a black mug (that coincidentally happens to be your self-proclaimed mug) and pours coffee into it. you’re unaware of the little smile on your face when he brings it back to you, placing the hot mug next to your plate.

you’re about to think out loud about his motherliness when beomgyu follows up on his previous comment, even more boisterous, “oh, but these two in the same room are even worse.”

you look up at that to see the other three staring at you. you make a disgusted face, “why are y’all staring at me? please stop, i feel unsafe.”

“in that case, yeonjun must be feeling really fucking unsafe from how closely you’ve been staring at him,” laughs soobin, words slightly muffled from the food in his mouth. he’s lucky he’s your favorite friend (honestly, it’s just because he looks adorable with his cheeks full but eh, his personality wasn’t that bad you suppose).

“i’ve? not? been staring?” you ignore beomgyu’s snickering, picking up the coffee, “you guys need to get lives so that you stop searching so desperately for crumbs of drama here. i’m not here to serve as a source of entertainment for yo—” you promptly, contradict your statement by spilling the top half of your drink right into your lap.

while you sit there with scalding on your bare legs, it’s only yeonjun who seems concerned (overtly so, you’d observe if you’d care to admit it) with the others laughing their hearts out, satisfied at the comedic timing of your accident.

yeonjun, meanwhile, rushes to you with a handful of tissues, lips in a pout, “what the fuck, are you stupid? how do you spill that? have you never had coffee before?” you sit there trying to get the tissues from his hand, but he swats your attempts away, swiping the coffee from your thighs.

he’s much more careful that you would’ve been, making sure none of it soaks through your grey night shorts and a hand on your knee, probably to steady himself (spoiler: his hand on your knee doesn’t steady either of you, especially not him). but he manages himself well, his worrying outweighing all else as he looks up at you, “are you okay?”

you realize you haven’t said a word, eyes raising to taehyun’s who’s now looking away but watching slyly from his peripheral vision. beomgyu and soobin are in similar positions, pretending to be decent people when really, they’re over the moon.

“yeah, i’m okay, i didn’t really feel any of that,” you mumble, patting at your thighs, “but, um, sorry i wasted so much of your coffee.” yeonjun takes one of your hands, “no, don’t worry about it, i can always make more. you can’t make more of these legs.”

“okay! that’ll do it! i can’t take it any more!” beomgyu stands up with a melodramatic groan, “you two are gross, dude! like, not even in an elementary school way, you’re just objectively gross. i hate this.”

“what was that you said about not being our source of entertainment?” jokes soobin, elbow poking yours, pointing at you and then yeonjun who’s still crouching in front of you, one hand on you, “i very much feel like i’m in a k-drama right now, so i’ve no clue what you mean.”

you can sense from the tilt of taehyun’s grin that he’s about to follow suit with an equally, if not more, obnoxious comment, so you stand up, declaring, “i’m going to my room. i have a portfolio to finish in two days!”

you retire to your room after that, deciding concentrating on your work will do you some good now that you’ve… socialized? could you even call it that? you leave it at that, plopping down on your study desk where you would’ve usually conceptualized your rough drafts like you’d done yesterday in your notebook. it doesn’t compare to the park yeonjun took you to, but there is a window to your right from where you can see the slow street in front of your apartment. people-watching through that window has given you some pretty cool ideas for your pieces. you suppose it was like a pocket-sized version of your experience at the park.

you work the afternoon away, surprised to see it getting dark outside when there’s a knock at your door. you twist in your chair and call out, “come in!”

a light-brown head of hair pokes through and squinting in the darkness of your room, you can tell that’s not taehyun. “yeonjun?”

“woah, haven’t you got electricity in here?” he asks, stepping in and you see he’s put on a cream-colored cardigan on the blue shirt from brunch.

“nah, taehyun uses the money i give him for the electricity bill and gambles it all away,” you joke, sighing with feigned sorrow.

“ah, right, i forget taehyun has a gambling addiction. i’m sorry, miss, can’t imagine what it’s like to be married to someone like that.”

you laugh at that, yeonjun joining in. he leans in against the wall across from you, finding the switch to the lights in your room and turns them on. you’re both quiet for a moment.

you, because you’re reveling in the new-ness of your relationship with yeonjun. you feel like you’ve moved on in some way, no longer feeling caught up in the bitterness that had been coloring your interactions with him so far. he’s close to you, this yeonjun right now, who really, truly looks at you. you don’t even remember the yeonjun who broke your heart. (was it him who broke your heart? you begin to wonder, or just your imagination?)

for yeonjun, he doesn’t think he could’ve said anything even if he wanted to. you look so otherworldly in the dim glow of the evening, your eyes meeting his eyes, unapologetically and most importantly, without resentment. you’re beautiful, here silently in front of him, and he thinks he might have a chance with you after all.

“um,” he’s the one to break the silence, “have you eaten since brunch?”

you shake your head, “have you?”

“nope, beomgyu roped me into watching netflix with him when i tried to study,” he admits with a shy giggle, “next thing i knew the sun was setting.”

—

THE THIRD ACT: WINE FLIES WHEN YOU'RE HAVING FUN

conversations with yeonjun always lead the most unexpected places, and this one ends up with you driving with him to the supermarket. one day, you’re taking walks and playing frisbee with yeonjun, the next you’re grocery shopping with him because he’s had a whim to cook dinner for everyone. oh, how fast the night changes.. or however that one direction song goes.

“do you like spaghetti?” he asks, approaching the shelves stacked with different types of pasta.

“think before you ask me if i like pasta again, yeonjun,” you shoot back, inspecting the packets with your hands clasped behind your back. “wow, it’s been so long since i’ve been grocery shopping. taehyun never trusts me to get stuff and that’s how we end up with only peanut butter.”

yeonjun chuckles as he scans the shelves for the kind he likes and you shuffle around a lot, making little noises at all the cute shapes in the different packings. “they have heart-shaped pasta?!” you hold up the pink package excitedly at yeonjun who closes in on you with a fond smile.

“hmm, i think i get why taehyun never lets you come grocery shopping,” he starts, “it says here this a kids’ pasta.”

you regard him with your hands on your hips, unimpressed scowl on face, “you’re saying i have to be a kid to eat heart-shaped pasta? i don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

yeonjun is in a fit of laughter but he reaches out for your wrist as you pretend to walk away anyway with a hurried, “no, no, i think we should get the heart-shaped pasta.”

the rest of your trip is you roaming around being pulled off by the obscure brands and unusual types of foods while yeonjun grabs the ingredients you’ll actually need for dinner. about fifteen minutes later, when he’s done checking off everything on his list, he finds you typing away on your phone.

he catches a glimpse of the notes app on your phone and smiles as he comes to stand in front of you, “what’s up?”

“ohh, are you done?” you look away, “i got some ideas. i’ll use them for future pieces.”

“you’re done with your portfolio?” he asks. and you nod, eyes twinkling as the two of you head to the counter, “yep, i guess your plan with the park wasn’t completely a fail. it was not bad, really not bad.”

yeonjun laughs, piling the items for the worker to bill them. you gasp at the sight of a dark purple container, “you got blueberry jam?”

(fuck, his heart skips a beat. cheesy but valid. you look like you have hearts in your eyes.) “yeah, i saw it and thought you’d like it.”

you crack a delighted smile and even though both of you are paying for the groceries, you feel like you’ve been gifted the world. “i think i love you.” (you’re only joking. …right?)

—

“taehyun!!! beomgyu!!! soobin!!!!” you holler into the house, setting up five wine glasses around the table, “dinner’s ready!”

beomgyu is the first to come out, summoned by the smell of food, gaping at the fancy set-up of the two casseroles on the table, one bigger for the spaghetti and a small dedicated to your heart pasta. “woah, this looks insane,” he comments and calls out for the other two.

yeonjun emerges from the kitchen, the bottle of red wine you’d picked out with your hands. you hadn’t been the most helpful in the conquest of the pasta ingredients but you knew a thing or two about wine. this one was one the cheaper side so you didn’t have the greatest expectations for it, but it’ll have to do.

taehyun and soobin make it to the table five minutes later, shocked at seeing a table full of homemade meal. “is this, like, you and yeonjun announcing that you’re officially a couple?” soobin asks. (he’s not joking. the way the two of you stare down at the dinner you’ve put together proudly truly has him convinced that you’re finally over the pining.)

clearly this is not the case but the sight of both of you turning as red as the spaghetti for dinner is enough to elicit a few chortles from all of them. “honestly… shut up, soobin,” yeonjun scolds and you take a seat at the table wordlessly.

the dinner is an experience. it’s been a while since any of you have had good home-cooked food like this, the past few weeks having been cluttered with take-out meals and the extent of cooking you’ve done involves frozen food.

“this is so good,” you hold up a heart pasta, waving it in the air at everyone, and then at yeonjun, “i told you this would be good. it’s so good.”

“judging from the way you’re acting like a child, i’m guessing you’re done with your portfolio?”

you glare at taehyun but nod anyway, shooting him a thumbs up, “done and dusted, sir. i even managed to proof-read it before submitting it this time.”

yeonjun has been sitting beside you, eyes round with adoration at everything you say. you can’t blame him, you’d changed into a white dress with puff-sleeves before dinner which doesn’t only fit the mood but single-handedly creates it, and it’s a rare thing to see you in a dress so casually.

taehyun smiles, “i’m proud of you. even though you’re doing the bare minimum by completing your work on time.”

you roll your eyes at his twisted way of affection, the words on the tip of your tongue dying out when yeonjun leans into you suddenly, arm reaching out for the bottle of wine beside you. he shoots you a half-smile when he meets your gaze, pouring some out for you. as he returns to his position, he says under his breath, “try not to spill this on yourself, babe.”

you hold in the giddy breath that almost escapes your throat at his words, but you can’t stop the mellow feeling that blooms in your chest, eyes following him as he pours some wine for the others, too. was it the wine that was mellow or yeonjun’s voice? (hint: it was the moment of his love for you that was mellow.)

you make it through dinner, occasionally asserting the supremity of your heart-shaped pasta for kids here and there, but overall, overwhelmed by the man by your side. when everyone’s finished eating and lazing around the sofa, beers in hand (”wine is for sissies,” beomgyu aims at you because he knows you hate it when he says that, “let’s get beer guys.”), you take to the balcony with a glass full of wine to yourself.

the night air is pleasant after the warm atmosphere inside the house and you breathe through your mouth a few times, to calm your nerves. you can feel yeonjun’s eyes on you from the living room but choose to stay still, welcoming the feeling of spacing out in solitude.

“you alright?” his voice greets your ears not two moments later. (is he really close to you right now? or is the balcony just too small for two people?)

you hum affirmatively. then, you look at him, a light laugh leaving your chest. you’re leaning into his side now, you enjoy his warmth. “i’m good.”

“didn’t know wine could make you drunk,” he breathes, heart in his throat.

you shake your head at him, “i’m not drunk.” you hesitate and then, “at best, i’m tipsy.”

“i was talking about myself. i feel drunk. ‘s never happened before.”

you frown, throwing a careless glance over your shoulder, “beer and wine? yeah, that’ll make you drunk.”

“i didn’t have any beer,” he reveals. when you narrow your eyes, he continues, “i’m not lying. i don’t like to mix the two. i’ve read it gives you headaches.”

you stay silent, holding your breath for no special reason. (…)

“besides, once i start something, i like committing to it.” if his words themselves aren’t meaningful enough, the soft look on his face is full of unmistakable love.

“you’re not just talking about wine,” at first, it’s a statement you speak, your gaze fixed. then, memories of your past hurt rush in and you finish with an uncertain, “are you?”

“i’m not,” his voice is hushed and you feel there isn’t a moment lost between when he says his words and when you hear them. you’re so close to him, in all meanings of the word. “do you still hate me?”

you’re a little stunned by the jarring question. “i didn’t hate you. really, it was… something internal. like a dilemma. a phase, almost? i don’t think i could hate you if i wanted to.”

“you think?” you can feel his words inside of yourself now, even though you doubt either of you have moved any closer to each other.

yeonjun’s heart is on fire, destructive but determined. his hand brushes back your hair. “you’re so pretty when you wear your hair down.”

you hide your face in your shoulder, away from him, flustered that his words have such an effect on you. you’ve been complimented before. with much more zest, with more elaboration. but this is different. you feel like yeonjun is holding you.

he chuckles, “are you okay?”

you pull yourself away, swallowing, but not making eye-contact with him yet. “that’s the first time you’ve called me pretty.”

“that’s the first time you’ve heard me calling you pretty,” he corrects you. his fingers are in your hair again, this time to make you look at him. “you should listen to my thoughts sometime.”

you laugh and he’s moving closer, both his hands coming to your face. your hands move from where they’ve been clasping the balcony railing for dear life and find yeonjun’s waist, silently beckoning him nearer.

when your noses touch, yeonjun hums, “i’m crazy for you, y/n.”

you want to chuckle at his silly phrasing but instead, you’re saying it back, “fuck, i’m the crazy one, yeonjun. i’ve—” you stop your words, suddenly hesitant.

but yeonjun is firm, his lips hovering over yours and his question will you kiss me? unanswered because you’re already kissing him when he asks you.

(this kiss is. . . not bad.)

—

EPILOGUE: A SELF-AWARE SLANDER OF SHORT STORIES

“so…” your voice struggles to stay stable as you prop yourself on your elbows, yeonjun’s arms never letting loose of your sides. “when you say you’re crazy, is it that you’re crazy for me or crazy because of me?”

yeonjun stops in the middle of the tantrum he’s throwing with his buried in your neck. he blows out air through his mouth and you giggle, your hands pulling him up by the hair. “answer me!”

he sighs, “i don’t know, babe. both? neither? either.”

“come on, there’s a fundamental difference between the two,” you whine, “am i a symptom of your craziness or the cause of it?” he stays motionless, lips pressing against your cheek. you add, “just so you know, there’s no right answer. i’m honored to be either.”

“god, i can’t believe you’re using your boyfriend as material that’s going to be read by your entire class. a class of pretentious, sleep-deprived kids. they’ll hate me, y/n.”

you groan, kissing yeonjun’s ear lightly, “not true! you’re a very cute boyfriend.”

“so you are using me for your creative writing class?”

you pause and yeonjun flops onto the bad, pouting and feigning a cold shoulder. “the audacity of women these days!”

“hey!” you pull him back into you, “i’ll have you know that my love language is turning people into literature.”

yeonjun’s pout is already fading when taehyun’s voice breaks into your room (you should probably re-inforce the rule about knocking now that there’s a half-naked man in your room more often than not). “that’s true. she’s already written a story about me.”

your boyfriend’s interest is piqued at this, his eyes jumping between taehyun and you. “what? really?? and you haven’t written about me?”

“i’m trying to! you’re not making it easy.”

“did you ask him all these questions when you wrote a whole story about him?” taehyun cackles in glee at yeonjun’s returning pout.

you roll your eyes, “yeonjunie, it was a short story— the most unromantic form of literature. i’m basically saying i would rather write a bunch of boring description than even think about having sex with him.”

“hmm, it seemed like a pretty enthusiastic piece to me,” taehyun supplies unhelpfully. you glare at him. if you weren’t in just your bra, you would’ve gotten up to shut the door in his face.

“babe, i’m having serious doubts—”

you quickly shut down yeonjun’s whining, “i want to write a poem about you, my love. that’s why i’m asking you so much. it takes a little more to be properly romantic! i want to be truthful.”

he hesitates and you kiss his nose to seal the deal. taehyun groans in defeat, “gross. i just came here to get your asses to brunch. hyuka’s brought mint chocolate snacks from home so we need someone to handle him, so please hurry,” he starts to close the door as he leaves, but stops when the two of you make no move to wake up, “and you’d better not start fucking now! nobody needs to hear that this early in the morning, especially not poor hyuka.”

you laugh into yeonjun’s chest as he shouts back comforting words to taehyun. his lips attach to your shoulder. “i love you, y/n. you’re the explanation for my craziness.”

you shift to look back at him, smile widening, “hm, that’s interesting. can i quickly write that down-? okay, okay, sorry, i was kidding, love, come back here!!”

—

[creamupuffuu]

Ok-

So-

hypothetically…

If I were to make a Noah Diaz x Black!Chubby reader would y’all read it…? 👀👀

Scene Idea:

The cardboard portfolio you carried tipped in your hands as you kept the end pressed against the plush of your tummy to keep your drawing papers from falling out. Thick fingers curling against the back of the board you huffed silently as your feet fell into a steady rhythm against the sidewalk. Your drawing studio classes ended unexpectedly early today and I suppose you’d be happy for that, except you had a tight schedule that involved one car you had to share with your mother. And since she’s still working, clocking out as soon as your classes would normally end, she’d pick you up and you’d head home but now you had no choice but to walk. The black strap of your tote bag digging into the creasing of your shoulder. Filled with drawing pads and other art material you wouldn’t be surprised if you opened your bag right now and a pile of bricks would be waiting for you.

Walkman headphones snug on your ears Sade sang beautifully making your walk a little less crummy as the lyrics of ‘The Sweetest Taboo’ put your mind at ease. The sky was a dewy blue, spirits of purple danced around pink clouds as the day welcomed night. Your gaze shifted to the stars above, missing the colorful Porsche rolling up beside you. “Now how come whenever I see you, you got a frown on?” The sudden voice makes you jump, clumsily flicking your headphones off you turn with a scowl, ready to throw a line of insults before you bit your tongue.

“Noah?” You raised a brow, a grin tugging into the corners of your round cheeks as he eased on the breaks. “What are you doing here hm? And where’ve you been man? You go M-I-A-“

He scoffs at the joke.

“Don’t call, don’t page and then you roll up on me with a Porsche?” As of que said, Porsche rumbles lightly in a manner similar to a chuckle. You squint and Noah swallows and with a forced chuckle he drags his tongue across his bottom lip, pinching the peach fuzz of his beard as his other hand toys with the steering wheel of the car. “Yea, I uh” his eyes dart to yours before he looks down. “I was..uh in Peru for a business trip”

“You? Go on a business trip? Yo boss trust you enough for that?”

“Aye now,” He chuckles lightly. “Do you uh, want a ride?” The question made you remember where you were, standing on the side of the road, portfolio gripped in your doughy arms. You almost question why he decided to change the subject but the signaling of his thumb pointing over his shoulder and down the street catches your attention. “I was driving down here when I seen you, was wonderin’ if you needed a ride or sum..” He shrugs his shoulders and you can tell he’s trying to be as nonchalant as possible, his eyes easing back onto the road. Chewing on the inside of your cheek you look ahead of the road. “I don’t know..” He almost dreads the next words from your mouth. “I don’t wanna owe-“ So he cuts you off. “You won’t owe me anything (Nickname), think of it as a ‘thank you’ for the last time you babysat Kris.”

He hears you scoff, his shoulders involuntarily sagging in relief when you shuffle over to open the back door. Relieved you were taking his offer. You spoke, voice soft, and dripping in affection that has the older Diaz melting when you mention the latter. “You know I don’t mind babysittin’ Kris, love the lil stinker,” You grin, plopping into the passenger side after securing your bag and portfolio in the back seat.

———

This is all I’ve got, it’s something that’s been marinating in the back of my brain since the movie came out—lowkey thinkin’ about makin the reader be related to Reek but ion know yet-but on another note can we like stop pretending like this man is not fine??? 😭 don’t get me wrong Mirage is bby girl but I love me some Noah whew 😩