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melpomene-writes · 10 months

Text

my celebrity crush

minatozaki sana x fem!reader // fluff, smut

you are so gay.

as if there has ever been any doubt about that.

the photo on the screen of your phone is just further unnecessary proof of that fact. you try telling yourself that you’re just appreciative of an expensive matching lingerie set but the truth is that you’re halfway in love with the gorgeous model and the voluptuous curves that the lace frames.

besides, you might as well appreciate the latest photograph that underwear model minatozaki sana has posted to her instagram account — it’s been shared to be looked at, though perhaps not with the kind of meticulous attention that you use to admire every pixel of the frame.

there’s no question about it, minatozaki sana is gorgeous. anybody with a working pair of eyes can see that. that she was placed upon this earth specifically to model underwear, you have no doubt. but sometimes you wonder whether sana’s existence has a secondary purpose — to torture you with those pretty brown eyes and her smiling lips and each flash of delicious skin.

“you’re so gay.”

tzuyu’s comment, while undeniably true, is the unwelcome gravity that sends your thoughts plummeting back to reality.

“she’s so pretty,” you whine, staring mournfully at the picture for a few seconds, before you continue scrolling down your instagram feed.

“yeah, because you were definitely admiring her face,” tzuyu comments drily, giving you a knowing stare. she nudges you with her elbow, then gestures at the drinking game that you’ve been ignoring in favor of drooling over an unattainable model. “come on, it’s your turn.”

you reach into the center of the circle and flip over a playing card, before pointing across at dahyun and gesturing for her to take a drink.

“trust you to fall for a girl who’s famous,” tzuyu says, when the game has moved onto your other side.

“i haven’t fallen for her,” you pout. “i’m just appreciative of her work.”

“you get a notification whenever she posts a new photo,” tzuyu reminds you. “i don’t even do that for the people that i’m dating. you’ve got it bad.”

you scroll back up to look at sana’s picture once more, and your heart twists painfully in your chest at the smoldering gaze that sana gives the camera. finally deciding to stop torturing yourself with daydreams about what will never be, you lock your phone and slide it into your pocket, then gesture to the half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor between yourself and tzuyu.

“i need a stronger drink.”

///

you’ve got a nice o’clock class in the morning, yet you still allow tzuyu to ply you with a generous amount of vodka, still allow yourself to be drawn in by the increasingly raucous drinking games, still allow yourself to be dragged out into town to continue your night at a club when you promised yourself earlier that you would only have two drinks and then be in bed by eleven.

it’s a dangerous game to play, but once you become aware that you’re way drunker than you planned to be, you decide to embrace it and order the next round of shots — tequila this time —much to the delight of your friends.

your mind’s fuzzy as you stumble away from the dance floor and down a dark hallway with unpleasantly sticky floors towards the women’s bathroom. there’s a queue lining up outside, a string of drunk girls complimenting each other’s dresses and catching loudly over the thump of music as they wait for one of the stalls to free up and you join the back of it, fishing your phone out of the pocket of your pants to pass the time.

when you unlock your screen, it’s still open on the instagram post from earlier, and your eyes pop out of your head once more as they’re greeted by the sight of minatozaki sana’s lace-clad body. the sight knocks the air out of your lungs, and you feel giddy. (it might be the alcohol, but you’re pretty sure that this photo really isn't helping the matter.) you feel as though you could stare at this photo all week, that sana’s sultry brown eyes and the expanse of creamy skin on display could keep you sustained better than the food and oxygen that science says your body needs to survive.

tzuyu’s words from earlier ring in your mind. trust you to fall for a girl who’s famous. end despite your earlier denial, you know now that it’s true. you’ve never been this addicted to a girl in real life, never felt like your life would be incomplete without somebody. and its fucking ridiculous because minatozaki sana’s a famous model, and you’re just an insignificant speck in sana’s extensive follower list. you might dream of an alternate universe in which a chance encounter with the model leads to a fulfilling relationship and a fairytale happy ending, but the reality means that this will never actually happen.

which is why what you do next is so easy.

it’s almost certainly the alcohol that pushes you to start typing out a comment on sana’s photo, fueling the resentful part of your mind that’s reminding you that sana’s not the only incontestably gorgeous, but that as a famous model she would never even glance twice at somebody like you, pushing your thumbs to tap away at the keyboard on the screen of your phone before your brain has the chance to catch up.

“nice underwear, bet it would look better on my bedroom floor...”

the line moves forward just as you tap send, and you slip your phone back into your pocket and forget about the comment entirely.

///

when you’re finished in the bathroom, you return to the dancefloor with a clear conscience and a renewed enthusiasm for having a good time. you dance with tzuyu, shimmying your hips and waving your arms around above your head in ways that would bring you great shame if you weren’t impaired by the buzz of too many units of alcohol. as it is, you dance like you don’t give a fuck — and you don't.

that is, until your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you take it out while continuing a half-dance kind of thing, startling yourself with the bright glare of the screen as you unlock it in the darkened nightclub. you turn down the brightness, then look for the cause of the vibration — an instagram notification telling you that somebody has sent you a private message — and read the words on the screen.

“nice face, bet it would look better between my legs...”

you read the sender’s name once, twice, three times before it registers that it reads minatozaki sana — your celebrity crush minatozaki sana — and it is only after that the contents of message itself hits you.

and you nearly drop your phone.

no way.

no fucking way.

you read it all again, read your own shame-inducing comment that you barely remember typing earlier in the night and then read sana's private response. and it just doesn't make any sense. sana’s making fun of you, she has to be. you’ve made an unwanted and inappropriate sexual comment on a stranger's photo and sana’s calling you out for it.

you have to believe that’s true because the alternative is that sana’s message is genuine, and that is far too much for your alcohol-fogged brain to handle.

there is no way that sana would be interested in somebody like you.

you’re a firm believer that the multiverse theory is entirely plausible, but you cannot comprehend that there could be a single universe in which you get hit on by somebody as completely out of your league as minatozaki sana.

especially not in this universe.

especially not after the awful comment that you sent.

you wish that you could rewind time. it's stupid, to be completely honest, because you've spent months dreaming up impossible scenarios in which sana notices you amongst the thousands of fans, but now that the day has finally arrived, you don't think you've ever been this mortified in your life.

you need to be sober. you also need to rectify this situation as soon as possible, and because sobriety seems to be several hours and a few pints of cold water away, you settle for working on the latter.

"i'm so sorry! i've been drinking and i don't know what i was thinking when i wrote that! i promise i'm not a creep!"

it's word vomit in written form, but you aren't capable of typing out anything more articulate in your current state and you're at least grateful that the message contains no spelling errors. you hit send and push the phone back into your pocket, as if putting the whole thing out of sight will wipe it from your mind.

if only the world worked in that way.

“what’s wrong?” tzuyu bellows into your ear from just a few inches away, and despite the proximity, her words are still almost drowned out by the thump of the bass.

you try to act normal, realizing quickly that ‘normal’ behavior is a lot harder to pull off when you’re thinking about it, and just shrug, before answering, “just not feeling it anymore. i’ve drunk too much.”

“we can go if you like,” tzuyu replies. “i’m pretty much done for the night too.”

your phone goes off again in your pocket, and you try not to be too eager in taking it out, just in case tzuyu notices your strange behavior and probes further.

“why don’t you enjoy the rest of your night, and we’ll see if you’re still interested when you’re sober tomorrow?”

you frown down at the screen, because the words don't entirely make sense and you don't know if that's your fault or sana's fault or the alcohol's or some fiendish combination of all three.

“interested in what?”

you press send and sana’s next message comes back almost immediately, and you can’t help but picture sana somewhere with her phone in her hand, waiting for your message so that she can reply straight away. (sana’s scantily clad in this scenario, and draped across a bed, because apparently your mind enjoys straying to inappropriate places after too many shots, and oh boy, if your mouth wasn’t dry before then it certainly is now.)

“in seeing my underwear on your bedroom floor.”

you lock the screen of your phone in panic, lest anybody around you happen to see the conversation with sana and put it away as you lean towards tzuyu and say, “yeah, let’s get of here.”

///

when you wake up, the only thing to hit you before the hangover is the shame.

you remember everything. well, there are clear gaps in your memory — you don’t remember the journey to the nightclub, nor getting food on the way back home even though there’s an open pizza box with two and a half uneaten slices lying in plain sight on your bedroom floor, nor the exact set of circumstances that led you going out on a night that you’d promise yourself you would stay in. but you remember everything about minatozaki sana, about the obscene comment you posted on sana’s photo, about the inexplicably propositional message that you received in response.

and you’re mortified.

you unlock your phone with the greatest reluctance, because you're hoping that there’s a tiny chance you drank so much last night that the entire thing was merely a dreamed-up product of your own alcohol-addled mind but nope, the messages from sana are most definitely glaring up at you, which means that you did the unspeakable and pretty much sexually-assaulted a stranger via an instragram comment.

the third thing that hits you, once you’ve confirmed that last night’s events really did happen, is the realization that you should’ve been in class twenty minutes ago.

you drag yourself out of bed, grateful that you at least had enough sense to change into pajamas when you got home in the early hours of the morning, rather than passing out fully nude, as you’ve done before, and take your phone with you out of your bedroom and into the kitchen where tzuyu sits at the table, chewing on a slice of toast.

“tzuyu, we have a big problem,” you announce.

tzuyu glances up from her plate, an expression of mild surprise on her face before she swallows her mouthful of food and replies, “for the last time, y/n, skipping class because you’re hungover is not the end of the world.”

you feel a bang of sadness for the loss of your unblemished attendance record this year, but then shake yourself out if it when you remember that there are far worse things that you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours than forgetting to set an alarm.

“no, something happened last night,” you explain. when panic flashes across tzuyu’s face, you hold out your phone, which is open on the comment you made on sana's photo last night, and quickly say, “no, nothing like that. look at this.”

tzuyu squints at the screen, mouthing the words of your comment silently as she reads it, before her mouth drops open and she stares up at you with shock in her eyes.

“jesus christ, y/n. that’s not like you at all.”

“i know!” you whine, taking back your phone so that you can open up the message conversation that follows on from your comment. “i’m mortified.”

“i mean,” tzuyu says, taking another bite from her toast and continuing in a muffled voice, “that photo has hundreds of comments. i’m sure she hasn’t seen it.”

“hold on,” you tell her. “i’m not finished.”

you show tzuyu your phone once more, this time open on the surreal conversation with sana, the one that you wouldn’t believe actually happened if you didn’t have the hard physical evidence of it in front of you.

tzuyu’s reaction is predictably astounded.

“what the actual fuck?”

“so, you see it too?” you ask, just to confirm, as tzuyu takes the phone from you to look at the conversation in more detail. “i haven’t just fantasized the entire thing?”

tzuyu frowns down at the screen with an expression of disbelief that matches how you feel, and then answers, “it would appear not.”

the phone in tzuyu’s hands vibrates with a new message, and you lunge forward to snatch it from your best friend, only for tzuyu to use her height advantage against you to keep you the phone to yourself.

“it’s from her!” tzuyu announces gleefully, before she reads out, “‘morning cutie!’ — oh my god, i’m going to be sick already — ‘hope you aren’t too hungover. the offer still stands. i’m in dc for a shoot next week if you’d like to go for a drink?’ holy shit, y/n. she’s serious.”

you finally triumph in taking your phone back, reading over sana’s newest message to find that tzuyu didn't make a word of it up. minatozaki sana, a famous model so gorgeous that you’re certain she could date anybody she wanted, has actually asked you out.

“it’s a joke,” you say aloud, for your own benefit more than for tzuyu. “it has to be. retaliation for the gross comment that i left her. she has to be making fun of me, trying to see if she can trick me into saying yes, before she jumps out and tells me that of course somebody like her would never be interested in somebody like me.”

“okay y/n, this may be news to you — and don’t you dare repeat this conversation to anybody because you know i hate it when people think i can be sincere — but you’re actually kind of hot." when you open your mouth to protest, tzuyu shuts you up with a dismissive wave of your hand and continue, “and i know that girls could be flinging their panties at you and you’d still come up with a completely illogical explanation for why they might still not be interested in you, but it’s not completely unreasonable that minatozaki sana has checked out your instagram account, decided that you’re a hot piece of ass and wants to screw you.”

you chew on your lower lip, because that’s an unlikely story, even though the messages that stare up at you from the screen of your phone seem to support a similar idea.

“look,” tzuyu says, reaching out to rest one hand on your arm, “if you don’t want to then you don’t have to. but just remember that most people would give anything to be asked out by their celebrity crush.”

it hits you then. this is your celebrity crush, the woman that only ever appears in your fantasies. an opportunity like this would never present itself again.

“okay,” you finally concede. “but if i turn up to meet her and find that she’s there with a half dozen police officers waiting to arrest me for sexually harassing her online, then you are paying for my legal fees.”

///

you’re terrified. you’ve been a jittery ball of nerves all afternoon, and now that the minutes until you meet sana are down to the single digits, the pounding of your heart is deafening.

“y/n?”

you’re so nervous that you startle when you hear a voice saying your name, and you jump to your feet when you see sana standing in front of you.

sana is… she’s shorter than you imagined her to be. she’s only fractionally shorter than you, but it still surprises you that this figure you’ve built up in your head to be such a monumental idol in your life doesn’t actually tower over you in reality.

sana seems completely normal too, as if she’s just a regular person, rather than a famous model with hundreds of thousands of online followers. and yeah, of course you knew sana wasn’t going to show up in just a fancy set of lingerie, or wearing a glamorous ball gown, or anything like that, but there’s something about seeing sana wearing a pair of turned up jeans with rips in both knees, a leather jacket, a plaid scarf bundled around her neck, that just grounds the entire situation.

she’s still gorgeous though. you think that sana could have turned up in a pair of sweatpants and with unwashed hair and you would still momentarily forget how to breathe in her presence.

sana’s eyes are browner in real life, and her smile even prettier, and if you weren’t at least fifty percent in love with the model before this moment, then you definitely are now.

“sana?” you choke past the dryness in your throat to finally stop gaping like an idiot and say something. “hi! um, can i get you a drink?”

“sure!” sana answers, unraveling her scarf from around your neck and taking off your jacket, folding both over one arm as you lean on the bar and flag down a bartender. “i’ll have a white wine, please.”

“a white wine and a vodka lime soda, please,” you tell the server behind the bar, reaching into your purse for some change to pay for the drinks.

“you look great, by the way,” sana says, nudging herself into your side as she leans on the bar beside you.

“so, do you,” you say. “i mean, wow.”

you turn to look at sana with the intention of physically acknowledging how good sana looks but find brown eyes much closer than you expect. you falter, intimidated by sana's proximity, and have to look away for your own sanity.

“don’t be ridiculous,” sana dismisses your comment with a wave of the hand, as if she hasn’t just dazzled you with a simple gaze. “i came straight from a shoot so i didn’t even have time to properly get ready.”

the bartender places your drinks on the bar, and you take the opportunity to distract yourself from the heat rising to your cheeks in sana’s presence by reaching out for your purse and counting out the correct change to pay for your drinks. passing the glass of wine over to sana, you pick up your own drink and lead the way over to a small table for two not far from the bar.

“i want to apologize for the comment that i left on your picture,” you say, almost as soon as you both have each taken a seat, desperate to get your apology in early so that you have a chance to redeem yourself and prove to sana that you can be so much more than just a creep from the internet. “i was drunk, and i know that doesn’t excuse anything...”

“don’t worry about it,” sana says, taking a sip from her wine and then placing the glass on the table. “it’s not the first time i’ve seen a comment like that. admittedly, they’re usually from gross teenage boys or pervy old men...”

“i’m incredibly sorry,” you repeat, mortified at being placed in such a category.

“look, i can tell that it’s out of character for you,” sana reassures you. a sly smile quirks her lips, and she adds in a lower voice, “besides, i like a girl who isn’t afraid to say that she wants.”

your mouth goes incredibly dry from the combination of sana’s words and the look that sana gives you in that moment, like she wants to launch herself across the table and do unspeakable things to you regardless of the bar’s other patrons, and you have to reach for your drink to cool yourself down.

“do you do this often?” you dare to ask, almost scared to hear of all the other people sana must’ve invited out for drinks, just like this.

“do what?” sana frowns.

“go out for drinks with fans.”

sana shakes her heads and answers, “actually, this is the first time.”

you almost choke on your drink. you had been expecting sana to say that she does this all the time — she must do this all the time if she's doing it with you — but the reality is a complete surprise.

"then... why me?"

it doesn’t make sense. sana has over ten million followers on instagram, and out of them all, she has chosen you.

“i don’t know,” sana shrugs. “something about you intrigued me. when i saw your comment, i was curious because it came from a woman. and then i looked at your photos and i liked what i saw.”

you feel your cheeks flush when sana confessed to browsing your own instagram account. you use it to post pictures of sunsets and hand-picked flowers and the cat that followed you home from the library last week. nothing that would make a lingerie model swoon.

and yet sana’s still there, sitting in front of you with a drink in her hand that you bought for her.

“what about now?” you dare to ask. “do you still like what you see?”

sana’s gaze slowly lowers, staring at your eyes and then dropping to your lips, where she lingers before her stare slides down the rest of your body, as if she’s checking you out through the table that sits between you both. when sana’s eyes flicker upwards once more to meet yours, she doesn’t answer your question verbally. instead, the way she raises her eyebrows at you, along with the renewed hunger in her eyes, is more than enough of an indication of her thoughts.

“so,” sana eventually drawls, “it took you a great deal of alcohol for you to post that comment, right?” when you nod an affirmative, sana continues, “and how many drinks before you’ll let me take you back to my hotel?”

you glance across at your drink, already half empty from the way that you’ve been sipping at it regularly as a distraction from the mounting arousal that has you clenching your thighs together. your decision is instant, and you reach for the glass, knocking back your head to pour the remainder down your throat.

wincing at the taste of the vodka, slightly stronger at the bottom of the glass than it had been at the top, you put the glass down with a thud and reply, “one’s more than enough.”

sana’s eyes light up in delight and she finishes her own drink in one gulp, before collecting her purse and jacket as she pushes back her chair.

“then let’s get out of here.”

///

if somebody were to ask you at a later date to recount the journey back to sana’s hotel, you would only be able to do it in the vaguest terms. it’s a blur of sana’s hand in yours, and sana’s hand on your waist, and sana’s hands drifting lower so that it's not quite grazing the curve of your denim-clad butt when you both have the privacy of the elevator up to sana’s room.

the two of you talk about... about something. the two of you must do, because the journey isn’t an awkward one, not entirely anyway. you think that you both talk about sana’s current shoot, and your college classes, and other such idle chitchat that happens entirely on autopilot. none of it really registers in your brain, because you’re still completely overwhelmed by the fact that you’ve met your celebrity crush, let alone the fact that said celebrity crush has invited you back to her hotel room for what promises to be the most mind-blowing evening of your entire life to date.

you’re still half-convinced that this whole thing is just a hoax, that sana’s hand seeking out whichever part of your body it can find to hold as you both make your way up to sana’s room is only there to stop you from running, that you both’ll step inside sana’s room to find a television crew armed with cameras and a half dozen confetti cannons ready to jump out and tell you that you’ve been pranked.

because there’s no way that sana actually wants to have sex with you.

but the two of you make it up to the hotel room, and when sana unlocks the door with her key card and ushers you inside, there’s nothing waiting for the two of you except a king size bed that’s equal parts inviting and intimidating.

“can i get you another drink?” sana asks, dropping her purse and jacket onto the floor beside the dresser and opening the door to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room to inspect its contents.

“no,” you answer, deciding that although a little liquid courage would be more than welcome right now, you want to be sound of mind to experience this for whatever it turns out to be. “i...”

“oh,” sana says, shutting the fridge door again and crossing the room to you, her hands seeking out your waist and slowly guiding you back against the wall next to the door. “is there something else you'd rather be doing?”

“i...” you stammer, your throat almost painfully dry, “i have a couple of ideas.”

“yeah?”

you hesitate before you act, searching sana’s face for any possible sign that she doesn’t want you to kiss her, but when you find none, and when sana’s hands tighten on your waist in encouragement, you lift one of your hands to cup sana’s cheek and pull her in for a hot kiss.

despite waiting for you to initiate the kiss, sana takes control as soon as your mouth meets hers. she keep you anchored against the wall with her hands, while her mouth opens and her tongue swipes against the crease of your lips, requesting access that you’re only too happy to give. and you’re grateful that sana’s taking the lead. the entire situation still drips with surrealism, and your brain can’t keep up with the fast pace of the evening's developments.

you’re kissing minatozaki sana. you’re in sana’s hotel room, with sana’s hands low on your hips, and sana’s tongue sweeping into your mouth, and there’s no fucking way that this isn’t just a hyper-realistic dream. except that you’re too aware of each tiny detail for this to be a dream, too aware of the thudding in your ears with each pump of the blood through your veins, too aware of the way that sana’s hands burn through the material of your top, too aware of the ache between your legs as you subconsciously push your hips forward into sana’s as if seeking contact where you so desperately need it.

it has to be real.

almost as if she senses that you need a respite to let your brain catch up with your body, sana pulls back from the kiss, far enough for you to see that sana’s brown irises have almost shrunk entirely behind the black of her blown pupils, before sana’s parted lips descend on your neck, tracing dangerous paths over tendons and fluttering pulses.

it’s still very distracting, the way that sana’s teeth and tongue work at the skin of your neck with no real predictability in their movements, but without the intoxication of sana’s lips on your own, you do manage to remember that there are things you planned to say to sana before things could get to this stage and with your mouth free to speak, you choose now to attempt to vocalize them, if only to give you something else to try and focus on instead of succumbing entirely to your desire.

“i just want to say,” you manage to husk out, impressed with your own ability to string words together in the face of sana’s valiant efforts at making you lose your mind entirely, “i think you’re… you’re a great rolemodel to young girls, a real icon. the campaigning you do for body positivity… and, uh...” you let out a little grunt as sana’s teeth close around a sensitive spot on your neck, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to regain the composure needed to finish your sentence, “and the lgbt community. you know, bisexual represen—”

“y/n,” sana says, lifting her mouth from your neck and cutting your words off with a disarming arch of her eyebrow, “i would love to hear all this later, but right now i can think of much better things that your mouth could be doing.”

you let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan at the implication of sana’s words, but you get a sudden surge of confidence, sliding your hands under the hem of sana’s top and bunching the fabric upwards.

“can i take this off?”

sana smiles as she detaches her own hands from your hips, allowing just enough space between your bodies for you to lift sana’s top up and over her head.

you don’t know how to cope now that sana isn’t wearing a shirt. it seems silly, because you've seen this sight before — sana’s breasts covered in satin or lace — but before it’s always been part of a carefully constructed photoshoot intended to be shared with millions of other people. this is completely different because it’s a private showing. nobody else but you get to see this view, and knowing that sana wants it to be you and only you seeing her body tonight, is more of a turn on than anything that you’ve ever encountered in your life before.

“shit,” you groan, closing your eyes as arousal throb in your veins.

“your turn,” sana husks. “i want to see you too.”

sana’s hands tug at the hem of your top and you raise your arms above your head, allowing sana to pull the garment up and off, before she drops it on the floor beside her own.

you almost want to fold your arms across your chest, feeling incredibly self-conscious about standing there in your bra in front of a woman who gets paid to be photographed wearing the same amount of clothing on her upper half. you decided earlier today to put on your nicest bra, just in case things escalated this far, but you’re still just a poor college student, and your nicest bra cost about thirty-five dollars, compared to be obviously far more expensive that sana wears.

“fuck, you’re beautiful,” sana exhales appreciatively, stroking the fingers of one hand across your cheek, then down the column of your neck and over your collarbone before her palm comes to rest over your lace-covered breast. “i can’t wait to get you naked.”

you surge forward, pressing your lips against sana’s, and the force of the movement causes sana to stumble backwards, one hand anchoring itself on your waist while the other palms your breast generously.

“bed,” you mumble, between hot kisses full of tongue that swipe messily at each other and teeth that nip at swollen lips, as you attempt to steer sana backwards towards the bed in the middle of the room, something that only becomes more difficult as sana’s thumb and forefinger pinch at an already puckered nipple through the fabric of your bra.

the two of you make it to the bed, somehow, by which time your jeans are caught around your knees and your fumbling hands have propped open the button on the front of sana’s. you kick your jeans off, tossing them on the floor somewhere behind you as you climb on top of sana, disconnecting your lips long enough to help sana tug denim down her own legs.

“come here, gorgeous,” sana says, smirking at you as she lies back on the bed, propped up on her elbows.

you follow sana’s request, crawling up sana’s body with your legs on either side of sana’s hips, your aching center hovering just inches above sana’s lacy panties as you lean down for another kiss. your long hair tumbles over your face, and you have to take a moment to flick it all over one shoulder, before you connect your lips once more and let your hand slide up the smooth skin of sana’s side until it’s resting on the other curve of sana’s lace-clad breast.

“can i?” you mumble against sana’s lips.

“take it off,” sana says, arching her back off the bed so that you can reach your hand underneath sana and unsnap the clasp. “i want your mouth on my breasts.”

you’re only too happy to oblige, undoing the bra with a shaky hand before throwing it to the floor. you don't allow yourself time to think — or time to realize that sana’s now lying topless before you, because that would almost certainly be too much for you to handle — before you descend on sana’s breast, wrapping your lips around a rosy nipple while you send one of your hands up to give sana’s other breast a generous squeeze. you swipe your tongue over the nipple as it puckers and sana’s hand finds the back of your head, tangling into brunette curls to keep your mouth against her breast.

you’re not satisfied with just this though. now that you have a taste of sana’s skin, you want more, you want to put your mouth on every tantalizing inch of sana’s body. you replace your mouth with your other hand, giving attention to the hardened bud with your fingers, while your tongue traces a path down the valley between sana’s breasts and down sana’s stomach.

sana’s body is even more perfect in person than in her pictures, and you get more and more proof of that with each second that you spend worshipping it. sana’s belly has a slight curve to it, unlike the stereotypical stick-thin model, and you make sure to lavish the soft skin with attention. you trace mindless patterns over sana’s stomach with your lips, stopping every so often to place kisses or draw pictures with your tongue. you seek out sensitive spots, reveling each time sana lets out a gasp or arches away when your lips brush over a ticklish area, making sure to return to these places until sana’s a writhing mess beneath you.

the hand on the back of your head grips tighter, then try to push your mouth down further. you smirk against the warm skin of sana’s stomach, knowing exactly where she wants your next destination to be.

but you won’t give in that easily. you lift your mouth from sana’s stomach and settle on your knees between sana’s legs. sana lets out a groan of frustration, but it’s one that dies in her throat when she realizes that your hands have gone to her hips, seeking out the elastic of her underwear to pull the lace down her legs and discard it on the floor.

you’ve been in this situation with girls before, but you don't think you’ve ever wanted it this much. and it’s not just because sana’s famous, or somebody that you’ve been harboring an unrequited crush on for way longer than the other girl has even known of your existence. there’s just something about sana, about the way that her kisses taste like perfection, about the way that you seem to know exactly what to do to elicit each gasp of pleasure from sana despite being a thrumming ball of nerves, that gives you the inexplicable sensation that your life was always supposed to end up in the moment, whether you like it or not.

you definitely like it. there isn’t a question about that. and, judging by the smear of sana’s arousal that coats your stomach when you settle back between sana’s legs, sana likes it too.

minatozaki sana is into you. which is just way too strange for you get your mind around. sana’s so beautiful, both in looks and personality, that she might as well be from another universe, while you’re just... well, you’re just you. you’re nothing special. completely ordinary.

“i need your mouth,” sana begs.

you’re only too happy to oblige. you trail another path down sana’s body, similar to before but with more purpose now. without the scrap of lace covering sana’s center, your destination is in sight, and you waste very little time getting there, only stopping briefly over sana’s breasts and her navel and that sensitive spot just above sana’s left hipbone that you discovered during your earlier exploration, in attempts to drive sana wild.

everything about this situation is incredibly surreal, but you decide the moment that trumps it all is the one when you slide your tongue through sana’s wetness for the first time. you can’t believe you’re here in sana’s hotel room, let alone going down on the woman you admire, but the heady taste of sana’s arousal on your tongue is eerily familiar, yet also different to anything you’ve ever tasted before.

instinct kicks in. no longer is this you and your celebrity crush, this is you and a girl who wants you, a girl who needs you, if the way that sana’s hips cant up into your mouth is anything to go by. sana sends a hand down and tangles it into the hair on the back of your head, keeping your mouth against her while she bucks her hips and gyrates against your mouth.

it’s really fucking hot, is the first thing that crosses your mind. and there’s no second thing, because you lose yourself in it all. sana’s enthusiasm is smearing her arousal all over your chin but you fucking love it, love the way that sana just can’t seem to get enough of your mouth.

“yes, baby,” sana mounts out encouragements between whimpers. “yes!”

you’ve never been called baby before, but you decide that you like it coming from sana’s lips. you double your efforts in response, wrapping your lips around sana’s aching slit and lashing your tongue against it. sana bucks her hips again when you do that, lets out a few more murmured encouragements and a gasped ‘fuck’, and you hum against sana’s center in approval.

you realize that sana’s going to come really fucking soon if you keep this up, and while the thought is an encouraging one, you aren’t quite ready to be done yet. you slow down the ministrations of your tongue, moving away from sana’s sensitive clit to drag lazy paths up and down sana’s folds, while bringing up a hand to spread sana open for you.

“do you want...?” you ask, lifting your mouth from sana’s center as you dip the tip of an exploratory finger into sana’s opening.

“god, yes,” sana groans, lifting her hips off the bed in an attempt to get your mouth back on her. “do what you want, y/n. fuck me. i need... yeah, just like that.”

you go straight in with two fingers, knowing that sana's more than ready for both, and you let out another hum of delight at the sensation of sana clenching deliciously around your digits. you curl your fingers against sana’s front wall, seeking out the erogenous area that you know will drive sana crazy, and you know you're successful when sana’s back arches off the bed and a husky groan erupts from her throat.

“fuck. y/n, just like that.”

you speed up your motions, thrusting two fingers in and out, and lean down against to put your mouth against sana’s center. there’s no pretense anymore, no need for further delay. you need to see sana come for you and you need to see it soon. you swipe your tongue against sana’s folds once, twice, then dive right in, giving sana’s clit the unwavering attention of your lips and tongue while your fingers slowly work sana higher and higher.

“shit, baby. i’m gonna…”

no amount of warning could prepare you for sana’s orgasm. you know it’s been building but it still takes you by surprise, from the way sana’s hips lift off the bed, to the shout of pleasure that escapes her lips. you use your free hand and splay it over sana’s hips, keeping them anchored to the bed, while you use your fingers of the other, still buried in velvety warmth, to coax yet more sounds from sana’s mouth.

sana’s body stutters through the climax, trembling beneath you with unpredictable jerks, and even when you think you’ve drawn the last of sana’s pleasure from her, sana’s body still twitches once more, before she collapses onto the bed with a contended sigh.

you withdraw your fingers and wipe them on your thigh, not minding the sticky mess they leave behind, then crawl up sana’s body.

“did i do okay?” you ask, because even though sana obviously just came for you, you need to know if it was good enough, need to know if you’ve done enough for sana to stick around long enough to return the favor.

sana’s hands pull your head down for a kiss. there’s almost too much tongue, but when you realize that sana is merely tasting herself on your lips, you decide that there can be no such thing as too much tongue, and you let sana’s filthy kiss take control.

“you’re so cute,” sana mumbles against your lips, her mouth turning up into a smile. “way more than okay.”

in a sudden move that takes you by surprise, sana flips you both over and hovers above your body with a predatory smile on her face. she lowers her mouth to your neck, closing her teeth over your pulse point and sucking what is going to turn into a dark mark into the pale skin there, before moving even lower.

“what was it you were saying earlier?” she asks, between kisses that draw a path over the swell of your breasts and down towards your navel. “i believe you used the words ‘feminist icon’. why don’t you tell me a bit more about that while i eat you out?”

your head falls back against the pillow and your hand finds the back of sana’s head. the moan that spills from your throat when sana’s lips close around your clit can probably be heard from the hotel lobby many floors below.

///

six months later

you hum a jaunty tune under your breath as you slot your key into the front door of your apartment. you smell like an airplane, and you haven’t eaten all day but none of that matters when you’re still riding the high of a weekend spent in your girlfriend’s bed.

you’ve been dating sana for six months now, and it still feels a little bit like a dream that you’re praying you’ll never wake up from. that night in sana’s hotel room was one of the best of your life, and once the two of you were done exploring each other’s bodies over and over again, the two of you both stayed up talking into the early hours of the morning until you both were too tired to stay awake any longer.

as you push open the front door and drag your small suitcase inside the apartment. you smile to yourself at the memory of that night and the morning that followed. if sana asking you out for a drink was surreal, if sana taking you back to her hotel room and fucking you until you couldn’t remember your own name was surreal, then nothing could have prepared you for sana inviting you along to the second day of her photoshoot the following day, nor the way that sana took you twice in her dressing room during her lunch break, nor the relationship that blossomed from there.

it’s been a really great six months.

“tzuyu?” you call out into the apartment, leaving your suitcase by the door and walking toward your roommate’s bedroom. “you in?”

“yeah!” comes tzuyu’s reply.

you push open the door to tzuyu’s room and find your friend sitting up against the headboard of her bed, her laptop on her thighs, which she moves to the side when she sees you standing in the doorway.

“so, how was your weekend away?” tzuyu asks.

“it was good,” you grin.

‘good’ doesn’t even begin to cover your weekend spent with her, but then none of the other words in the dictionary do either. you don’t think you’re going to be able to stop grinning for days.

“have you been on instagram lately?” tzuyu asks.

“no, why?” you frown, fumbling for your phone in your jacket pocket and opening up the app.

“take a look at your girlfriend’s latest post,” tzuyu tells you, her voice full of glee and eyes lit up with delight.

you scroll down your feed until you find the photo in question and read the caption.

there’s nothing quite like letting your girl take it off you at the end of a long shoot…

your eyes flit up to the picture, a photo of a pair of lacy underwear lying discarded on the floor, and heat rises to your cheeks as you realize that sana must’ve taken the photo while you weren’t paying attention.

the thing is you recognize the underwear. in fact, you remember picking the set out at the mall specifically to wear on this trip to visit sana, and you remember the nerves you felt while putting them on and wondering whether sana would like what she sees, and you remember the satisfaction of sana popping open the clasp of the bra and drawing the lacy panties down your legs with only her teeth.

“shit,” you groan, letting your head fall against tzuyu’s doorframe with a soft thud.

“what?”

“that’s not even a picture of sana’s underwear.”

tzuyu’s shriek of glee is a sound that isn’t going to leave you in a long while.

probably the most requested one...

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice sana x reader #twice sana imagines #minatoazki sana x reader #minatozaki sana imagines #sana x reader #sana imagines #girl group imagines #gxg imagines #kpop #twice #twice sana #minatozaki sana #sana #girl group #gxg

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starniolosposts · 3 months

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behind the fame (1)

part one, part two

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

summary: you are starting to drown in your life, from your job to your trauma— and don’t see a way out. then chris sturniolo comes into your life.

warnings: abusive behavior, inappropriate behavior, manipulation, abuse of authority (none of this is from chris)

notes: this is my first story/first time posting on tumblr so be nice :) and hopefully you guys like it

your heartbeat echoes in your ears as well as the loud commands from the photographer. your body moves on autopilot, listening to the strict instructions from your manager and photographer behind the expensive camera flashing into your eyes.

you uncomfortably shift, face crinkling in embarrassment as everyone looked at your exposed body. you wanted to cover yourself with your arms, but knew you would get punished for it. you also wanted to decline the shoot for the lingerie brand in the first place, but your manager had forced you to agree to it.

"almost perfect pose! suck in your stomach a little more— yep! stay right there!"

you suck in your already (unhealthily) flat stomach and ignore the burning and aching pain of hunger shooting through you. you hadn't ate all day and don't remember the last time you had a full nutritional meal.

"alright, lunch break everyone! we'll have you try on one more set before being finished for the day. thank you for accepting this shoot, by the way. and sorry for being demanding, i was kind of taught to work that way." the man behind the camera smiles sheepishly, and you feel more at ease at his explanation.

you wave him off and finally relax your tense body. "ah, i get it. this industry needs strictness." you try and smile, but its strained.

your manager is silent as you make small conversation with the photographer, and you can't help but feel like its the calm before the storm. its always like that with him. it builds up so much until you were both alone and he releases all his pent up emotions.

your manager finally speaks up. "lets go to change into the next set, y/n." he says, then smiles at the photographer as you walk away to the changing rooms, his hand gripping onto your shoulder painfully.

you gulp at the silence as you open your changing room and close it behind the both of you. you remember to lock it like he taught you.

"did you eat before the set?" the question from him is random, but makes you nervous. you wonder if there is a right answer before deciding to be honest.

"no, i only drank water today." you whisper, now covering up your almost entirely exposed breasts with your arms. you don't miss the way his eyes dart across your body.

his dark eyes then glance down at your stomach and become narrowed. "it doesn't look like it. you have bloating in your lower stomach, its really visible."

it's humiliating and degrading, making your cheeks flush and small tears to fill your waterline. you make sure to keep them at bay so he doesn't notice. the last time he saw you cry didn't go well.

"uhm.. i'm sorry." you mutter, looking down at your stomach and frowning.

he sighs before patting your shoulder, keeping his hand there to massage it. you tensed and stayed frozen in your spot. "its alright, just remember to suck it in. and remember to not eat anything after 5pm tonight, and nothing tomorrow morning. we have another shoot at 7am."

you want to speak up for yourself. you want to say how absurd his demands are, but don't. you force the words down and instead obediently nod in agreement, making him grin. you'd rather sacrifice your own well being and make him happy than disagree with him and make him angry.

your managers name is cayden anderson. he was a couple years older than you, you are 21 and he is 26. you’ve known him since you were 16 though.

your mom had hired him after your modeling career had become a more serious thing. after that, you never really connected with either of your parents on a deeper level, so you didn’t feel like you could go to them for concerns or problems you had. you felt like you had to just do it yourself.

that mentality applies to your relationship with cayden. you just dealt with it yourself, and felt like you didn’t have anyone to turn to.

a knock on the door makes cayden step away from you, and to your relief, his cold hand leaves your shoulder as well. “yes?” he responds.

“shoot starts in 3 minutes.”

“she’ll be right out!”

cayden looks at you like your stupid. “well? get undressed, you have to wear the other lingerie set.”

you nod, but then pause, humiliation burning in your eyes as you look into his amused ones. “can you turn around?” you whisper.

he rolls his eyes before sighing and turning around. “its nothing i haven’t seen, but alright.”

your stomach churns from horrific memories popping up in your brain from his words. you shake your head and quickly get ready for the next shoot in silence.

first part of this story! be patient with me i don’t know how to really work tumblr yet lol, and yes i know we dont get chris yet but you will soon ;)

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #first post #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #smut

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accio-victuuri · 9 months

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CPN : Why the Camera 📸 is driving us mad 🫶🏼

sometimes i forget that not everyone will get the reason why a certain number of cpfs are screaming about something. or if they do, is it because of only the present candy or is there a history behind it. this is something i find hard to gauge and i usually just post very quickly in hopes that people get it. most of the time i have a post about that “history” and link it but for this one i did share some bits but not enough to connect the dots.

that’s the purpose of this post, to hopefully connect events and make sense of the story.

Let’s start with the whole “LEICA” story and why we think it’s a gift to match ZZ’s. Back in April, there was a whole CPN about an alleged camera that was good for vlogging given by WYB to ZZ to take to Milan. It’s a Sony camera, but the point is, WYB gave ZZ a camera to take to his trip abroad in Europe. Now it’s ZZ who is allegedly giving him a camera ( Leica ) to take with him to Paris. Both are big events related to Fashion week and while they cannot be together, giving each other a proper camera is a way to to be connected. It’s an incentive for them to take photos and share with each other after. Apparently, taking photos from their iphones or their team’s camera ( take note, WYB was with someone holding a proper camera with a big ass lens too ) is not enough. They should have their own.

The reason why this made us all 👀 was we were already speculating that WYB had a new camera back in Mid Autumn Festival.

This is personally why I was screaming cause the clowning is correct. Even before we saw WYB in the streets of Paris using the actual Leica camera, turtles were already guessing he didn’t take the Moon photo with a camera phone. Based on the quality, dimensions and size of the file. All the more how accurate the kind of camera is.

( excuse the auto translate but you all get the point, it’s leica — a proper camera, not a phone. this was posted 9/29/2023. )

Also Yibo-official added fuel to this because instead of reposting and giving the same greeting like they usually do, they praised Photographer WYB. 📸

This was out of the ordinary, it’s like they know something. Turns out, they do. WYB has a new camera that he is playing with ^^

ZZ has a leica camera. This should not come as a surprise knowing part of his job before is being a photographer.

( for reference some of XZ’s known camera/s. the ones used in commercials tho, not sure if it’s his. )

ZZ is Leica Q2 ( spotted as early as 2019 ) and WYB is Leica M11. It’s so freakin expensive. WYB is many things but he is not exactly a photographer. Yes, he takes photos for his personal documentation and shares it to friends. Sometimes, he shares to the public, but I don’t think an amateur will buy something like this. He may be rich and the cost of this is virtually nothing to him, but I personally feel like if you’re starting out, you wouldn’t choose this. All the more buy it as “i-need-a-camera-cause-i’m-going-to-paris” purchase.

The CPN is, ZZ, who knows his way with cameras/photography and only wants what’s best for the love of his life —- gives him this, and what better time to play with it than a trip abroad. The Moon photo is him testing it out, and maybe he already has other photos that he just doesn’t share.

This is actually on brand for this couple. Matching Gucci lion head necklace? Check. Matching Shoes? Check. Matching clothes? Check. Matching phone case? Check. Matching Apple watch? Check. So this Couple Camera is part of a pattern and makes sense 🤍

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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moriwood · 8 months

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Pornographs — p.js

park jongseong x male reader heavy angst 1.4k words

Two freelance pornstars have gotten awfully close with each other over the past year, masked to their audiences but almost unveiled to each other. Jay, who you suddenly realize to be less familiar than you originally thought, gives you a symbolic gift and a promise you wish he truly keeps.

includes: crying and cringy lines (again oops), people getting reallyyyyyyy personal warning: n/a i think :]]

Your body may not be molded from Ancient Greek statues like your contemporaries in the industry but you know well enough how to manipulate your camera. You know how to position yourself, so that your masked face gently cradles the sunlight and your soft gaze glosses smooth as the silk blanket covering your body.

You assess each of the photos you took and smirk proudly. “Who won’t be salivating over pics like this?” you boast, already seeing the comments flood your mind.

Another photoshoot session has been finished thanks to your friend Jay, who you have been collaborating with for the past year. Your account was only a few months old, with barely a hundred followers watching you strip anonymously. You don’t even know what went into your mind when you decided to meet up with a blank profile but it seems like you hit the jackpot when it turned out to be Jay. It’s not like you were even in the position to be picky about which men you met with back then.

“You good?” you ask Jay as he folds over the hotel’s bedspread that you accidentally stripped off while taking photos a while ago.

He nods, sighing as he lies on the king size bed you share. “Don’t your fans get mad I’m the only other guy in your posts for the past few months?” he curiously asks.

“I mean, they already think we’re dating,” you pause in indignation, “why have you been meeting me exclusively then? For sure, you’ve been receiving offers too left and right.”

“Sorry for them but I have already signed an exclusivity contract with this world-renowned photographer. With his impeccable tastes, I fear nobody can compare,” Jay teases.

You cackle. You would have long forgotten this life of being a social media pornstar had it not been for him. In between the men who only saw you as some toy being passed around, here is Jay who stays, sharing these chaste moments with you, no matter how short it lasts.

Jay grabs the camera from your lap and murmurs to himself, tracing his fingers along the scratches on its plastic body. He meets your eyes with an indiscernible emotion. “You’ve had this camera for so long, don’t you want to replace it?”

“I don’t think I’ve earned enough with this career yet,” you lament, “you don’t know how many meals I skipped to buy this.”

“Isn’t it a great investment though? Like you’re really great with the camera,” Jay explains, “and you can definitely do more than just artistic nudes, like legit filmmaking. Imagine the two of us, co-directing, that type of shit.”

“If I had the money, I wouldn’t be posting nudes of myself online, Jay,” you deadpan. “Why are you even asking? You're gonna sell me a secondhand camera?”

“Nah, just asking. We should be going to college but we’re here… filming porn.”

Jay carefully places your camera on the bedside table and reaches for his carelessly placed backpack on the floor. From it he pulls out a large red box, your gaze immediately drifting towards it.

“Okay, don’t be surprised. I may or may not have something to give you,” Jay smiles.

Your eyes widen as you realize that Jay has bought a new camera, the receipt taped to it rubbing its expensive price to your face.

You howl. “What the fuck? Aren’t we earning the same… You're way richer than I am! You even booked this hotel-”

“Just take this,” he calmly says, placing the bright red box on top of your lap. He then sits beside you, caressing your thigh.

“Why are you even giving me this? What do you need from me? Do I owe you something?” you shyly ask, mesmerized by the details of the new camera Jay just bought. Newly released, might actually be the most expensive model in the market right now. You can’t think of a reason to own something of this kind when all that you’ve taken are these tasteless nude photos.

“Think of it as a birthday gift or something,” Jay hesitantly replies.

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” you whisper, attempting to stop yourself from bursting into tears. You just didn’t expect this generosity from the only person who you’ve let into this taboo life of yours.

“This might be the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” you smile in between your teary eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’m not asking for anything in return, just…”

Jay is at a loss for words. There’s something wrong, you notice, a lilt in his voice.

“It’s not a birthday gift, is it?” you worriedly ask, your hand over Jay’s.

Jay looks away. “I don’t think… This might be the last time we’re seeing each other.”

Now you’re at a loss for words. Whatever feeling was boiling within the depths of your heart, you never really knew who Jay was. Both of you were about to enter college, both with a fondness for film and photography… and it ends there. You mask yourselves for your audience and even in this inviting bed, there are a lot of things the both of you are unaware of. Seems like this chapter is closing for Jay.

“But we can still see each other-”

Jay closes his eyes, in fear of the pain he cannot avoid. “Just… don’t forget me. Use this camera while I’m gone. Then we’ll meet again, and I’ll be looking at everything. We’ll cross paths, I promise.”

You don’t understand why you’re so confused. You don’t understand why you want to curse the world for not giving you the chance to know Jay in a different context. Your other hand starts to grip on the bedspread, wrinkling it again. You want to know where Jay’s coming from, why he’s even doing this. Had you met him under another circumstance, you wouldn’t be facing this farewell now. You wouldn’t be mulling over where the line is drawn, until where can you walk with him, and until when can the both of you ignore the lines that are slowly being erased.

“But you don’t have to-”

Jay pulls you in as you sob, embracing you tightly. And if his lips meet yours for the first time you’ve been together, nobody says anything about it. Light and sweet, but you taste the bitterness in the salt in your tears. Jay is the first man you’ve kissed. Regret shames you that you only got the chance to reveal each other’s hearts in your final meeting.

“Jay,” you beg, “please.”

You caress his thigh, attempting to touch beneath his shorts. He pulls it back and holds it tightly.

“Let’s not do things we’ll regret,” he whispers, cradling your face with his hand, attempting to wipe away the tears running down your cheeks. “I’ll come back, I’ll make sure of that. And I’ll take you out on a date like you always said you wanted to do.”

This is no longer a simple film of them, a scandal for others to lust over, something to make profit of. No scripts and no acting at play. You know that there is a man who flirts better, kisses better, fucks better, but you don’t want to let him go. You know Jay in an unfamiliar manner, and your relationship grew with him in a way more unknown way. In a different world, you would have loved to love a man like Jay.

You can only whisper, “I hope you’re happy wherever you are, Jay.”

He weakly grins as he kisses you again. “Jongseong. My name’s Jongseong.”

The sun has set, hunger and thirst long forgotten. The both of you soon fall asleep in tears, and you weren’t surprised to find the spot next to you cold the morning after. His traces are nowhere to be found, the only remnants being the photos and videos of a masked man in your camera. His phone number cannot be reached, only his messages of pleasantries remaining. And on top of the bedside table is the new camera gifted by Jay… by Jongseong.

author’s note: here's ur jay fic @ldrei 🤗 i actually got a reason ready for why jay did what he did, just gotta handle my own college shit rn before i flesh it out i apologize ✨

— moriwood.

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #enhypen x reader #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong x male reader #angst #heavy angst #flash fiction #jay x male reader #jay x reader #mori fics

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tickle-minion · 8 months

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The Photo Shoot

Pretty safe for work tickling story. Ended up a bit longer than I expected, but what can you do?

------

Ryan always knew he was going to make it big. Ever since he was in high school he’d always gotten the lead parts in the school plays, and now that he was in university he was showing success in independent student productions. Of course he didn’t make any money off of any of those, and tuition for his school was expensive, which meant he had to work and had thousands in student loans to look forward to once he was done. He took this all in stride since he knew there was a pot of gold at the end of this very expensive rainbow.

One thing Ryan knew he needed if he was going to continue trying to be an actor was to get some professional pictures taken for auditions. So far he’d gotten free head shots taken by photography students. The problem is you get what you pay for, and some of the shots were clearly student work.

Luckily for Ryan, there were other photographers in town who were willing to work with students to get them some professional shots at a reduced rate. After a few days of searching, Ryan came across a photographer named Jay. He liked what he saw on Jay’s website (and liked his student discount even more) so he made an appointment to meet him. The two met for a consultation and Ryan booked a time slot to come to Jay’s studio.

On the day of the shoot, Jay brought several pairs of clothes to wear. Something formal, something casual, some streetwear, etc. When it came to the casual look, Jay instructed Ryan to take off his shoes and socks.

“Take them off? Why?”

“Shows vulnerability. Most people don’t show their feet at all, so it exposes a little bit more of you.”

Ryan wasn’t entirely convinced, but he still pulled off his shoes and socks and continued with the session.

It may have been his imagination, but Ryan felt that Jay kept glancing down at his bare feet. It wasn’t super obvious, and as far as Ryan could tell his feet were never the focus of any shots, but Jay’s eyes kept trailing down to them. Strange, yes, but Ryan didn’t want to cause a scene when he felt there was so much on the line.

Finally, with that last shot, they were done.

“Alright Ryan, that just about wraps it up. I think we got some good shots, but it will take me a few days to go through and clean them up.”

“Wow, alright, thanks. I’m looking forward to it. Can’t wait to see how they turn out.”

Ryan started to put his socks back on.

“Hey, kid, before you go any further, I have a business proposition for you. That is, if you’re looking to make a few bucks.”

Ryan stopped and looked over at the photographer. Extra money was never a bad thing.

“I mean, money is money, I guess. What are you looking for? This isn’t something dirty, is it? Because I’m not taking off my clothes.”

“Don’t worry, you’re already as undressed as you’d need to be. I just want to make a little video to post on my website.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve seen your website. You don’t have videos.”

The photographer gave a large toothy grin.

“Not that website, a different one. Here, come and take a look.”

Jay motioned for Ryan to follow him to the back of the studio where he had a large computer setup. Camera equipment and props were everywhere.

“Alright, just better not be anything too freaky.”

Ryan walked over to the far end of Jay’s studio on bare feet. When he got to the computer he was shocked by what he saw on the screen.

“Are those guys getting… tickled?”

Jay nodded and scrolled down the page a bit, showing Ryan more videos. Each one showed a young man (around Ryan’s age) being tickled. Some were tied up, some had their feet in stocks, and some just had their ankles being held down. Most were dressed like Ryan (which is to say fully dressed except for the shoes and socks), but others were in various states of undress. No one looked naked, though.

“Yup. Tickling sells well, you know. Lots of guys, and hell, women too, love seeing guys getting tickled. And it pays.”

Ryan’s ears perked up.

“People are willing to pay?”

“Oh sure. People are willing to pay for these videos if the model is cute and ticklish enough. And I have to say kid, you’re the exact type of guy they like to see.”

Ryan didn’t have much to say. His eyes stayed glued to the screen.

“I’ll make you a deal. You let me tickle you a little bit, just your feet so you don’t have to take anything else off, and not only will I not charge you for the shots, but I’ll actually give you a bit of what the video makes. What do you say?”

Ryan wanted to say no right away, but he hesitated. Not only would he get his shots for free, but he’d also get some cash for it, too? It seemed too good to be true.

“I mean… alright. I guess. As long as this is just tickling. I’m not doing anything else.”

“Alright, sounds good. And don’t worry, all I do is tickle guys, nothing else.”

Jay explained what would happen: Ryan would lay face down on a couch in the studio, so no one could see his face, and hang his bare feet over the side of the couch. Jay would sit on his legs and tickle his feet. It sounded easy enough. Ryan lay down, letting Jay move his body a little bit for the camera, and let himself relax (as much as he could). Once he was in place, Jay set up the camera and started recording.

Ryan was laying down on his stomach, bare feet on the arm of the couch, when he felt Jay straddle his ankles.

“Alright folks, this is our new tickle toy Brad. This is his first time with us, so let’s see how ticklish he is.”

Ryan (apparently going by the name Brad) tensed his whole body, waiting for whatever was supposed to come. Suddenly, he felt one finger on his right sole. It started up near his heel and trailed down towards his toes. Ryan flexed and curled his foot at the light ticklish sensation. No one had ever touched his feet (not that he could remember, anyways) so it was a strange feeling. The finger repeated the same movement on his left sole. This time Ryan wiggled a little bit under Jay, his foot waving side to side.

“Got some squirming going on it looks like. Let’s try something a little more ticklish”

One finger, one at a time, on each sole was suddenly replaced with five fingers on each sole. Those fingers dug into the insteps of his feet, scratching the soft sensitive skin there. Ryan jumped (though stayed pinned down by Jay’s weight) and started to kick his feet.

“Oh shit, what the fuck?!”

“Oh yeah, we got a ticklish one here.”

The fingers really worked their way in there, kneading the flesh of his feet. Ryan kept trying to kick those tickling fingers away, but Jay’s grip was just too strong. There was nothing that Ryan could do to make it stop. He could, of course, always say stop, but then he’d have to pay for his headshots. That was a huge motivation to stay here on the couch.

Several minutes after just assaulting the center of his feet, the hands started roaming over the real estate that was Ryan’s soft size 12 soles. The fingers came up to Ryan’s heels and attacked. Ryan jumped, and was suddenly barking out with laughter when Jay found an especially ticklish spot: the part of his sole right before his heel.

“Oh, sounds like we got a live one here!”

“NOO! PLEEEEASE!”

Fingers descended on that spot on each foot. It wasn’t just fingers working their way into the foot, but now nails were scraping and scratching too. The only thing Ryan’s over stimulated mind could think of was that this was like ringing a doorbell. It was loud, it was intense, and it was beyond annoying that Jay found this spot that reduced him to a laughing mess.

“Holy crap is he sensitive right here. How are you doing Brad? Want me to stop?”

“Y-Y-YES PL-PL-PLEEEEASE!”

“No? You’re all good? Sounds great to me!”

“NOOO!”

Jay continued to exploit the sensitive spot, attacking viciously with his fingers. Ryan was sure he was going to pass out when the tickling mercifully ended.

“Th-thank God…”

“He thought that was bad, wait till he gets a load of this…”

“Wait, what?!”

“Here comes the brush!”

Ryan’s entire body jolted when a broad hairbrush started attacking that same sensitive spot. The brush moved violently back and forth with cruel abandon. This was the worst feeling yet. Ryan was in absolute hysterics, thrashing as much as he could, trying to buck Jay off his legs. His feet kicked and squirmed to get away, one foot trying to cover the other for protection. His face and throat were starting to get sore from the laughter.

“Oh yeah, we got him right here.”

Not even able to say anything, Ryan continued to cackle. The brush alternated between feet, and each time it switched feet it was like the first time all over again. Tears were starting to stream from his tightly shut eyes. This was the first time he truly regretted his decision, and despite the promise of free shots and money, he found the urge to call out stop was right on the tip of his tongue. He bit it back though, he wasn’t going to give up.

The tickling changed, and now the brush was going up and down his soles. Again, Ryan tried curling his foot up to avoid the tickling, but Jay grabbed Ryan’s toes and flexed them back, stretching his sole out. Jay’s grip was too strong and Ryan wasn’t able to escape. He laughed and giggled, unable to stop as the brush scrubbed up and down his flexed sole. People got off on this? Ryan figured they must all be sadists.

“Let’s see how ticklish Brad’s toes are.”

The brush stopped for just a second (giving Ryan exactly one second of peace) before attacking the toes that Jay was holding back. Oh god. This was bad. This was worse than the spot hear his heels. This was like fire. Ryan didn’t just laugh, he was screaming. Tears were flowing so freely that he could taste them on his lips. He wanted to yell stop, he wanted this tickling to end, but he couldn’t form the words.

Jay continued tickling those toes, holding them tightly, even as the feet started to become slick with sweat. This of course made the brush slide and glide all the more easily. The brush scrubbed the tips of the toes all the way down to the sensitive little gap under each toe.

The tickling continued for a few minutes until finally, mercifully, it stopped.

“There we go, that was Brad. I think he did pretty well. Let me know if you want to see more of this boy.”

Jay concluded by slapping both of Ryan’s sensitive soles, making him jump and squeak.

Jay got up off of Ryan and turned off the camera.

“There we go kid, that’s it. You did good, I have to say, I think you’re going to be pretty popular.”

“Holy shit that was bad. Like… holy shit. You were torturing me.”

Jay laughed.

“That’s why they call it tickle torture. People love it.”

Ryan didn’t want to stick around much longer. He got up off the couch (his clothes were sticking to his body from all the sweat), put his shoes and socks back on (which was hard since his feet were so sensitive after the tickling), thanked Jay and left.

Several days later two things dropped in Ryan’s email. The first was a set of edited photographs. Ryan was happy to see that they looked professional and much better than any of the student work he’d had done so far. The second was much more interesting. It was an e-transfer for a couple of hundred dollars.

Ryan stared at the screen for a few minutes before he decided to call Jay.

“Hello?”

“Hey man, It’s Ryan. Thanks for the pictures, I just got them. They’re really good”

“No worries, I’m happy you’re happy.”

“So… what was the money you sent?”

“I told you that you’d get a bit of the money from the tickle video. It was pretty popular right off the bat, so that’s your share.”

“All that for just letting you tickle my feet?”

“Oh yeah. And if you’re ever interested we could do it again. You could maybe even make some more next time.”

“Like… how much more?”

“Depends on how far you’re willing to go. There’s some bondage, there’s some upper body tickling, there’s even some foot worship and tickling that drives some people wild. You interested?”

Ryan looked at the e-transfer again.

“Yeah, maybe. Tell me more.”

#malefeet #feet #gayfeet #male tickling #guy feet #male feet story #tickling #gay tickling #gay foot play #male foot story #tickle community #sfw tickling community #tickle kink #male tickling story #tickle content #m/m tickling

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sirfrogsworth · 4 months

Note

There’s going to be a total solar eclipse on April 8 and you should get an excellent view from your state! I’m not sure what goes into photographing something like that, but I thought you might like to know in case you don’t already! Sending warm wishes your way.

I've been thinking about it. I'd need to drive about 2 hours to Cape Girardeau to see the the zone of totality.

From where I am now, I will get a finger nail.

But if I drive 2 hours I could get this.

It's tempting. I might see if any of my friends would be interested in going. But I'm not sure if anyone is available.

For photography you mostly just need a solar filter for a given lens. You can also get filter sheets and rig up a cardboard cover which seems to be less expensive. Otherwise the sun could use the lens like a magnifying glass and melt the camera sensor.

My main thought is what could I do differently. There are plenty of really cool eclipse photos out there. So I am trying to think of something less common than just a really close up view.

I'm wondering if I could maybe do an environmental portrait. A photo of a person during the eclipse.

I found a few examples...

I could do something cool with shadows.

Or maybe forced perspective.

It's just a lot of pressure to get a photo in a 3 minute window.

And I have no idea if I'll be feeling good enough to go on such an adventure.

But maybe if I get all of my existential crises worked out I'll see if I can figure it out.

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absurdthirst · 2 years

Text

The Election {Max Lord x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: People being assholes, comments about physical appearance, politicians, public sex, protected sex, public scandal

Comments: Meeting Senator Max Lord in the diner where you work one night leads to a very unusual arrangement. Sex behind the building. Changing both of your lives in a very real way.

A/N: Thot based off this filthy gif but is no way representative of the reader.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You sigh, wiping down the table after the teenagers had effectively thrown every single fry on the floor and squirted ketchup all over the table. You had told them to stop but they just laughed at you before they left. They didn’t leave a tip. You toss the dirty rag into the bowl in the kitchen, leaning against the counter just beside the window that looks out into the diner. “You’ll never guess who just sat down in your section.” Sally says, appearing through the swinging door, and you frown, turning your head to look into your section.

“Who’s that?” You frown.

“Senator Maxwell Lord. He’s running for re-election.” Sally declares and you scoff, adjusting your apron.

“I don’t follow politics.”

Sally sighs, “you should. He really is dreamy. Single dad too. It’s hot. A powerful man.”

You snort, “sounds like you should go serve him.”

Sally shakes her head, “no. Hopefully he tips well. You need it more than me. Go.” She orders and you push on the door to make your way over to your section, approaching the Senator sitting at the table.

Max sighs and looks down at the menu, the selection here a lot better than the greasy spoons he has been visiting while he’s been on the campaign trail. Bypassing the burgers because he didn’t want to have anyone, mainly the man sitting opposite him, commenting about the cholesterol or how unhealthy he was eating. The California grilled chicken sandwich looks good but he damn sure is going to get the fries. “Now we have a campaign stop tomorrow morning and we need to make sure that you make an appearance at the children’s hospital. Kiss a few sick kids, make a donation that is in full view of the cameras.”

Max rolls his eyes at his campaign manager, shaking his head at how callous he sounds, visiting sick kids for political visibility. “No.” He tells him. “I will donate privately and you can photograph me going into the hospital but if the parents don’t want their kids photos taken, that’s it.” He warns the overeager man. “No persuading them. Those kids are sick and shouldn’t be exploited for votes.”

You walk over, brushing down your apron, and you pull your notepad out, grabbing the pen from behind your ear. “Good afternoon.” You tell the two men your name before asking what they want to drink. “Diet Coke.” Both men say and you nod, “no problem. I’ll be right back with those and then I’ll take your order.” The dark eyes of the senator focus on you and you find it a little hard to breathe with how handsome he is. Clearly well groomed with his expensive suit and watch that costs more than your car to appear in charge and ready to lead. A true politician.

Watching you walk away, Max ignores the assessing hum of the other man as he admires the curve of your ass. It’s been a long time since he’s really noticed a woman. First he was going through his divorce and then it was lack of availability. Anyone around him was off limits, he wasn’t going to be that kind of politician. No matter what, he didn’t want a sex scandal undermining the kind of change he was trying to bring about.

You bring the drinks back, setting them down and ignoring the appraising look from the man in the blue suit. The kind brown eyes are deceptive considering his career in politics. “What can I get you to eat?” You ask.

“Are you on the menu?” The blue suit man winks and you offer him a tight smile.

“No. I am not. Only food available in a diner. I can tell you the specials though.”

He’s already decided what he wants but he smiles at you, the charming one that he uses on the campaign trail set aside for one that is grateful and almost hesitant. “Please.” He just wants to hear you talk, enjoying the way your voice sounds. “Your specials. What you would eat here.”

You are a little taken back, “oh, okay. Um, the specials are a double cheeseburger with bacon and a fried egg served with fries. We also have a meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a red wine jus. I could go with the burger.” You tell the senator with a wink.

He gives you a slow smile, enjoying the butterflies that erupt in his stomach at your playful wink. “Then I’ll have the burger, no mayo please.” He asks, “but I wouldn’t mind extra ketchup.” He winks back at you just as playfully.

You offer him a soft smile, sensing how charismatic he is, and you write down his order just as his companion says, “I’ll have the grilled chicken salad. Maxwell. You shouldn’t have the burger. You need to watch your weight. Maybe the waitress should too.” His blue eyes look at you, and your jaw drops.

“Excuse me?” You balk.

“Just sayin’ you might want to cut out the burgers and maybe get a boob job. Might get you out of this shithole diner.” He shrugs.

You scoff, “I’ll put your order in and maybe I can find the number of a dick extension doctor. You seem like you need one.” You snort, spinning on your heel to head into the kitchen, absolutely fuming at the audacity of the man.

“Jackson.” Max shakes his head at his campaign manager and frowns. “What the hell are you doing?” He huffs. “That was completely uncalled for, you- you know what?” He leans back and stares at the man. “Go back to the bus and make sure my speech is ready for tomorrow. I’ll get your food to go and bring it back to you.” Jackson huffs and argues with him for a few minutes but Max is adamant and the other man shuffles out of the restaurant.

You come back with the plates, still annoyed at the prick in the suit. “Where’s your friend? In the bathroom looking at himself in the mirror?” You ask, setting the senator’s burger down in front of him before you slam the chicken salad down on the table.

“He’s - he’s not my friend.” Max shuffles slightly and bites his lip. “I want to apologize for him, he’s my campaign manager and was completely out of line.” He apologizes. “What he said was wrong, you don’t need to lose weight, or a boob job.” He flushes when he realizes what he said and flusters. “I- I mean…You are perfect - perfectly fine just the way you are.”

You fluster at his words, his dark eyes are kind and you know you’re going to look him up when your shift ends. “Uh, thank you. Ketchup is over there.” You point at the bottle, “and I can pack up the salad for your…campaign manager. I just - I hope you don’t have the same morals as him. Especially if you’re gonna be representing this state.” You tilt your head.

“Well, I’ve already been representing the state, but I hope to continue to do so.” He admits. “But no, I don’t have the same morals as he does. I want to be honest and transparent with what I can do for my constituents and what I hope to accomplish for our state.”

You bite your lip, “I- I don’t really follow politics. I didn’t - I didn’t know who you were until my coworker told me.” Your confession has you glancing around the diner. “I’m just saying you might want a new campaign manager. One who isn’t an asshole.”

Max chuckles and leans back in the booth, throwing his arm along the back as he appraises you, enjoying how you speak your mind. “You know any good ones?” He asks, actually delighted you didn’t know who he was or have ten thousand questions that he needed to carefully answer so he wasn’t misquoted. “I wish we could just skip all the b.s. and just run off our principles.”

You chuckle, “unfortunately my Rolodex of campaign managers is empty. Surely the world would be a better place if politicians just told the truth? Although I doubt the population wants to hear it. I just don’t get involved in politics, I have too much of my own b.s going on to care.” You tell him honestly, “I’ll let you eat your meal.” You realize he hasn’t touched his burger.

“Again, I’m sorry he was an ass.” He tells you as he reaches for the bottle of ketchup. “The burger looks delicious and I’m sure you are busy enough without taking up more of your time.” He knows you have other tables, he actually enjoys that he isn’t special. Right now he is just a patron eating a burger.

You nod, walking away from him and you can feel his eyes on you. “Sooo how is the senator? Think he’s gonna leave a big tip?” Sally asks, and you chuckle.

“No. I- he’s…sweet. Not what I expected. His campaign manager is a dick but he’s nice. He seems like he actually wants to do some good.” You say as you lean against the counter and Sally raises her eyebrows.

“A politician who seems nice? Alert the media.” She jokes.

It’s rare that he isn’t wolfing down his food or having a working dinner. So it’s honestly a treat to be able to take his time and eat. He can’t help but watch you though. His eyes find you around the diner as he watches you go about your tasks, refilling drinks and serving customers. You are graceful and quite frankly beautiful. It’s been a long time since he’s met a woman so pretty and he’s honestly finding it hard to look away from you.

You eventually come back around to grab Max’s plate, taking it before you look down at him. “Looks like you enjoyed it.” You tease, glancing at the empty plate. He blushes a little and you think it’s cute. He’s cute. Sally said his wife had divorced him, too focused on her own career to go on the road with him.

“I did.” He nods and looks around. “I will have to bring Alistair here. My son.” He clarifies with a small smile as he thinks about the boy. “He loves a good cheeseburger and I spotted milkshakes on the menu.” He chuckles. “He would want a double chocolate.”

You smile, “you’ll have to bring him by. Cheeseburger and chocolate shake.” You tap your head, “I’ll try and remember in case you come back. Here’s your check.” You tell him, setting it down. “There’s no rush. Your…campaign managers salad has been wrapped up. I’ll give it to you when you leave.”

The bill is reasonable, and he wants to make sure that he leaves a good tip, especially because you had to deal with Jackson’s bullshit. Max digs out his wallet and slides the bills under the check and stands. Catching your attention with a smile. “I’ll take that box for him, even if he deserves to starve.” He jokes and gives you a tiny wink.

You nod, grabbing the takeout box with the salad from the counter. “Hope he doesn’t choke on the lettuce.” You snort flippantly.

Max offers you a wry smile, “knowing him he won’t eat it and will have a cigarette instead.”

You roll your eyes, “of course. Well…good luck Senator Lord.” You offer him a smile and he nods, “thank you.” You watch him leave, biting your lip as you realize how broad he is, and you wonder if he will be back. Shaking your head, you make your way over to the table, grabbing the check and when you cash it out, your eyes widen when you see the fifty dollar tip. “Holy shit.” You curse, eying the money before you put it in your apron, torn on whether to accept it or not. You know he’s gone so you won’t be able to return it. Maybe you can donate it. You need the money but this is a lot. Deciding to figure it out later, you get back to work.

Max thinks about that burger all day, deciding that he’s going to order them back to the diner from yesterday, he walks over to the driver. “I want to go back to the restaurant from last night.” He tells him. “Just me and one of the security guards.”

You look up as the bell rings above the door, your eyes widening slightly when you see Senator Lord walk in with a buff looking man wearing a suit - his security you’re assuming. “Hey. Table for two?” You ask, grabbing a couple of menus.

Shaking his head, Max gives you a smile. “No, Gunther doesn’t like sitting with me.” He tells you. “He’ll sit at the bar and order nothing, just to make himself seem more intimidating.” He jokes, knowing the man will at least order a coffee. But he doesn’t eat while he is out with Max so he can be alert. “I had to come back for another burger.”

You chuckle, setting one menu down before you guide Max to a booth in your section. “Diet Coke?” You ask, and he nods, smiling at you. You love how he blushes a little when you take his menu, his fingers brushing yours. “So you left me way too much money last time.” You say as you set his drink down after submitting his order to the kitchen. You take the money out of your apron and set it down on the table.

Max frowns and looks down at the money before he shakes his head and pushes it back towards you. “I know how much I left. You deserve it.” He murmurs, nodding towards it. “You were a lot more graceful than you should have been to my campaign manager and I know you work hard - like everyone in the service industry.”

Your jaw drops slightly, taken back by his genuine response. You know that most politicians would pull the same act to try and win over another voter but the gesture seems genuine. You pick up the money and tuck it into your apron, tilting your head at him. “You don’t seem like most politicians. You seem…real. Is that genuine or are you just that good an actor?” You ask, deciding to call him out on it.

Laughing at your brazen question, he shakes his head. “Not an actor.” He promises, giving a small shrug. “I grew up poor, very poor. I just know how the little people struggle while everyone else overlooks them.” He explains. “My mother cleaned houses and would cry if her clients would even leave an extra five dollars to tip her. It meant she could eat lunch that week too.”

You are taken back by his answer, figuring he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. You smile at him, “not what I expected but I’m glad to hear you are not one of those upper class assholes looking to make money while pretending to work for his constituency.” He chuckles and you smile again, “I’ll go get your burger when it’s ready.”

Max looks around then diner again, watching a family have their meal while they interact with their two kids. That’s what he wants to work for, a family. The average people who just want to live a good life and raise their kids in a safe world. His own son counted amongst them.

You come back over with his burger, grateful your shift is nearly over with how bad your feet are aching, and you set it down along with the bottle of ketchup, remembering what he said about wanting extra. You look at him for a moment before you fluster, a little lost in his dark gaze, before you walk off to get him another refill on his soda.

When you bring the soda back Max motions to the seat across from him. “Sit down?” He asks, slightly shy but wanting to have you sit with him for a bit. “The diner isn’t very busy and I’m enjoying our banter.” If you say no, he will respect that, but he hopes you don’t.

You glance around the diner, seeing it’s quiet and your shift is nearly over, so you nod and take a seat. “So…must be lonely on your campaign bus, going from city to city.” You observe, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

Max nods. “Living in hotels or on the bus for weeks at a time isn’t as glamorous as you would think.” He admits. “I miss the simplicity of just sleeping in the same bed every night.” He chuckles. “It actually makes me miss D.C. when we are in session.” He jokes.

You chuckle, “wow. Must be bad. Guess it’s worse when you don’t have someone traveling with you to share your bed at night.” You are a little forward but you think he’s cute and honestly? It’s been a while for you. Not since your asshole of an ex cheated on you.

“Don’t I know it.” Max groans before he stops himself. He clears his throat and blushes slightly and looks away. “I just- there aren’t a lot of opportunities to meet someone new and I refuse to be another senator to has a fucking sex scandal to take away from the real issues.” He explains, hoping you don’t mind the language that slips out.

You hum in agreement, taking note of his broad shoulders. “What if - what if you were guaranteed that no one would know?” You ask cautiously, waiting for his reaction while you lean forward, offering him a glimpse down your button down dress the owner wants you to wear.

Max’s eyes drift down to your cleavage and then back up to your face. “I’m a red blooded man.” His voice is raspy, thicker than it had been before. “I’m not opposed to sex, but I wasn’t going to take advantage of the women that work on my campaign or my staff.” He clarifies. “I meet a beautiful woman and sex happens…well, hopefully she enjoys herself.”

“And if I say that my shift ends in ten minutes which seems to be enough time for you to eat and perhaps, you could come find me outside after you’ve paid your check?” You ask casually, tilting your head at him. He’s hot, the raspy tone in his voice has your thighs pressed together, and you can’t deny the thrill of fucking him without anyone knowing except the two of you is exhilarating.

Max blows out a breath, cock twitching and he watches your eyes to make sure your offer is genuine. “I would say that I will see you outside in 9 and a half minutes.” He promises, looking down at his food with a grin. “Maybe even nine minutes.”

You grin, “see you in nine minutes Senator.” You wink and stand up, swaying your hips as you walk away from his table without looking back. The next nine minutes drags by and you watch the seconds tick down as he scoffs his burger, eagerly slapping down some cash when he pays. You giggle, walking over to him to grab the bill. “Meet me outside in the alley.” You whisper, leaning closer as you pick up the cash. “Change?” You ask breathlessly. He shakes his head, barely able to breathe, and you smirk as you carry the check over to close it out before you clock out.

Max walks over to his guard and murmurs in his ear. All of the team that surrounds him have NDAs so he doesn’t have to worry about the man talking. The worst he could say was the the senator had sex with a woman in an alley. All consensual, but in public. Still, he needs to be aware of where Max is going. He nods, telling Max that he will be in the car. Swallowing, Max exits the diner and walks around the back, already starting to harden at the mere prospect of touching you.

You shove your apron in your locker and grab your purse, shouting a goodbye to your coworkers before you make your way outside to the alley where Maxwell is waiting. It’s dark outside now, the moon in the sky and it gives an intimate atmosphere to your rendezvous despite being by the dumpsters.

Max looks up from where he was staring at the condom in his hands, watching you walk up to him. “Lucky I had one of these.” He jokes, holding it up and biting his lip as you walk closer. “Fuck, you look pretty.” He groans. “Thought so from the very beginning.”

You stride towards him, loving how sweet he is and the fact that he has a condom in his wallet is endearing. He probably had to check it wasn't expired. You grip the back of his neck, dragging him towards you. "You're too fucking cute. Want you to fuck me, use me for your frustrations." You order before pressing your lips to his.

Max groans, quickly kissing you back and reaching up to cup the back of your neck to press into you. It’s been years since he’s had sex, as shameful as that is. His ex was the last woman he was with, concentrating on his career and Alistair when he has him. However, his body definitely remembers what to do, quickly pressing you against the wall of the diner and kissing down your throat, his hands sliding under your dress.

You gasp when he nips on the skin between your neck and your shoulder. “Fuck, Max.” You moan, snaking your hand between you to cup his hard cock through his expensive slacks. You whimper when his hands squeeze your ass, pulling you against him. “Want- want your fingers.” You confess, grinding against him.

His fingers dip under the band of your panties, practical cotton, but to him they are sexy. Parting your curls, his thick digits slide through your folds and he moans when he finds your clit and starts rubbing as he kisses down your chest and his teeth graze the top of your cleavage. “God.” He breathes out. “So fucking pretty.”

Moaning, you grind down onto his fingers, and you unbuckle his fancy belt, flicking the button his pants before you can reach in to grip his cock. “Fuck. You’re so thick.” You moan, pulling him out of his pants. His fingers work your clit and you are breathless at how good it feels already.

Groaning at your hand on his cock, he throbs for you. “Shit.” He hisses. Quickly twisting his wrist so he can sink two fingers into your thankfully wet cunt, he licks the top of your bra, wetting the white material and your skin underneath it.

“Oh God. Max, that- that feels good. Gonna make me cum.” You whine, grinding down onto his fingers and your grip on his cock slackens. It’s been so long since you had something other than your own fingers. “Fuck. Oh shit.” You hiss, trying to keep quiet as you clamp down on his thick digits.

He smothers his own whine against your skin, keeping his fingers pumping and moving in your gasping cunt. “That’s it. That’s it.” He croons quietly. Marveling at how tight you were squeezing them and soaking them with your pleasures. Your top finally opens and he bites down on your nipple over the material of your bra and sucks harshly with a groan as he works you through it.

You squeeze his cock, ready for you and you are now ready for him. “Come on baby. Want you inside of me.” You beg, gently pushing him back before you reach into his jacket pocket for the condom. Ripping it open before you roll it down his length.

Max groans and pushes you back against the wall. He reaches down and grips your leg and lifts it up over his hip. “You want me inside you, baby?” He asks, grasping his cock and starting to guide himself towards your cunt as you move your panties to the side.

You keep your panties to the side, gasping when he pushes into you. “Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back as he fills you up, stretching your walls. “Max. Max, baby. Fuck me.” You plead, gripping his neck.

Shuddering at the feel of your nails digging into the back of his neck. Making him hiss and drag his hips back to snap them forward again, burying his cock back in your heat. “Fuck.” Growling, he leans and presses his lips to yours while starting to thrust in and out of your cunt.

You cling to him, pressed against the wall as he thrusts into you with a hiss. “So good Max. Feel so damn good. I- I want - I want more.” You murmur against his lips. Rocking up onto your tip toes so he can thrust deeper into you with a moan. “God yes. Yes. Right there.” You groan when he hits deep to find a delicious spot inside of you.

One hand holding your legs, the other braced on the wall, Max tries to keep hitting that spot with every jolt of his hips. Moaning and grunting at how you tighten around him. He’s not done anything like this in forever and it feels like fucking Heaven. “Jesus, fuck.” He pants, leaning his forehead against yours while you take his cock again and again.

You reach up to cup his cheeks, bringing his mouth back to yours as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna- Max. Maxxxx.” You squeal against his mouth, clamping down on his cock as you cum.

Max pants out your name, nearly whining it as he continues to rock into you, working you through your high. The loud sounds of your fucking practically echoes around the small area you are tucked into. “Shit.” His hips stutter and he can’t only give another four or five thrusts before he is burying himself deep and filling the condom with his seed with a moan of your name.

You caress his neck, loving the way his jaw clenches as he rocks his way through his high before he stills inside of you. "God, that was good." You sigh, kissing his nose, unable to help yourself when you've imagined it far too many times.

“Yes it was.” Max’s breathing starts to slow down as he enjoys the last moments of closeness before he carefully grips the base of the condom and pulls out of you. Putting your leg down and taking it off to tie a knot in it before throwing it in the dumpster. “Going to sleep like a baby tonight.”

You chuckle, "I bet you are. I'm happy to serve the state." You wink at him and reach out to pull him close one last time, pressing your lips to his. "So...uh, I guess you gotta get back?" You murmur, shifting from one foot to the other. It's a little awkward now the lust has been satiated.

Max nods, hating it, but he does have to strategize and call Alistair in the morning before school. “Do you need a ride home?” He asks, wanting to spend a few more minutes with you if he could.

You shake your head, "no. I can get the bus. I'll be fine." You tell him, picking your purse up from the floor and you turn to look at him.

"You aren't taking the bus." He insists and you shake your head.

"I- I don't have a car. I can't afford a car." You tell him, biting your lip.

“Then let me take you home.” Max implores. “Please.” He wants to make sure you get home safely and he knows that the public transportation can take forever to get you where you need to go. “Get you home quickly and into a bath with a glass of wine before you would normally be home.” He adds, trying to sweeten the offer.

You stare at him for a moment, unsure if you should accept the ride home and make more of this than it really is: a hook up. You smile and nod, “that sounds wonderful. Yes, I’d like a ride home.” You lean closer to kiss his cheek.

“Good.” Max smiles and puts his hand on your back as the two of you walk down the alley. If Gunther is surprised to see you with Max, he doesn’t show it. Opening the door, Max motions for you to climb into the back seat of the SUV before he climbs in beside you. “I’m glad you let us take you home, it’s getting late.”

You glance out the window before you look back at Maxwell. “I’m used to taking the bus. I- my car broke down and I couldn’t afford to fix it so I had to change to taking the bus. If I end up doing a night shift, I usually just walk home because the bus isn’t running.” You confess, knowing it’s not safe but you don’t have any other options. You tell the driver where to go.

“Jesus.” Max shakes his head, knowing that if he hadn’t insisted on taking you home that you would be walking home. “I- my schedule is tight but I can send the man who works on my cars over to look at it?” He offers, wanting to help however he could. “Otherwise, I would look at it myself.” You give him a startled look and he chuckles. “I worked my way through college working in a mechanics shop.”

You tilt your head, “you did? Wow. You are way more than you appear, Maxwell Lord.” You reach over to take his hand in yours. “Thank you. I- I would really appreciate you doing that. I- I need my car back. Pepper spray only goes so far.” You chuckle awkwardly and squeeze his hand.

Max squeezes your hand back, proud of being able to help you. It’s a good feeling almost as good as the first time he had signed a bill that became law. “We’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about that from now on.” He promises. “He’s a miracle worker with cars.”

You kiss the back of his hand after lifting it to your mouth. “You’re a good man. You’ve got my vote.” You joke, offering him a wink before you give the driver another direction to turn onto your street. Thankfully you didn’t live too far away from the diner.

Max honestly wishes you lived farther away so he could spend more time with you. Instead he feels the car pull to a stop, turning to see the older apartment building. He could tell that it wasn’t newer but hopefully the owners kept up with maintenance. “Well, I take it you are home. I hope you have a good night.” He offers softly.

“You too. I’ll see you around Senator Lord.” You offer him one last wink before his driver opens the door to let you out and you make your way into your builder.

Gunther meets Max’s eyes in the rear view mirror after the car is rolling down the street. “You know Jackson is gonna kill you for this.” Gunther warns his boss.

Max gives a small shrug, a smile playing on his lips. “Let him try.” He murmurs. “She is exactly what I needed tonight and Jackson needs to remember he works for me, not the other way around.” He looks back towards your building behind him and huffs. “Might be my new favorite place to eat.”

“The diner or the lady?” Gunter jokes, making Max blush and look out the window. He knows he will be back, it’s just a question of when.

****

It’s been three weeks since you saw Max and you can’t help but think he got what he wanted and now he’s never coming back. You ignore the questions from your coworkers, all of them guessing he kissed you, none of them daring to assume he fucked you in the alleyway.

You don’t divulge the dirty details, wanting to keep your secret romp with Max just that to preserve his integrity and yours. However, with each day that passes, you can’t help but want to talk to someone about it to get some advice. You don’t have the man’s phone number and even if you did, he’s on the road so much you’d probably go straight to the answer machine.

Max sighs, tired after three weeks on the road. He has been to several diners that reminded him of yours, but his spirits lift when he sees the sign for the little greasy spoon he has come to dream about. More specifically the alleyway behind it and the sexy yet sweet waitress.

Smiling when the bell rings out when he opens the door, the woman closest to him turns to greet him. “Can I sit in her section?” He asks, nodding to where you are bringing out plates to a table of what looked like truckers. “Please.”

You turn your head to see Max walking towards you and you can't stop the silly smile that appears on your face. You might've been scouring the tv guide and local news for any interviews with him and you had thought about him every time your hand was between your thighs. "Here you go fellas." You tell the truckers, setting their meals down before you walk over to the table Max sat down at. "Hey stranger." You smile, "Diet Coke and a burger?" You guess.

Max’s grin is answering your own, but there is a devilish twinkle in his eyes. He nods, leaning in. “It will have to do for now, since what I want isn’t exactly on the menu.” He murmurs where no one else can hear him. He has been thinking about you probably every day, definitely every time he had his hand wrapped around his cock. “So I guess I will have to stick with the food.” He winks at you playfully. “How have you been?”

Your stomach twists in anticipation about what he really wants and you bite your lip. "Not too bad. Busy with work as always. Been thinking about this senator...he does this amazing thing with his hips." You whisper with a smirk, writing down his order. "I'll be right back with your soda." You wink, walking away and swaying your hips until you feel his gaze burning into you.

Gunther is at the bar again, sitting there as Max admires your figure. He had immediately told the guard that he wanted to come to the diner over the objections of his campaign manager, but he had just ignored that. He was free from any meet and greets, town hall meetings or campaign trail stops for the next week and he had wanted to see you before he did anything else. Hoping that you weren’t too upset that he hasn’t been in. He had forgotten to give you a number to reach him at. When you bring the Diet Coke back he notices that you don’t seem as tired. “So I heard that my guy was able to get your car back on the road for you.”

You hover near his table, nodding and offering him a smile. "Yes. Yes. He was great. It's so nice to have my car back. I wanted to reach out to you to thank you but I didn't have a number for you." You confess, shifting from one foot to the other and you look into those dark eyes that have haunted you. "Thank you. Really, you - you have no idea how much easier my life is now I don't have to take the bus or walk."

“I should have given you my number.” He’s happy you don’t have to worry about getting home from work now. He had not been thrilled about you walking home alone at night, and it was something he had told his guy when he sent him over there. Get your car on the road no matter what it costs. You didn’t have to worry about the bill, he would have paid it, but luckily it was just a spark plug. Although he had gone through the car to check more than that and did a tune up on it for you. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a card. “Personal number’s on the back.”

You carefully take the card from him, admiring the gold, and you bite your lip. “I’ve never had the personal number of a senator before.” You tease, tucking the card into your apron. The truckers call you over, asking for more coffee, and you glance back at Max before you go to grab the pot. After satisfying the truckers, you grab Max’s burger and set it down in front of him. “How’s your son?” You ask, wanting to extend your time together.

He grins, thinking about his son. Despite the divorce and his ambitions, he wanted to be a good father to Alistair. He chuckles. “I’m going to go pick him up tonight. Have him spend the night and take him to school tomorrow.” The campaign trail was hard because he spent a lot of time away from him, not wanting to drag him away from his routine, despite what Jackson wanted. His son wasn’t going to be a pawn to get votes. “Pizza and the newest movie he wants to watch is on the menu.”

You grin, “membership card to Blockbuster, huh?” You snort, imagining Max in his pristine suit picking out a movie with his son. “I like that you put your son first. Not many fathers would do what you do and still try to be present for their child. I, uh, I like you. A lot.” You confess, biting your lip as you look towards the table of truckers who are leaving after paying their checks.

“I like you too.” Max answers easily. “A lot.” He sees the money on the table and jerks his chin over to it. “Go pocket your tip.” He urges you. “I’ll be here when you get done. Until you have a break even.” He tells you, voice slipping a bit lower and rougher. He wanted to see you mostly, but now that he’s seen you, he wants to touch you again.

You shiver at the roughness in his tone, nodding before you make your way over to the now empty table, pocketing your tip before you clean up the plates. Once you’ve finished wiping down the table it’s time for your break and you see Max has finished eating. “Come on baby. Meet me in the alleyway.” You whisper as you walk past, waiting for him to follow you.

Max gets up, making like he is going to go down the hallway and use the bathroom. Gunther sees him of course, smirking to himself and the senator as he walks by. But Max doesn’t pay him any attention, eager to meet you in the alleyway despite it being broad daylight.

You giggle when Max slams the door open and grabs you, pressing you up against the wall, his lips immediately finding yours. You moan into his mouth, gripping the lapels of his expensive jacket, his tongue sliding into your mouth when you gasp. The door to the alleyway swings open and you push Max away when his security guard appears. Maxwell turns his head to look as Gunther lights a cigarette. “Just want to make sure no one watches. Carry on. I am gonna have a smoke.” He says, turning his back.

He waits for you to protest, to tell you that there is no way that you can have sex with him while his security is here. When he doesn’t hear a sound of protest, Max chuckles and leans in to kiss you again. “Thought about you for three weeks.” He groans, biting down your throat again. He has a condom in his pocket again and he presses his hard cock against your hip. “Tell me I can fuck you? Tell me that you’ve been thinking about it.” He begs quietly.

You whine, “yes. Yes, please. You’re all I’ve thought about. I’m wet just thinking about how you felt inside of me.” You confess, reaching down to grab his hand. You slide it under your dress to your panties, showing him how wet you already are.

Max groans, pushing the fabric aside so he can slide his fingers through your slick folds. “Fuck.” He pushes a finger inside you. “You want me to fuck you right here again?” He asks. “Make sure you come back to work feeling good from cumming?”

“Yes. Yes. Want- want you to fuck me. You- you felt so good last time.” You pant, pushing his hand out of your panties so you can push them down, turning around after pulling your dress up. You look over your shoulder at him, “please Max. Fuck me.”

“Fuck.” Max hisses and pulls the condom out of his pocket to put between his teeth, tearing at his belt. His cock is already aching to be buried inside you. A quick glance at Gunther’s back ensures the man is watching for the two of you as he rips open the foil wrapper and quickly rolls the rubber down his length.

You gasp when the head of his cock nudges your clit before he notches the head at your entrance, pushing into you in one thrust. “Fuck. Oh fuck Max. Feels so good. Already. Feels so fucking good.” You moan, trying to grind back onto him as your forearms are scratched by the brick wall.

Gripping your hip, Max moans his agreement. “Fuck.” He hisses, pulling back to surge into you again. “Jerked off thinking about this, about you.” He confesses, grinding deep and loving the way that you clench around him. Your panting moans make him want to cum right now but he wants to make sure you cum before he does.

“Never felt like this before. Always - always faked it but with you - it’s real. You make me feel so good. Fuck my pussy so good.” You lean forward to rest your forehead against the cool brick, spreading your legs a little wider so he can fuck into you. “Yes baby. Yes. Harder. Need more.” You beg and reach back to grip onto his hand on your hip.

Pride rises in his chest, making him give you his cock exactly how you want it. Hard and deep thrusts into your cunt, pushing you into the wall make him start panting. “Y-you feel f-fucking incredible.” He gasps out. “So so tight, h-hot.”

Your cheek scratches against the brick but you don’t care, too obsessed with the way he is grinding into you, fucking you into next week. The sound of his hips hitting your ass echoes in the alleyway but Gunther just continues smoking his cigarette as he keeps watch.

“Fuck.” He hisses, one hand sliding under the bunched up fabric of your dress to reach around you to start rubbing your clit. The audaciousness of it, a senator fucking his waitress in broad daylight in an alley, but he fucking loves it. Loves the way that you are so eager for it, the way that you want him. “Cum for me.” He groans into your ear, nibbling on the shell.

You let out a strangled groan when his fingers rub your clit, making you cry out in pleasure when you clamp down on his cock. He actually makes you cum - something your other lovers couldn’t claim. “Yes yes yes. Max. Oh shit!” You shriek, legs shaking as you soak him.

He pants raggedly in your ear, the hold your body has on him makes his teeth grit. Moaning with you as he rocks into you. Now that he has made you cum, he can cum himself. “Good.” He rasps out. “S-so fucking good.”

When he cums, he bites down on your neck and you love it. Reaching behind you to tangle your fingers in his styled hair, messing it up delights you. "Cum for me Max. Cum." You plead, squeezing his cock.

Max whimpers, letting go of the thin control he has and with one more thrust he bites down on your neck, aware that your co-workers might see the imprint of his teeth and not caring. Grunting and grinding into you as he pushes his release into the condom until he finally stops moving and kisses the spot on your neck while he tries to catch his breath.

You sag against the wall, closing your eyes as the pleasure continues to wash over you. “So damn good. Every time.” You sigh, shifting so his cock slides out of you and you turn to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “How about a milkshake to go?” You ask, “for Alistair?”

“That would be perfect.” Max kisses you again. “Thank you.” He murmurs softly, smiling at you before he starts to tuck himself away.

You dispose of the condom and adjust your dress, stepping away from him before you turn towards the back door of the diner. Gunther is still standing with his back to you until Max tells him to turn around. You head back inside, unaware of his teeth marks in your neck until your coworker mentions it. “Just making out with the Senator.” You joke, working on making Alistair’s chocolate milkshake.

Max walks over to pick up the bill and walks over to hand you some money when you turn back and have the milkshake ready. He’s paying you far more than necessary but he wants you to make sure you have a good day today. “Thank you.”

You offer him a wink and a smile, “you’re welcome Senator Lord.” You take the money, eyes widening slightly at how much extra cash he’s given you. Sally eyes the money, glancing between you and Max before he nods and walks out with the milkshake. “Seems like you have an admirer.” Sally comments and you shrug, “he’s just being nice.”

****

It’s been nearly two weeks, and Max is practically obsessed with seeing you. He has been to see you every day you work and the two of you always end up behind the diner, wrapped up in each other. The only time he hasn’t had sex with you was the night that he brought Alistair for dinner, promising the boy he would take him to where he got the delicious milkshake from. He had loved how you had interacted with him; making him even more sure that you were someone he wanted in his life. Walking through the door, he nods to the other waitress and moves over to your section to sit down.

Sally calls out your name, “Senator Lord is here.” She tells you and you can’t help but look in the mirror in the hallway, checking your hair and you stride into the diner, smiling when you see Max sitting in his section. “Hey stranger.” You coo, sliding in to sit opposite him. “Burger?” You ask and he nods. “How’s Alistair?” You inquire, scribbling down his order.

“He’s good. He aced his math test.” Max crows, a proud papa of his son. “My son is bright, already learned the next section of the class, the teacher thinks he needs to be put in an advanced class.” He looks you over with a soft smile, imagining you helping him with homework. “How are you? Anything new going on with your neighbor?”

You shake your head, “no. No. He’s still got the television blaring at all hours of the day despite me telling him to turn it the fuck down. I’m sick of hearing the buzzing noise when the channel goes off air.” You roll your eyes as you reach out to brush your leg against his. “I, uh, I applied to go back to school. Finish up my classes…finally.” You fluster, biting your lip. You’ve saved the money Max gave you, deciding to put it towards something that will get you out of the diner.

“That’s great!” Max grins, proud of you for deciding to do something for you. From the time he has spent with you, learning about you, he’s come to find that it’s rare for you to do something that benefits just you. “Let me know if I can help in any way, you let me know.” He offers, meaning every word of it.

You want to reach for his hand but you can’t. You’ve never really discussed what you are or what it is that you’re doing. All you know is he comes to have a burger and then he fucks you. Probably an amazing deal for most men. You can’t help but want more. A proper date to dress up and eat with him instead of rushing off to get another person’s meal. “Thank you.” You tell him, meaning every word. It’s unusual for you to ever have support like this…not since your mom died. “So…I’ll go put your order in.” You tell him, not noticing the giggles coming from the women on the next table over from Max, the morning newspaper on the table.

Max frowns when the giggling and whispering continues, but he doesn’t pay much attention. Too busy watching you as you check on your customers. You are so sweet and kind to people, even when they are rude. He plans to try to come up with the nerve to ask you out. It’s laughable, he’s able to fuck you, but he can’t ask you out.

You grab the sodas for the table of women after putting in Max’s order, and that’s when you see it. A photo of you and Max in the alleyway. Clearly having sex, your mouth open as he pressed you against the wall with Gunter standing in the background. You squeak, grabbing the paper, and the women look up at you. “Who knew we had the Senator’s whore serving us?” One of them says and you stare at the photos.

Max hears the comment, immediately jumping out of his booth to confront them. He doesn’t understand why they would say that but he quickly understands when he sees the paper in your hands. Striding over to see the picture that has you frozen in horror, he closes his eyes and hisses a curse. “Shit.” He opens his eyes and glares at the women. “Calling a woman a whore isn’t very feminist of you.” He scolds, gently taking your shoulder. “Come on, we need to talk.”

You nod, heart pounding in your chest, and you are worried about what he is going to say, wondering if he is going to blame you or throw you under the bus. "Max. I-" You choke when you are in the alleyway once more. The paper seems to be burning in your hands from where you still hold it. "I'm - I'm so sorry."

Max shakes his head, hating how mortified you seem. “I am sorry.” He murmurs, taking the paper from you and sighing as he cups your cheek. “This is my fault. I should have known this could happen.” He’s ashamed of how he had never even gotten a hotel room for the two of you or taken you out to dinner. “I’ll protect you from the media as best I can.” He promises.

You shake your head, "no Max. You can't. It will destroy your career. You need to blame this on me. Tell the media I offered myself up. Tell them I - I came onto you and you, being a man, couldn't resist. You'll be the hero. I- I will be branded a slut but they will forget about me. I'll be forgotten after the next scandal comes out. You need to win this re-election for you and for Alistair. Blame it on me." You plead, cupping his cheeks.

“No.” Max is adamant about that. There is no way that he is going to blame this on you. “I should have-“ he breaks off and shakes his head. “I should have done things right. Taken you out on a date or at least gotten a fucking hotel for this.” He gives you a sorrowful work. “I didn’t even have sex with you in bed.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, “no. No. It was - fuck. It was perfect. It was clumsy and messy and just - it was us. No expectations or drama. I liked it. I loved it because…fuck Max. I - I think I’m in love with you.” You finish with a whisper, stomach twisting with nerves.

Max stares at you for a moment, amazed that you aren’t screaming at him for getting splashed across the front page of the paper. Instead you are confessing your feelings for him. “I had planned to ask you out today.” He confesses. “Want to take you out. Have someone wait on you for a change. Would you still want to maybe do that with me?”

You bite your lip, “do you want - you want to be seen with me after that?” You ask, gesturing to the newspaper. “It’s not gonna be easy Max. Are you sure you don’t want to just…blame it on me and say it’s all me? It would be a hell of a lot easier for you.” You sigh, crossing your arms.

Max shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do that. I- Jackson might be pissed but I’m just going to admit that I should not have been in a public setting, but that it was an intimate interlude with the woman I love.” He tells you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You inhale sharply at his confession, a silly smile on your lips as you look at him. “Then let’s go to dinner.” You surge forward to press your lips to his, hearing the photographers approaching when they are shouting your way and suddenly you’re engulfed by cameras. “Max?” You choke, clinging to him.

“Shit.” Max wraps his arm around you and curls you towards him, holding up his hand towards the throng of reporters.

“Senator Lord! You’ve been adamant that you run a clean house, what do you have to say about this scandal? Sex in public.”

Max shakes his head. “No comment.” More questions are hurled towards the two of you as he shuffles the two of you towards Gunther, who is pushing his way through the cameras and bodies. “No comment at this time.”

You press yourself against Max as Gunther guides you to Max's car through the throng of vultures and you exhale shakily when you are inside the back of his town car. "I- shit." You choke, trying to ignore the way they are banging on the windows as the driver pulls away. "Shit. My purse is in my locker. I haven't finished my shift." You tell Max despite your hands shaking.

“I think your boss will understand.” Max murmurs, hugging you to him and rubbing your arms to calm you down. You are trembling and he hates it. “We will go back to my house. I’m sure Jackson is there, ready to berate me, but I don’t care.” He promises. “I’ll call your boss when we get there, make sure they understand.”

You nod, leaning into him to breathe in his expensive cologne. You close your eyes until you are arriving at Maxwell's house. Somewhere you have never been before. It's big and fancy - not that you expected anything less- and it's overwhelming when you walk inside to see the marble floors and gilded gold. It's a far cry from your shabby little apartment. "Your home is beautiful." You whisper, lost in the extravagant decor.

“Thank you.” Max keeps you close, his hold on you tightening slightly. This wasn’t the way he wanted to bring you over, but there was no changing what happened now.

“Max!” He frowns and turns his head towards the study door where Jackson is rushing out, his campaign manager obviously aware of what the papers posted by the look on his face.

Jackson looks at you and you prepare for the onslaught of thinly veiled insults. "You - you are fucking fantastic." He tells you, "you are - our poll numbers are through the roof. You wouldn't believe - they love that Max is with a working class woman. They love that he seems...normal. You are a fucking saving grace." Jackson says, holding his hands up towards you.

Max huffs, completely thrown off by this. He had been expecting Jackson to hit the roof, not look at you like the golden goose. “Right.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes and leaning into you. “Of course you are happy with polling numbers.” He clears his throat. “I want the paper to issue an apology for publishing her name though.” He tells Jackson. “They were wrong to do that.”

“I agree, but there’s no such thing as bad news Maxwell. It’s fucking - we will ask for an apology but then you gotta take her out on a proper date, show them you can be a gentleman and it will be a proper Cinderella story. We will make sure that she is all dolled up - designer of course - to show the public she’s more than a quick fuck. She is more than a quick fuck, right?” Jackson asks Max.

He purses his lips, not liking the term ‘Cinderella story’ because he never viewed you like that. “Yes, she’s more than a quick fuck.” He assures his manager. “But I don’t want to doll her up in designer anything unless she wants it.” He turns to you to explain. “I don’t want you to think you aren’t good enough exactly as you are.”

You shake your head, “no. I, uh, I don’t want to be seen as a gold digger. I’ve never asked Max for any money. I’ve always worked hard for what I have and that’s not going to change. I want to go back to school. Get my degree and be on my own two feet.”

Jackson groans with pleasure and shakes his head. “I told you- I told you she was perfect when we met her!” He crows over your answer and completely ignores the fact that he has said quite the opposite. “Just make sure you say it just like that when you sit down with the reporter we are going to get to do a story on you and Max.” He grins. “This is going to be good!” His eyes widened in happiness. “I need to start making calls! Max is going to get re-elected thanks to you!”

****

“Please welcome Senator Lord and his beautiful new wife.” You squeeze Max’s hand, unable to believe you are at his election party. You had gotten married just before the election, unable to wait since you were impatient to be his wife. You’ve gone back to school, working on finishing your degree and you are an excellent stepmother to Alistair, growing close to him after you and his father were official.

You have been the talk of the election cycle, giving interviews and photoshoots with Max. It’s been exhausting but after leaving the diner, you are able to focus on what works best for you and Max. You enter the room, loving the cheers of his supporters, and he guides you to the dance floor.

“Can I have this dance?” He asks softly.

“Always.” You answer, letting him pull you close.

“Max. I have something to tell you.” You murmur after he sways you to the music.

“What hermosa?” He asks.

“I’m pregnant.” You whisper, a smile on your face.

Max gulps, his face breaking out in a wide smile and he lunges forward to press his lips to yours, much to the delight of his followers and the people who had worked tirelessly to get him elected.

“I love you.” He promises against your lips. “I love you so much, Mrs. Lord.”

He can’t help but be absolutely amazed. Stopping in a diner for dinner one night has led to this moment. He’s remarried to a woman that loves him and adores his son. He’s been re-elected to serve his constituents and try to make the world a better place for everyone, including the new baby you are going to gift him with. Life couldn’t be better.

MasterList

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#pedro pascal #max lord #maxwell lord #max lord x reader #max lord x f!reader #max lord x you #max lord imagine #max lord smut #max lord fanfic #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x f!reader #maxwell lord x you #maxwell lord smut #maxwell lord imagine #maxwell lord fanfic #maxwell lord wonder woman 84

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sashi-ya · 1 year

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𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [+18] 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐟! 𝐩𝐫𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [chapter two]

ʚ masterlist: part 1; part 3; part 4 ; part 5; final ʚ tw: MDNI. SEXUAL ABUSE INTENT (she is fine and safe). usage of drugs. medical terminology and treatment. violence. slow burn romance. If you need any type of support regarding these topics, please contact with someone who can help you. I am here to help you as a nurse and a woman.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

A fist with the word DEATH inked on the knuckles, buries in your attacker’s face. It makes him fall back, letting you go almost immediately. You experiment everything as if it was happening in slow motion and the dizziness makes it difficult to stay still.

Your legs quiver and they fail you; but there are a pair of arms that don’t. Holding you in his embrace, he keeps you safe.

“Are you ok? (Name)-ya? Are you feeling ok?” he asks, desperately inspecting your almost limp body.

You take a quick look at your saviour, a goatee, caramel skin, golden earrings, and platinum stars per eyes. He is the guy who visited your booth earlier with his friend Bepo.

“I… I feel like I’m about to pass out… don’t- don’t leave me alone” you murmur, trusting your luck in yet another stranger. And then, lulled by the waves of dizziness and the sweet scent of his perfume, everything turns dark.

The tattooed man looks at the bastard, who keeps spitting blood right on the carpeted floor. Immediately, running, his three friends arrive with security personnel.

“I trust you all gonna be calling the police right now. This woman had been drugged and was about to be abused by that bastard” the tattooed youngster says, while carries you in his arms. “I am Dr. Trafalgar D. Law, will take her with me to my hospital. Send the police there, surgical department” he commands, while the security guards restrain the photographer.

As Law begin to walk towards the exit, he suddenly stops. He asks Penguin to hold you, and turning back he stands in front of the abuser. “And this, you fucking bastard, is over for you” he utters, grabbing the camera and throwing it to the ground.

He doesn’t care about the pleads of him. The camera seems new and expensive, and Law wouldn’t care breaking it a thousand times if it was possible. “Fuck you, bastard. I will do everything I can to send you to jail”

The car wasn’t waiting in the parking lot underneath the hotel, but right at the entrance. They have decided to go back, for just a single reason… a lost keychain of a polar bear plushie.

The doctor, called Law, drives away as fast as possible. He doesn’t really know what’s been inoculated in your system, so he needs to rush.

You have woken up, yet you are barely able to keep your eyes open. You discover a familiar face next to you; the kind albino guy who identified as Bepo a few hours ago. He immediately tells you about your situation, helping you to understand what happened to you.

“Don’t worry, (Name)! you remember me, right? I’m Bepo! Captain is taking you to the hospital, he is a doctor! You are ok, you haven’t been…” Bepo stops, the word makes him gag.

“You haven’t been touched, nor abused, (Name)-ya. I’m Trafalgar Law. You are being taken to the Grandline General Hospital to see what that bastard gave you” he says, surely, and sounding like a professional you could trust.

You feel your throat dry; your lips too. Your head hurts, and you notice your dress a little ragged but definitely in one piece. “Th-thank you, sir…”

The car stops right by the entrance of a huge white building. A red cross light reflects on the wet patches of the streets. It’s already very dark outside.

You shake off your grogginess for some moments, and when the door of the car opens for you, you let the cold breeze hit your face. It feels amazing, like a sweet kiss from a lover. And then, his arms, also completely tattooed extended to you.

“Let me help you, I brought a wheelchair” Law says, waiting for you to take his hand first.

You nod, with a subtle smile and probably hyper dilated pupils. Bepo and Shachi help you too, while Penguin crawls on the front seat to drive the car to the parking lot.

He begin to push your chair and inside the building you go. The white lights, blinding and sterile, hit your eyes. And the bustling sound of the people inside turns a thousand times louder in your head.

“Dr. Trafalgar! What happened?” a young black-haired woman arrives. She is wearing purple scrubs, and her eyes are as blue as the sky.

“She- she has been drugged… She- almost-“ he explains her, while both walk a little away from you. Suddenly he is no more that young shy man you have met back at the con; Law is now a doctor ready to save your life professionally.

They immediately come back, and the woman presents herself as Dr. Nico Robin. She grabs your hand, caressing it with perhaps the same delicacy as Law while you are being pushed to your cubicle.

The bed is comfortable, even while wearing your cosplay for the longest time. Your wig, however, is about to be ripped from your head by yourself. You can’t stand that long hairy thing over your shoulders a minute more.

And that’s when a colleague comes in handy. Bepo, who immediately thinks of how uncomfortable you must feel, offers to keep your stuff safe. “Give me your wig, (Name). I will put it safely inside of your bag” he suggests.

He owns a smile from you; you are absolutely grateful for having met this beautiful people. “Thank you so much, Bepo. Here…” you whisper, while taking it off quickly as the nurses want to take your pressure and connect you to a monitor.

When Bepo scrutinizes for a wig bag inside your backpack he founds a bottle of water. “Did you drink from this, (Name)?” he asks, showing the bottle to you and then to the doctors.

You nod; it’s true, you saved it.

Immediately, a nurse runs to the laboratory with the contaminated water. While Law and Robin discuss your vital signs and another nurse initiates an IV. Not ten minutes pass, that they already -and efficiently- discover the exact component of what you have consumed; GHB or Gamma Hydroxybutyric acid.

Law, sits down right next to your bed. The effects are slowly fading away and you are able to be more alert than before. Perhaps what they have passed through your IV is working faster.

Him, who is already wearing a white coat, looks as handsome as before. He crosses his long legs covered in jeans with a peculiar pattern of black spots and lends forward to you.

“(Name-ya), you had consumed GHB. We know it as “the rape drug”, and since it lacks color, odor and taste it gets easily injected or administrated. I believe that bastard probably have introduced the drug into the bottle in some way. You are ok, the effects will fade away after it clears up from your body” the handsome doctor, that a few hours prior was just another guy at the con, tells you. He did not just save you, but he is also still taking care of you.

You nod. Speechless. Your eyes become watery in less than seconds. And you extend your hand to his, grabbing it with a tender need.

Law gasps, silently. His pupils dilate and his eyes widen. He looks at your hand on his, at the way your veins protrude so slightly on the back of it, at the subtle shake of your muscles.

“Thank you, Law…” you murmur, still in shock but definitely more than grateful for having a tattooed angel by your side. “can I ask you for a last favour?”

Law, who has placed his hand on top of yours, doesn’t dare to let you go. Even him, feels amazed by his weird reaction. Women aren’t his specialty. Not even being in the ER. He is a cardiac surgeon trainee but knows very little about “heart matters”.

He nods, waiting for your request. At this point he is willing to do whatever you ask for. Even with your hair all tangled, half dressed as a princess but no wig… you still shine bright into his eyes.

“Can you pass me my bag? I need to give you something”

Law, who hesitantly lets go of your hand, stands up and searches for your bag. He walks up to you, with butterflies filling his stomach. He wants. No, he needs, to stop. Such situation feels like a monster ripping away self-control… everything in which he relies in his life.

Your hands graze, so soft. A poet could say it’s the sweet representation of your encounter, but that’s totally the opposite. Your paths have crossed in a violent, disturbing way.

While you scrutinize the interior of your bag, he remains silent. Law, inside, feels like a child waiting to receive a gift… but why?

“Here. I’m not sure who’s the owner, but I believe you will like it. I promise I will buy you something new to thank you whenever I’m out” you murmur, handing him the little polar bear plushie you found under the table of your booth.

Law receives the gift in his hands. His lips separate. He is unable to speak. He honestly forgot about it, but, wasn’t it that same charm what made him go back and save her?

“I- this… This is mine…” he mumbles, amazed.

You tilt your head; what does he mean? His?

“This is mine. This is my keychain. It was given to me by a dear person. I lost it and I came back to search for it… that’s why I found you-“ Law says, amazed. A subtle smile flashes for quite seconds, but then he remembers the reason both are in the hospital.

“Oh… I’m glad I picked it up, then. It’s really pretty” you giggle. His child like expression melted your heart, and just even for some time there is a reason to smile in your life. Maybe happy coincidences do exist, after all.

Law, takes a good look at the charm and suddenly extends his hand to you. “Take it. You will give it to me when you feel better” he says, awkwardly.

You blink twice, taking it to your chest. Maybe he is just a stranger, and yet he is still an angel. Maybe he already noticed your loneliness in this world. That’s why, then, he is giving you something dear to hold during a lonely night.

Some tears form in your eye. The more you press the little bear against you, the more you feel like caving in. Trembling lips are barely able to express a broken “thank you” before the first tear falls through your cheek.

You put your head down, trying to cover your façade with your hair. But Law notices it, almost immediately. Though, he takes some minutes to react. Is not that he didn’t feel the need to hug you that very moment, but… would that be ok?

“Don’t… don’t cry…” he murmurs, taking his E inked index to the corner of your eye. He delicately wipes the tear away. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No… Law… you- I… don’t worry please. It’s just that… you are being like a hero and now even taking care of me. You just said this is dear to you, and you are giving it to me…” you sniffle while trying to express yourself.

Law stretches to grab a paper towel and then hands it to you. He sits right next to you in bed, even if that would probably be considered unproper from a medical practitioner and overall, a total stranger.

“You showed me how much you took care of him. I trust you with it. You know, it has helped me through difficult times… do you… do you want me to call someone? You won’t be needing to stay the night” he says, perhaps believing all of this comes from being in such a cold and sterile room.

You wipe away your tears and then look at him. “Thank you so much, but… I don’t have anyone in this city. I will be heading to my hotel once I’m out… can you- can you tell me exactly which hospital is this? If you told me, I’m sorry, I can’t remember”

Law felt taken aback. Alone? In this city? “You can stay with me tonight, or I can stay with you at the hotel. Or, we can stay at the hospital if you feel safer” he says, shocking himself, once again, at the words that came out of his mouth with no filter.

You swallow. Honestly, trusting another man feels difficult. However, Law, has helped you in more than a way… he saved your life…

ㅤㅤ ㅤ “If it’s not much of a trouble, then, I’d like to stay with you ~”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ …

“What is the Captain doing?” Bepo asks, from the door of the ER. “HE IS SITTING ON HER BED? WOW” Shachi chimes, giggling. “Guess prince charming saved his princess… let’s leave them alone. Just in case let’s stay at my place… tonight Law needs his house… empty” Penguin says, smiling at his brother and dragging his friends out.

continues in ➡ chapter 3

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fx1600 · 2 years

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Okay I’ve seen a lot of ai art debates happening and no one asked but I want to rant about some of the arguments made for it because they just really bug me. 1) yes it is 100% unethical to unwillingly use other peoples art, photography, and likeness without any consent whatsoever. No this is NOT THE SAME THING as people trying to recreate or taking inspiration from the masters before them because while yes it is using someone elses art as reference it is to develop their own skills. The resulting art is still something they made with their own hands to further their own development. And to this day we still know who a lot of masters took inspiration from. Who they credit for their work. Ai work taking inspiration from other peoples styles to fit commands you are giving it IS NOT DEVELOPING YOUR SKILLS. This is NOT for development, it’s actively used to AVOID development and people openly say they do this because they don’t have the skill and don’t want to develop the skill. 2) Seeing people say it’s such a “boomer take” to be genuinely upset about these ai “artists” calling themselves artists is not the hot come back you think it is. Because people being upset is valid! Because this isn’t a group of people trying to make some new “revolutionary” art form and their own community around it. No these are people trying to align themselves with digital artists who spend so much time and effort developing their own skills. To equate pieces they prompted a machine to make and claiming it as their own because the machine cannot argue for its own effort. To the pieces people made after spending years developing their own skills to be able to make their art. If anything ai artists could be classified as some sort of writing group but that’s not what they’re aiming for. They hide their prompts to avoid “stealing” and pointedly don’t want acknowledgment for the one part they actually did themselves, they want credit for the results. 3) “Well people said the same thing about photography” do not and I mean DO NOT try to sit here and say these two mediums are the same! Because if you think they’re equal you clearly do not see the value or understand photography at all. There are REASONS why companies still higher photographers to do product shots, poster shots, and event shots even though “everyone can do it with a phone”. Companies look for every corner they can cut to save a buck so it should SAY SOMETHINGS that they refuse to go the route of sending an intern with a phone camera to get photos of their products. Why they’re given full production teams and spaces to work. Because it takes skills, knowledge, dedication, and effort that only the photographer has. 4) “But it can sometimes take people HOURS to make!” Why are they willing to spend hours slightly editing prompts into an AI generator if it’s clear they know exactly what they want when they could just pick up some supplies and start trying to for it with their own hands? OR BETTER YET COMMISSION AN ARTIST!? 5) “It’s an accessibility tool, not everyone has the time, money, or skill to make what they want” Two of those three things are exactly WHAT MAKE ARTISTS ARTISTS the fact that they have the skills, they TOOK the time to develop. Money? Mspaint is free, a lowlevel tablet it surprisingly cheep you can get one for around 20 bucks. You can pick up cheep art supplies at the nearest Walmart, Target, or dollar store and get to work. You don’t need expensive equipment to make art, just a pencil and some scratch paper. Accessibility tools are tools made for people with disabilities that can hinder them from having access to the same opportunities or to ease pains and discomforts the disabilities can cause when trying to do every day tasks. There are definitely disabilities that can make it harder to make art But something that removes the need to develop the skill you’re trying to claim you have AT ALL is NOT THE SAME THING

Who knows, at the end of the day maybe there is something to be done with these generators, art is hard to define and it is hard to make lines about what is and isn’t art as a whole. Maybe eventually it will develop into something new and something respectable with it’s own community. But for RIGHT NOW the way it’s being used and the way these artists are trying to treat it and themselves is not it. Right now they’re a community trying to align themselves with one built on the skills they’re specifically trying to avoid and call it the same. Right now their art is dependent solely on the use of unwilling participants. Right now they are trying to pass off this art as the type that they have no understanding or basic skills for. Right now they are actively trying to hurt the respect of digital artists by saying they are outdated and unnecessary for people who want art made but don’t have the skills to do it themselves

#sorry for the rant #rant #anti ai art

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

Tada! Another Vast!Jon AU snippet.

I know where this is going now. Oh, boy, y'all are in for a ride.

Martin/Jon Childhood Friends

YouTube Baker Martin!

Famous Photographer Jon!

A plane crash! Angst! Drama!

Stoker brothers!

Archivist Sasha!

Currently: Jon understands he's been marked by the Vast.

He also has learned he's marked by the Eye, and has no idea what that means. Simon Fairchild got him an appointment with an old friend to explain.

(shudder)

Also, Martin is being... shall we say, stalked by a certain Sea Captain who sees some horrifying potential in Martin's delightful little baking show.

Wicked cackle, etc.

----------

Jon peers at the building.

It’s grand and glorious; white stone and red brick, elegant, with just a single, understated sign saying, THE MAGNUS INSTITUTE: EST. 1818 by the entrance.

Something about it, though.

This building would go into the private collection.

The weird collection.

The photos he dares not release because they would destroy his reputation.

The photos he cannot explain because he does not believe in the supernatural, but the images he’s captured don’t care.

Or… well. He rather does believe, now.

He’d thought there was a scientific explanation for his weird photos. There had to be, right? It was atmospheric strangeness, or… or some kind of strange electrical interference.

It’s not, though, is it?

Though for all those photos to be real…

He breathes away the rising nervousness and raises his camera. Focuses. Snaps half a dozen shots.

“It is a lovely building, isn’t it?” comes from behind him, and he jumps.

There’s a man.

And Jon has to take a moment and close his eyes and let his brain reset because this man's head is one huge eyeball, jerking around, looking at absolutely everything in the world.

Jon takes a slow breath and opens his eyes.

The man looks normal now, to Jon’s relief - a decade or two older, well-coiffed and expensively suited - and does not have a huge, unlidded eye for a head.

“Elias Bouchard?” Jon says.

“Yes. You must be Mister Sims,” says the not-a-man with a thousand-watt smile, and offers his hand.

Jon shakes it. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Well, you are in an interesting predicament, aren’t you? Come on in. Ah - fair warning: one of my employees is quite eager to meet you today, should you feel up to it. It seems she’s acquired one of your earlier photos - the spider leg illusion?”

Jon startles. “I thought that burned.”

“Apparently not.” His gaze is unnervingly penetrating. “Call me Elias, would you? We belong to a very special club, and have no need to be formal.”

“Jon, then,” says Jon, because he kind of has to, even though he wanted the comfortable distance of formality.

“This way.” Elias takes the lead.

And even from behind him, Jon can feel he’s being stared at.

Watched.

Studied.

Jon chews his tongue nervously as they enter in. The building feels just like Elias does, and everywhere Jon looks - just out of frame, in the periphery - he catches glimpses of something he swears might be more eyes.

If he looks directly, they’re gone.

He’s pretty sure they’re not gone.

It feels horrible.

It feels wonderful.

It feels like he can stop pretending to be anything he isn’t.

It feels like he needs to go hide in a closet. “It’s, uh,” he manages. “This is, uh.”

“A little much? I know. It can be overwhelming at first - but I assure you, you are safe here,” says Elias. “I’m familiar with your body of work. I’m very impressed, Jon.”

He says that like being impressed isn’t a thing that happens often.

Jon’s heard compliments enough that they don’t make him feel any particular way. He’s too busy being annoyed that he can’t see all the eyes head-on. “Thank you, I suppose.”

Elias nods to a secretary (who pretends not to be staring at Jon's bandages and fails spectacularly), then gestures Jon into his office.

The door closing behind him is frightening and final, and makes him want to turn around and run right back out.

But he doesn't.

He needs answers. He needs to know what this is about, what the Beholding is, what he should do.

Oh, but now, now that they’re not on a public street, now that they’re not anywhere ordinary humans can see, Elias stops pretending to be one.

He circles Jon, too close, unblinking.

Jon stands completely still, like a camouflaging rabbit.

“Amazing,” Elias whispers. “I’d already guessed you were marked by the Eye; your photography is very powerful, Jon. And now, you’ve been marked by the Vast - which, I dare say, is rare enough - but Simon didn’t tell me you had three marks.”

“Three?” Jon says. “What? There’s another one?”

“Yes. Very old.”

“Oh, come on, now,” says Jon, irritation cresting right over his hard-won and practiced politeness. “Simon told me less than ten percent of the population ends up with one mark, and you’re telling me I have three?”

“Three.” Elias stops in front of him, holding his gaze. “I know what I see.”

Jon’s protests die on his lips.

He stares.

Those eyes.

Those gray eyes.

They -

“What do you see, Jon?” whispers Elias.

“I… please let me photograph you,” Jon whispers back.

Elias smiles. “Of course. We’ll continue talking when you’re done.”

Jon still hasn’t blinked as he raises his camera.

He doesn’t until it’s over.

Martin jogs up the steps and takes a second to flap his shirt away from his body, hoping to dry the sweat before it stains.

This was not ideal. He hates running.

He could haul rocks up mountains or walk a million miles, but running? Pleh. For the birds.

“Though they fly, I guess,” he mutters to himself, coat over one arm, and brings up his camera app to ensure nothing is out of place .

He’d gotten a text while jogging and hadn’t noticed.

How does it feel to be so alone?

The number is hidden.

Martin stares at it, his heart caught in an uncomfortable tension.

He -

He shouldn’t. Doesn’t.

He -

“What?” he whispers.

“Hey!” says Sasha, coming up behind him on the stairs. “Martin! Good to see you!” She gives him a quick side-hug. “Come on in. Just got back from lunch.”

Martin compartmentalizes the text with a will and focuses on the here and now. “So you didn’t see Jon?”

“He’s here?” She looks ready to levitate right off the stairs.

“Should be. I was supposed to meet him before he went in, but…”

“Come on, have some tea, freshen up. Elias is harmless. I’m sure Jon’ll be fine.” She makes a happy little sound and skips twice, clapping her hands. “I get to meet Jonathan Sims!”

Elias knows about fear gods. Martin doubts he’s harmless. But Sasha’s joy is catching. “Heh. He’s grumpy, but I’m sure he’ll like you.”

She absolutely beams at him. “Rosie,” she says. “Please don’t let Mister Sims leave without seeing me first?”

“Sure thing, Ms. James,” Rosie says. “Oh - you need a visitor’s pass?”

“Probably. One second.” Sasha leaves Martin there and goes to Rosie’s desk to fill out a form.

The office beyond her is closed.

That has to be where Jon is.

Martin can’t hear anything.

He heroically resists the urge to press up against the door and listen in.

Funny, though: no voices come through, but he is certain he hears the click of Jon’s camera.

“There you go.” Sasha hands him a badge not dissimilar to the press pass she’d lent him days ago.

“Oh, I still have the other one,” he says, patting himself down. “Sorry, I left it at home.”

“No worries. You can bring it by whenever. Want to see my Archive?” She smiles like a proud parent.

Martin glances at the door.

“Don’t worry. He won’t leave without us. Come on, let me show you. Come on! You wouldn’t believe the mess it was in when I got the job.”

Another click from that office.

Martin can’t be hearing it. It wouldn’t carry that far.Shook up by that stupid text, he thinks, and wonders if he needs to change his number.

“Would you believe she even had statements put in folders with the wrong years?” Sasha is saying, threading her way through a maze of boxes and stacks of paper with the ease of familiarity. “We’re getting it organized, but I really need more help.”

“How much does it pay?” Martin says as a joke.

She tells him.

He trips over a box. “What, for real?”

“Mm-hmm. Benefits, too.”

Martin looks around. “And it’s just… organizing files?”

“That’s what I need help with.”

Could for sure tell Antoine to fuck himself tonight, and wouldn’t even need to click a spooky link to do it. “Do you hire me, or…”

She laughs. “You’re serious?”

“I really am.”

“Well… let’s go back up. See if we can get you an interview, yeah?”

“Hell, yeah. You should get Tim to join us. Danny, too. We could all quit our jobs and be spooky ghost researchers together.”

She laughs. “I don’t know if they’ll let me hire too many folks without qualifications, but… you shouldn’t need any for this? I mean, it’s basically filing.”

Oh. Right. Qualifications.

“I didn’t go to college,” Martin says, heart sinking, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking.

“I don’t care. You’d be looking at files and putting them in little folders with dates. If they say you need a degree for that, I might just quit over it.”

He thinks she’s joking.

Martin is calculating the amount of money needed to keep a building like this up and running, utilities and all, and is fairly sure qualifications will matter very much.

The office door is opening just as they get back upstairs.

Jon looks bombed.

Pale. Dazed. Staring at the floor with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Jon?” says Martin.

And it’s like the sun dawns. “You came,” says Jon, abandoning his haze like stepping out of a cave.

Behind Jon is a man who spooks Martin right to his core.

It’s the look, he thinks. Very cat-that-got-the-cream. “You ready to go?” Martin says, too cheerfully.

Sasha gives him a funny look. “I thought you - ”

“I really appreciate the tour. Definitely quite the place you’ve got here,” Martin interrupts because he is not working here under some fear-priest who looks like that.

Sasha’s not stupid. She’s confused, but she immediately changes course. “Sure! But before you go… Mister Sims?”

Jon looks at her as if he hadn’t even realized she was there. “Oh. Hi?”

She minds the bandages and doesn’t try to grab him or shake his hand or anything. “I am so pleased to meet you. My name’s Sasha James. I’m the head archivist here. Could I borrow you for a moment of your time? We have one of your old photos here, and I would dearly love to talk to you about it.”

Jon really does not want to give a moment of his time, but he’s learned to be professionally polite. “I can do that. I don’t know if I have any answers for you, though.”

“Ah - Ms. James, we don’t really allow guests down in the archive,” says Elias Bouchard, almost gently. “It’s not public facing.”

“He’s obviously going to make a statement,” says Sasha, chin raised.

Bouchard smiles. “Well-played. All right, Jon. You can go down.”

They’re already on first-name basis? Martin thinks.

“What about Martin?” says Sasha.

“One violation of the rules is enough for today, don’t you think? Not to worry - I’ll get him some tea. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

Oh, none of this was cool. “Uh,” says Martin.

“Sorry,” Sasha says, and means it.

“No, it’s all right. It’s fine.”

Jon touches his arm. Looking the question.

“It’s okay,” says Martin, because logically, Jon needs this connection, and Martin doesn’t want to fuck it up for him. “Go for it. I mean, maybe don’t take too long?”

“I don’t have the energy for ‘long,’” says Jon. “You could go? Meet me at a cafe, or something?”

“You don’t have a lot of energy and you want me to just leave you here,” Martin says, dry.

Jon laughs a little, embarrassed. “All right, all right. I’ll be back quickly.”

Sasha looks like Christmas came early. “This way. Oh, would you prefer the elevator or the stairs?”

“Elevator, please. Stairs are still a little tricky,” says Jon.

Martin watches them leave and wonders if he’s made a mistake.

He looks over.

Bouchard is the epitome of banal, non-threatening smiles. “Tea?”

“Sure.” What’s he going to do? Say no and start throwing punches?

Over what?

Jealousy, maybe?

Jealousy. That’s what it is.

Martin can identify it, but he’s not sure why it’s there, and it bugs him. He just feels weirdly… paranoid in this place.

“Do you have a preference?” says Bouchard, leading him the opposite direction of Jon and Sasha.

“Anything but Oolong.”

Bouchard laughs politely. “Good news: I’m fairly sure it’s Jasmine.”

“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look like a fear-priest.

“Jon must have impressed you,” Martin says. “I mean, I doubt the head of the Institute is usually out here making tea for randos.”

Bouchard is still smiling as he turns around, offering a little wax-coated cup. “A keen observation. Yes. He did.”

And, Martin thinks but does not say, Bouchard wants to make a good impression on him, so it’s Nice-to-Martin hours. “Thanks.”

“This must be very difficult for you,” says Bouchard, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. “Witnessing such a dramatic change in someone you know so well can be rather… frightening.”

Martin blinks. Jon told him?

But Jon said not to tell anyone. He said Martin would be in danger.

Well, apparently, he’d trusted Bouchard at once.

What else had he told him?

The jealous feeling increases. “It’s… definitely frightening.”

“Understandable. And of course, the fear that you yourself are in danger must be sharp, as well.”

Wait, what? “Me?”

“Of course. New avatars tend to be… ravenous. You’re quite fortunate that he isn’t new to the whole situation, really.”

What kind of a conversation was this? “He…oh. He said there was that Eye thing, too?”

“Yes. For many years.”

Martin has no idea where this conversation is supposed to go. “Well. Got any advice?”

Bouchard laughs. “Try not to be eaten.”

Martin stares at him.

Bouchard smiles.

Martin sips his tea.

Bouchard smiles.

Martin decides there are hidden cameras all over the breakroom for whatever reason, and that’s why he feels practically x-rayed. “I, uh. Can I take this back out to the lobby?”

“I’d really prefer if you drank it in here,” says Bouchard, low and smooth.

It’s too hot.

Martin burns his mouth a little to get it down faster, and he wonders what else Jon told this guy, and he tells himself he will never, ever need to be afraid of Jon.

No matter what his deeply startled gut says.

Bouchard smiles.

Neither of them say another word until the tea is finally gone.

#tma #tma fic #fic in progress #wip #amwriting #vast!jon #tma au #sasha james #elias bouchard #martin blackwood

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