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dropsofletters · 5 months

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what's up, mr. hollywood?

—SUMMARY: if someone hasn’t heard about jeon wonwoo, they must be living under a rock. one of the grandest stars in hollywood, face to rom-coms and thrillers, shows the spectrum of a real celebrity. though, that is ruined when a bitter ex-girlfriend decides to drop pictures of him almost naked for the world to see, splitting it in half—should he just do an underwear campaign or disappear from the limelight for good?

so, he decides to travel to the most secluded villa he can find, and in there, he happens to fall in love with books and a certain librarian who speaks too much and still, leaves him with too little information about her.

eager to get to know her more, wonwoo forgets that he’s actually a celebrity and that reality must strike at their door one day. hopefully, not any time soon.

—TITLE: what’s up, mr. hollywood?

—PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x reader

—GENRE: glimpses of notting hill!au ; strangers to lovers!au ; celebrity!au ; actor!au ; idiots in love!au ; librarian!au ; bookstore!au

—TYPE: fluff ; angst if you squint ; suggestive if you squint ; humor given by jun’s character lol

—WORD COUNT: 13,270 words

—NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want to support me, you can ask me to write something for you over there.

He could get tied down by the diamonds that wrap around the wrists of the women that transcend in his life, like the pieces of paper of a script that he never really imagines in his list of cinematography. That way, it would be easier to wake up in West Hollywood, in a mansion so big that—sometimes, though he won’t admit—he gets lost in the rooms. Wonwoo wouldn’t have to think twice on promising with a band a supposed forever that ends in five months. Like everything in this plastic world does.

Wonwoo could get used to the sweet taste of fame, that bathes the gold of his latest Oscar for a film he knows will follow him to the grave. The flashing of lights, the egotistical boosting and the screaming voices that grant him the benefit of leading a generation while he feels inherently lost. Pursuing a fraction of what he was able to give through three years of pressure for completing only two hours of film, applauded by the critics, but now a shadow he will always have to follow, mimic and surpass.

He could get used to being famous.

He could.

The truth is, Wonwoo isn’t, doesn’t and won’t. He’s there, then he’s not. It’s been like that for nine days now. Spank Magazine! Decided it would be a great idea to plaster him in his most delicate and reckless state. Wonwoo had been sharing a few summers with the same woman, Courtney, a love that never really translated into nothing more than a week together, drinks to be shared, kisses to be yearned for and then, he’d leave London. With nothing to seek for other than the faint breeze that is the complete opposite of the blaring sun in Hollywood, and the idea that he has someone waiting for him in case he feels lonely in between films.

The drinks must have gotten heavy, or Wonwoo isn’t really as smart as he grants himself to be. Always. He thought he’d never miss a step and he almost hears his manager, Sandara, laughing at him straight at his face. If only she wasn’t trying to erase the image of Wonwoo looking out of a window in white boxers in some secluded penthouse in central London. This summer, it seemed like Courtney wanted something else. Fame.

He hadn’t realized the picture had been on her iPhone, neither did he think that the moment he got off his plane that took him back home he would have to see literal signs at the airport that showed him half naked. The first thing he did was hide, and the second…okay, he hadn’t really thought of a plan. Other than compulsively buy a plane ticket to a villa in France and hope, perhaps, that he won’t have to explain if his shoulders are really that big naturally or not.

“You could have totally stopped this from happening.” Sandara looks unlike how she does when they are in Hollywood. Normally, she’s wearing a straight pencil skirt paired with a button down and her hair in a ponytail. She never misses the coffee with three shots of espresso and perhaps, a line of sugar—or cocaine, her energy is unmatched—, but now, she’s trapping a croissant in between her hands and she has tried to make the enormous yellow sweater she has paired with green leggings work. The frog look isn’t half as bad on her slim body.

“I know.” Wonwoo walks slowly, while she roams around him like a puppy would. Sandara has always said it. Wonwoo’s weakness for complexity gravitates him to women that leave everything to desire. He pulls the cap a little over his head, covering more of his eyes in case anyone sees him while walking to the nearest library. “I never said it wasn’t my fault, but I’m giving you a vacation and running away from the chaos you were trying to solve.”

“I offered you a way of turning this around and you didn’t—”

Wonwoo scoffs at her words, rolling his eyes. “You knew I was going to say no from the get-go.”

“Wonwoo, people are not hating on you because you’re half naked. You just pulled a Miley Cyrus. Destroyed the whole poised, serious, intelligent guy persona and changed it for the hot guy in the white boxers thing.” Sandara pulls a finger up in the air, pointing out what she thinks is obvious. Meanwhile, the breeze plays with her hair until it is standing on various spots. “…Calvin Klein offered to help us out. A few campaigns with the boxers on, and then, we finish it off with a good sex scene in one of your films. You’re a man. If it was me on that magazine and I was famous, I would have been destroyed.”

Wonwoo hates that it is a reality, but he didn’t really intend on posing. Sure, he is not an angel. His career doesn’t let him stay with someone as much as he’d like to, for he always has to travel, film something else, prepare for a script or a new series to take on, but he also hasn’t done much else past the expected. Stories can be told about Hollywood that are rather true of orgy parties and eccentric relationships, but he doesn’t do much past the normal. Perhaps, a risky picture if he is feeling…rather comfortable, but he’s private about the matters that take up on the heart.

He just happened to be a bit tipsy, looking out of the window and not noticing that a picture had been taken of him, and while he’s pleading the case of using the law against Courtney for breaking his privacy, he’s also taking a break. And needing to read a book.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Wonw0o starts, pushing the doors of the only library he could find in this secluded spot he had found in France. Sandara passes under his arm, still walking backwards and somehow not falling. “But it’s not who I am. I just don’t do soft porn.”

“Wonwoo—”

“My ass was displayed on a magazine. I’m lucky it’s not my dick, but I’d rather just not…milk it.”

“Oh, wrong choice of wording.”

“Sandara.” He groans, throwing his head back. The place catches his attention in the matter of seconds. The walls are baby blue, like the revelation of a child’s bedroom, with sprinkles of brick walls here and there in a beige color as an addition of texture. The tables are smaller in comparison to the rows of books, lined up by genre and color. It’s a pleasure to a thoughtful mind, as he traces the outline of the romance plethora. His least favorite genre. “You’re sexualizing your client.”

“I swear I’m not. You’re the one talking about milk!” She jokes around, laughing at the flush that he’s certain appears on the apples of his cheeks, before she’s grabbing one of the smaller books in the row, standing at the tip of her toes to reach it. “The Duke’s Final Wish. Oh, so the duke dies in this book. What’s the point of reading something you know everything about just by the title alone?”

He doesn’t understand it either, so Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m more of a thriller guy myself, but I’m in France, I’ve just dumped someone entirely from my life and…” His nose scrunches up upon the sight of the naked, sun-bathed abs on the duke on the cover. “Maybe, I just need to read softcore love times to feel less miserable about…everything.”

Sandara’s brown eyes turn mellow, sighing deeply. “Wonwoo, this is just another turn in your career. I promise everything will get better.”

It will, he’s certain. Matters always go back to place.

However, he remembers his start as an actor. He was this shaky, flimsy sixteen-year-old teen who cried on the outsides of a casting because he was tired of receiving no’s. Who wiped his tears on a pillow when he got called from another casting to participate with just one line. He’d wake up every single day at five in the morning; giving up adulthood, growing up, having friends, dating, studying, just for the sake of getting in better movies. He hit it big when he was twenty, skyrocketed in a military film, and from then on, he never rested. Movie after movie. A show, then another one.

And just like that, it lost sense. With every critic that shadowed him with that one big film he did last year, whatever product that came to fruition was worthless. It was a race with himself—and he’s tired of running.

And—

Oh, wait.

It smells like insect repellent…

“Roach, go away, you!”

“Huh?” Wonwoo’s curiosity gets the best of him, peaking from behind the shelf to see a slender, tall man holding, indeed, an insect repellent and spraying it on a blonde gentleman. He recognizes the first one—the attacker in question—to be one of the workers because of the uniform. A cloud sweater inside white pants, according to the name of the library—Somewhere On The Clouds—, but he’s flimsy in comparison to the buffer, taller man that he’s trying to go after.

The cockroach character, per say.

He hears more shushing and spraying, along with a woman’s name that escapes the blonde’s lips. “I wasn’t talking to you, Wen Junhui, my wife is over there and you’re not letting me talk to her—”

“She’s not your wife anymore.”

“You can’t physically get over someone so quickly.”

Another spray and now, this Junhui guy with the long brown hair and septum piercing, has finally landed on the taller man’s eyes because he hears a groan that reverberates throughout the library. “If it’s you the someone we are talking about, oh, trust me, it’s easy. No woman could ever—”

“I’ll close your mouth up with a good old fist, Junhui. Stop! Stop spraying me!”

He hears another commotion, of closed doors and shushes that follow after someone physically more peaceful than the other men. And for once, Wonwoo loses interest in physical matters like the cameras that could flash around him and the book at hand. His heart hums, singing a melody when looking at her. Her hair is tied in two braids and closed in a bun behind her back, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, looking at the blonde man with the firing rage of a million wars that went unfought.

Even Sandara is listening closely when she speaks. She’s rain in its biggest form; when it pours down and becomes unstoppable.

“I thought he said you could go away, Pierre.” She outs to the world, only to have the blonde man shaking his head, twinkling green eyes staring back at her.

“Love,” He’s trying to grasp her hands, wishing to say something more, but when their hands interlock, she slaps his away. “Don’t you push me away.”

“By law, you pushed me away yourself.” She instructs, pushing at his arms when he’s trying to get closer. “Pierre, I’m being serious. Stop disrupting my library and just go away.”

“But—”

Wonwoo is not a hero, neither does he think this is the situation for him to try to be one. However, he does accidentally—or not so much so—happen to slide his hand across a shelve that wasn’t holding up tightly. The books fall one by one, like a domino effect that gain him the attention of the woman with the attitude of an owner and a dislike for her ex-husband and the man in question.

He smiles, tight-lipped and shy, with the Sun blessing his cheeks along the lines of red coloring. He expects her to launch at him, ask him to leave Somewhere On The Clouds, but instead a gentle smile takes over her face. Oh, of course, someone like her would just know what he’s doing…and why.

“Let me help you with that.” She says, moving closer to him and crouching down at the same time that he does. Wonwoo is spurting out a short laugh as he hears whom he thinks is called Junhui pull Pierre away from the library.

“I’m sorry. I’m a total mess.”

“Or really observative. Guess we’ll never know.” She shrugs, smiling at him when standing up with a pack of books pressed to her chest and the lingering scent of mints following after her.

“Witty.”

“I’m a woman. One has to be.” The answer that leaves her lips has him grinning like a fool, looking down only to be blinded by her sight when staring up again. “I’ll give you a discount just for that.”

“There’s no need—”

The pocket of his jeans is filled by her hand, sliding something quickly there before she’s fleeting away with a simple: “Just take it.”

Half of his mind thinks she has left her number there, and he’d be more than happy. However, Sandara is looking over his shoulder by the time he takes the paper out, viewing a small coupon with clouds drawn all over it that reads off ‘fifty percent off your next order’.

“Dang, I thought it was her number.” Sandara whispers, snapping her fingers. “I’m going to get it for you.”

“No!” Wonwoo shrieks, plastering his hand on top of her arm and dragging his manager closer. “We’re…we’re just going to take the coupon. This is supposed to be a vacation. No love involved.”

“No love involved…” Sandara repeats, laughing at his words. “We’re calling your autobiography that. That’s for sure.”

Huh, even he admits it wouldn’t be a bad name. Much more if it was a rom-com of sorts.

But that’s not going to happen.

The sky looked like a child’s portrait, painted outside the lines. The stars blurred in between the deep shade, though he knew it could be that he needed a new pair of glasses. He kind of forgot his new formula back in Hollywood, and the ones he got were bought on a whim. However, he walks through the empty, too-small streets of the villa, hands fisted in pockets, trying to understand the change of weather. It was windy, but it was a kind of humidity that made him scrunch up his nose every once in a while to sniff a bit of snot.

Allergies. It’s whatever.

Wonwoo rolls on the heels of his shoes, looking up at the sky and wondering why the world feels so unlit as of lately. He’s at peace, but running away from something. Empty. Lonely. And sure, he has gotten used to solitude, at least for now, but what was once something he chose is now the only option that he gets to fulfill. Cornered, in some place far away from home, where he can only wish for life to be different, for better or for worse.

What interests him is the shout he hears after, a commotion of a solid against iron that has him rushing his step the slightest. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to run or go help, but what he sees at eleven at night—when he should be asleep and trying to conceal a good night of rest with a warm glass of milk, as Sandara said—is rather surprising. The owner of Somewhere In The Clouds, a library that he has visited often in this past week, stands in front of a house’s gate, forehead pressed to the iron, hitting her boot against the surface once again.

“Shit.”

She looks rather different than she does with the pastel colors she wears at her library. Wonwoo has seen her a bit, with faint glances and a few exchanged words of good books and prices, but he has never fully developed a conversation. One that matters. Right now, he wishes he was braver, for the expanse of her back is shown in jeans that are falling off her waist and he swears he sees the hairs on her arms stand up upon the breeze that he can’t understand but seems to cherish her in shivers.

“This is all Pierre’s fault!”

She screams at the world, the sky, the heavens that decided divorce was meant to be on her side. But, instead of leaving it at that, she grabs a rock from the ground, molds it on her fist before throwing it at something. Something being Wonwoo, who shrieks at the touch of the rock against his cheekbone. Gasps mingle with the weight of her steps against the pavement when she rushes to him, shouting:

“Goodness gracious! I am so sorry!”

Wonwoo feels the warmth of her skin against his own, palms connected to him in the least delicate of ways, thumb and index finger tracing the cheekbone that must flourish with the tone of roses. However, when he opens his eyes, he realizes that her own hold a weight that he can’t understand. As if every speckle of golden that brims the natural color of them anchors him to a dilemma that he should not want to solve.

“I…I totally didn’t see you there. It’s all the gate’s fault.” She says, only to have Wonwoo clasping her hands on his own, pulling them away from his face softly.

“Where’s your key?”

“My ex-husband took the spare key and now that I left my keys inside, I don’t know what to do.” Her digits wrap around the gate once again, moving it from the front to the back in a motion that causes it to noisily make its state known. Closed as ever. “This is what happens when I decide to have a great time. Jun just…he just wanted to share some mojitos and now, I’m out here, probably a step away from sleeping in the cold.”

Wonwoo chuckles to himself, pondering: “And you’re telling all this to a stranger?”

“You’re not completely a stranger. Judging by your book selection, I can tell a lot about you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, beautiful as ever in the way the wind blows at her hair and connects it with the skin of her face. And on top of it all, she remembers who he is. “You’re not a complete asshole, and that’s enough for me to tell you that this fucking night sucks.”

Tipsy, she is, and Wonwoo chuckles at her antics softly. He remembers, before stardom, how he used not to give a damn about the world, quite like she does. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” He crouches down, caging his hands together to make a socket for her to place her feet on. “You’ll step here and I’ll get you up the gate.”

He shouldn’t be thinking about doing this. For God’s sake, she’s not in her right mind considering there are, at least, three mojitos in her system, and she must think the same because she shakes her head.

“Wonwoo, I’ll crush you.”

“Or you’ll get home safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I didn’t just decide to squat in the middle of the street.”

She rolls her eyes at his words, though a smile transcends to her features. She moves with carefulness, placing one boot on top of his hand and then, the other leg lifts up to follow after the trail of the gate. Wonwoo’s eyes go down her legs and he admits he does peek at the curves that form there, but soon after, he’s more worried about the way she’s clinging to the top of the gates to pass over it.

“Help.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Wonwoo mutters, hoisting her up in his shoulders before pushing her upwards by the back of her thighs. She clings to the metal with strength, only dropping herself when she feels safe, and though she lands directly on her ass, the thud is soft enough for him to ponder that maybe, it didn’t hurt her as much. “You okay?”

“In one piece, so…okay!” The smile that spreads across her features is worth a million dollars, and Wonwoo finds himself gravitating towards her, hands expanded on the gate, separated by the mere iron. He returns the grin, because a gift so beautiful can only be given back, right? “What are you doing out at this time of the night?”

Midnight, it strikes in the imaginary clock. He hasn’t checked his phone because he knows he’ll have missed calls from a sleep-dazed Sandara who wants him to return back to the place they rented for their time there. “Jet-lag has been killing me, and I just needed some time alone to think.”

“Jet-lag? Where are you visiting us from?” Leaning on the gate, her eyes close to slightest to rest, and Wonwoo knows soon will be time for him to leave.

“California.”

“Well, hope my villa traps you a bit longer.” She announces, yawning into her fist before smacking her lips together.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Possibly, probably, maybe. All synonyms. All right.” Once again, that smile that could paralyze traffic if she dared is given to him, but she pushes herself off the gate. “Sorry for stepping on you.”

“No problem.”

“A free book will wait for you.”

“I can totally pay the next one I’ll buy, don’t worry.”

“Never deny a librarian the benefit of giving you a book.” She announces, pointing at him as she swings towards the door. “Wait, the front door is locked, too.”

She stops on her tracks and Wonwoo is ready to stay the night seated outside the gate, just in case someone causes trouble to her, for leaving a woman alone in the middle of the night is not precisely something he is thinking of doing, but when he opens his mouth, she’s already pushing the front window upwards.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting in through the window.”

“I’m not telling you, I’m showing you.” She announces and, for the first time in a while, Wonwoo full on laughs. He doesn’t remember feeling his chest so tightly put-together in a while. The more he sees her wiggle herself through the window, the more he cackles.

“Please, be careful.”

“I am!” And she is, waiving at him once she’s through the window, hair done a mess, shirt falling off one shoulder. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Hollywood.”

“Go to sleep, you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The nickname, strangely, doesn’t settle badly in his stomach. Much less when he gets to see her turn off the lights and doze off to God-knows-where.

Wonwoo has made common occurrence for him to start a new book every Monday. He was on a reading strike for years, only yearning to find the next story he could act in, but it’s much different now. Much more after he decided to accept the book that the librarian had, oh-so-sweetly, decided to gift him.

The story read in utmost perfection. A thriller that chilled him to the bone and cradled him in fear late at night. Something different; and hell, maybe, he’s a little bit insane for wanting to feel something other than anxiousness. All he does is read the pages that week, weakened by the figure at the end of the road, in between clouds of smoke that the book always talks about. Is it real? Is it not? And why does the book end in a way that caused him to drop all the things that were on his hands as he was reading, perched in a boat in the middle of the lake near the library?

He dropped the damned book. He needed to return it. The worst possible outcome happened, because the moment Wonwoo decided to pluck it out of the water, the pages were torn, ink shredded, heart racing within his chest.

He runs away for a while. Escapes the library in hopes of her thinking that he’s just taking a little bit more to finalize the capturing pages of a well-written text. However, life isn’t so great when the next Wednesday, he comes face to face with her. She’s not in her work clothes, hair pulled away by a hair-clip, eyes a little drowsy with sleep as remaining pieces of her mascara cling to her eyelashes. Her hands hold a bag of groceries weakly, a little bit lazily, and while Wonwoo is trying to grab a snack to continue his Wednesday movie marathon—You’ve Got Mail is paused on his screen because he just wanted something salty—, he comes face-to-face with her.

Alright, the anxiousness is back.

“Do I terrify you?”

Wonwoo fixes his glasses, crossing his arms over his chest. Magazines would have torn him apart from the plaid shirt he is wearing today, antique and brought out of a film from the early nineties. He stammers. Gosh, when was the last time someone made him stutter? “Uhm, no?”

“You haven’t gone back to the library, and I’m not certain if it was because I gave you a thriller book or if it was because you saw me drunk out of my ass.” She’s speaking rather quickly, scoffing out a laugh that dies down soon after, rubbing the back of her neck out of nervousness. “I’m sorry. Uh…I must’ve looked like a total serial killer giving you a thriller book.”

The book. What can he say about the book? “Not at all. It was one of the best books I’ve read in a while.” He admits. Too bad it is in the depths of the ocean by now.

“I’ll give it to you, then. The copy, I mean.” She shrugs her shoulders, biting on her bottom lip and staying silent for a brief second that he takes to study her face. Something about her is always rushing; as if she can’t stay still for too long in fear of being caught. By life or someone else, he doesn’t know. Or catching feelings, like he musters could happen if he doesn’t get away soon.

“I wish I could read it again.”

“Then, do it.”

“…I accidentally dropped it in the local lake.” Wonwoo whispers, expecting her to get mad, but she extends a hand on top of her chest and starts laughing. “I—I’m sorry. The ending surprised me that much. Stupid hands.”

“I imagine. I imagine.” She hums, mimicking his pose and crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you making it up to me, Mr. Hollywood?”

He’s knowledgeable in the art of flirting. Not because he has mastered it, but rather because Wonwoo is the one of the being-flirted-on end. He must be reading into it, but the twinkle in her eye incites him, bringing him closer as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Anything in mind, Mrs. Countryside?”

“Ew, I don’t know why I don’t like the sound of that.” She enunciates, only to have him laughing. He sees the portions of her that are fractured, from the way she covers her mouth when laughing, to the slow blink she gives after a minute of silence. As if she wants to be awakened by her thoughts. “Mhm, how about burgers?”

“Burgers?” Wonwoo asks. “That’s what would make you forgive me?”

“A great burger can make me consider forgiving you.” She answers, pressing a hand to his shoulder to balance her weight as she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Write your number down there.”

Wonwoo jots down the digits that he has learned just the past few days, smiling at her. “Alright, you’ve got a free coupon for limitless burgers until we find a book as good as that one.”

“You don’t know what you’re promising.”

“Possibly. But it’s an excuse. Either we find the greatest burger or another good read.”

“Huh, you’re right.” With that, she puts her phone back in her pocket, smiling at him with her full teeth. “I’ll text you for my price.”

“Anytime.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking after her step after she left. How someone so gorgeous hid in such a secluded villa? He would never understand.

The Headlock For Two Challenge.

When Wonwoo ventured into one of the best rated burger places in the villa, he didn’t expect it to be…so simple. Wooden walls and heated tables in bright red, with towers of meat and chicken stacked with perfectly-spiced veggies and sauces that would mingle into one’s tongue for an entire day. She seemed to be impressed when he linked her over to this place only three days after they started talking through text, but she was equally as interested when she read about the challenge in the menu that was presented to them in a small piece of wood, carved letter after letter, honoring the toughness of the place.

“We can totally down this one between the two of us.” She turns the menu around, showing it to a wide-eyed Wonwoo. When he sees the picture, he doubts they can for a little bit. His glasses push his hair away from his face when he takes them off to check it out a little closely. Three layers of bread. This is final—he might die if he takes up on this challenge.

“What’s the price?”

“The burger is a price on its own.” Claiming, she turns the menu around once again before clearing her throat. “We’d also get a picture of us hanging from these very own walls, and, if that’s not a lot on its own—a grand price of a month-worth of free French Fries.”

“You bought me with the fries. I’m not much of a picture guy.”

He has gotten pictures of him taken from every angle and while he adored to catch a sight of the world from another point of view, he hates the way he has been portrayed in such imagery. He’s always perfect. Never himself. And yet, never enough.

“Waiter!” She lifts a hand in the air, catching the attention of the short man with the buttons of his shirt almost popping out from how closely it clings to his belly, but the smile he gives through plump cheeks and a dense moustache would have anyone trusting him with their orders. “We’d like to take over the challenge.”

“Oh, really?” The waiter starts jotting down on his notepad. “A group of men tried to take it down a few days ago. Couldn’t make it without throwing up.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks and he sees her spread a hand on her stomach.

“I meant it when I said I was hungry.”

“Fine. And two glasses of cola with that, please.”

“On our merry way, sir.” The waiter gives a sharp touch of his pen against the pad before closing it and leaving to the kitchen. This is the moment he gets to see her again, closely as she lifts the sleeves of his yellow sweater up to her palms and leans her cheek against one of them, elbows well-prepped on the table.

She tried a little today. He has been under the limelight for long enough to know that there is a glimmer of pink on top of her cheeks, paired with sweet highlighter. She has a red lip on, eyelashes curled until they seem like her eyes are flirting with him just by sharing a glance.

“Why here, Wonwoo?” She asks. “You were in California. Everyone dreams about being there, around celebrities and all. Why here?”

The column of his throat contracts at her words. He almost fears that she has caught him for who he really is—a well-known actor.

“Take my word for it. There’s nothing special there.”

“You’re awfully negative, aren’t you? Here we are, in a villa that no one knows, where the lake could eat me alive one day and no one would remember me, but in a city so grand, where every step someone takes feel like part of a movie, you wish to run away.” She’s babbling, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Isn’t that exciting to you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Wonwoo adds. “Because in a city so big, only a few people are remembered. We don’t choose what we are remembered for, either.”

“Oh, trust me,” She says. “You’d be remembered by good. Everyone in this city coos about the possibilities of you.”

“And that’s the thing. I don’t like expectation.”

“I understand.” She stops. “So, reason—?”

“I’m negative, but you’re good at prodding.”

“I was once a journalist in the making, but I ramble too much. I’d get in front of a camera and freeze, or say something really stupid. Probably both.” She conquers, sighing into her hand. “But you don’t have to answer, actually. I just want to get to know you. You could ask me something of your liking, too.”

He could ask about her library, but they have talked about that through text. He knows that it’s a family’s tree doing, where she loved literature and happened to continue down the road that was crafted for her. A place that was meant for her to walk on, but the wood on the floor was not precisely brought to life by her.

“Why didn’t it work out with your ex-husband?”

The reason why he left California is, perhaps, as personal as her divorce. She doesn’t swallow thickly, but she is left thinking for a moment, looking ahead and towards where he is, before the waiter returns with the burger in his hands and three glasses filled with a yellow, pink and white sauce.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.” Wonwoo compliments, only to have the waiter nodding.

“We start the timer now. Thirty minutes to finish all of this.” Just as he clicks the clock, she takes the half of the enormous burger and places it on her plate, and while he gives it a huge bite that fills his mouth and leaves his jaw hurting, she eats it bit by bit, plucking the food and swallowing it quickly.

“Probably my best kept secret.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “I was promised until death, and then, I realized living one more day with him would be the cause of my death. It’s like…being pricked little by little, being married.”

“In general?”

“To him, precisely. Pierre has his own issues to figure out. He has…these experiences that he wants to go through in love. He wants to try with other people. And I wasn’t going to wait there, watching him mindlessly flirt with people, asking me if I’d ever been with more than one person, until I was finally hurt by something I expected.” She motions, sighing. “And now he’s trying to come back, so maybe, he already tried and thought returning home was the solution of the mess he made.”

“That’s pretty common. I happen to never last more than two months with somebody.” Wonwoo cackles at his own state in relationships, moving his head from side to side. “For a while I thought it was me.”

“How so?”

“Uncapable of being loved, if that makes sense.” Wonwoo announces. “I’ve never tried hard enough to make someone stay.”

“So, you’re the complete opposite of me. I have a hard time letting go.”

“I have a hard time making someone stay.” The mingle of tastes inside his mouth makes him wonder if she just wanted an excuse for them to try something good and new, not precisely break a challenge. Make herself memorable. Or maybe, that’s just her personality. Not everyone has to be trying all the time. “It probably is me.”

“Everyone has their little glimpses of red in their flag.” She jokes, tilting her head to the side when Wonwoo groans. “But hey, I’m a divorced woman, who am I to judge?”

“So, California…stinks a little bit, feels way more dense than this villa does, and it just…it reminds me of who I could’ve been. And who I am not, clearly.”

“Well, Wonwoo,” She picks up a portion of her burger, dipping it in what he thinks is corn sauce, before lifting it up in the air. “Cheers to that. We can be remembered for the picture we’ll have hanging here later this night.”

“Not at this pace.”

“Just say ‘yes’ for once. I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”

She could teach him that life is not filled with ‘no’ responses all the time.

Wonwoo thought the following times they’d see each other; they wouldn’t have any interruptions. However, much to his distaste, the moment he steps inside her house for what she called through the text ‘dinner and a movie’, there was another person invited.

The library’s worker, Wen Junhui, is not commonly known by him, but he has heard wonders about the man around town. As it goes, no one could ever tame him. Not from going around dating, but from being less eccentric. He sits in front of the TV they could have been using, holding fried chicken in between his digits after dipping it in barbeque, and he’s watching some Steve Harvey show that he is not quite sure he’d getting a glimpse of before. Too old for his liking, maybe.

“We have…companionship.” Wonwoo whispers to her, feeling the weight of her hands glide down his arms as she takes off his jacket. When he turns around, he sees her hanging the jacket, running her palms over it to keep it straight before humming.

“I didn’t know we had some either, but I totally promise Jun movie night every Friday. I can’t just kick him out. Or I can. But like, look at his face,” She points a hand towards Jun, who is still munching happily and laughing at whatever the host of the show had said. “One can’t just break a heart that easily. At least, his.”

Wonwoo can accept that Jun, while wearing a tank top and shorts, looks entirely different. A bit childish, with his bangs pushed back by a small clip, eating to his heart’s content. “I’m not saying you should kick him out.”

“But you had the hope it would be the two of us.”

“Awfully conceited, woman, don’t you think?” Wonwoo jokes around, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin. He’s normally not a sweet talker, but he’ll take the merit he can.

“Anyone would want to spend alone time with me.” One of her shoulders shrugs up, the structures of her face fighting their hardest to let out a smile. “Would you want some water, coffee, tea, juice, cocktail? I don’t know how to make cocktails, but I can fetch something up.”

“None.”

“Oh, maybe some energy drink, perhaps? Or, oh shit, you’re from Hollywood, maybe you’d like sparkly water, or bubbly water…”

“Trust me, we have normal water in Hollywood. I think.” He leans down to fix her hair over her shoulder, jotting his chin towards the TV. “Are we ordering something else or we’re sharing chicken with Jun?”

“He will notice there are only two pieces left in a few minutes and order some for everyone, so we just wait.” With that, she walks ahead of him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to snuggle to the density of her white sweater, or that he’s not a bit enamored of the way her thighs fill the ripped jeans around her hips. She’s unique—so homely in a way that he hates he can feel that a little more time with her could end up in him in love.

“Wonwoo!” Jun speaks through a mouthful and in the month that he’s been there, he has gotten to know him a bit. The man is as sweet as one can get, but he’s also a bit odd. “I didn’t know you were coming. Do you want some—?” He stops on his tracks when extending the takeout bag towards Wonwoo, looking down at…yes, two pieces of chicken left. “Let me grab my phone,” He speaks after plopping his thumb in his mouth to lick the remaining sauce off. “And order something else.”

“Told you so.” She mouths after sitting down next to Jun, who is in between them like a child would. “Would you mind ordering a pizza? I think that’d last us some more than the chicken.”

“Oh, totally. There’s a two-for-one coupon in my phone case.” Jun is mumbling to himself, tossing glances towards the TV screen every once in a while before returning to his phone.

“I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry.” Wonwoo announces, but Jun shakes his head.

“The whole coupon thing is true—”

“But I want to pay, let me.”

That’s how they end up watching old marathons of family shows, with one hand holding a slice of pepperoni-filled pizza and the other on the couch behind them as they sit on the couch. When he can, he looks over to where she is and he catches her looking back, with eyelashes fluttering against her under-eyes and lips mingling in a small smile. He’s a bit surprised, however, when Jun is rambling with him about nineties shows, because a hand lands on his behind her friend’s back.

The touch of gentle fingertips hold back when tracing the outline of his knuckles, hesitantly slipping in between his own. Wonwoo feels his heart hammer against his chest, a beat that almost leaves him with ringing in his eardrums, for the blood rushes through his entire body until he can’t mask a smile. And sure, Jun may think that he’s smiling towards him, immersed in a conversation that now is a stammer in his head, considering her thumb is drawing on the veins of his wrist, like the gentle kiss she is not promising, but is making him think about.

In the midst of a villa, Wonwoo starts thinking about possibilities, and percentages have never been his thing more than art does, but the interlude of this story starts to make him think about staying. When Jun leans to grab another slice of pizza, Wonwoo takes this moment to bring that hand closer to his mouth, slotting his lips against her knuckles and watching her widen her eyes while staring at the screen.

Their little secret, now even more engraved in his brain by the expression on her face.

The inhibition of love is a saddened matter. Wonwoo never thought he’d be on the end spectrum of not being able to fully open up. After all, acting takes up the imagery of shredding every portion of himself in order to make a character come alive. He needs to unalive his motions in order to be someone else in front of a camera. However, when laying on that bed of his, in his place in the villa, that had felt more like home than any mansion could ever do for him, he is awfully aware of the person next to him.

“Do you have…um…any idea why I call you Mr. Hollywood?”

The question is soft against the sheets. She’s laying on her side, knee angled until she is almost resting a thigh over his hip. Wonwoo shakes his head, turning his head to look at her from up close. She has forgone the makeup today, hair a bit dirty and laying on top of her head by a ponytail. When she opens her eyes, he’s staring back at her.

“You didn’t answer.”

“Oh, I thought I did.” Wonwoo mumbles, trailing a finger on the side of her face before shrugging. “I have no clue. Anything in particular I should be aware about?”

Wonwoo, when asking to spend time with her almost every day, is knowledgeable of the fact that she’s a very smart woman. However, as the night slips through his clear curtains, cascading along her features in the moonlit nature of a November midnight, his mind forgets the fact that he’s Jeon Wonwoo, and that maybe, his stigma as a person is harder to hide than he thought.

“…I saw you in a movie once.” The confession has his heart hammering against his chest, and he sits up immediately. Not angered, but terrified. Afraid of being used for what is always loved about him—his power, love for acting, his money. “I want you to listen to me, okay? You’ve been here for almost two months and I feel like…it’s time to tell you something. Nothing bad. Just something.”

“You talked to me because of me being an actor?”

“God, no. I didn’t want to talk to you for the same thing. You terrified the hell out of me.” She says, sitting up with him and pressing a hand to his thigh in order to keep him in place. Her eyes beg him to stay close and somehow, he does. Though the alarms in his mind tell him to fleet. “You still do, but for different reasons. I saw you in this movie…Stay With Me? The one where you played a secondary character. The main guy’s best friend. I didn’t recall enough about the movie, but I knew that face. I thought you were…good looking. That’s all. I’m not a fan.”

“That’s a very old film.” It was in the start of his career, when rom-coms would call him just to play the knowledgeable best friend. He has the face of a man who knows how to give advice, they told him. “So, you call me Mr. Hollywood because you know who I really am outside of these walls I’ve built to run away?”

“To remind me you’ll leave, I guess.” She sighs out, running her free hand through the locks of her ponytail. “Calling you Mr. Hollywood reminds me you’re…you know, somehow unreachable.”

“Gosh, I am not!”

“Come on, Wonwoo. I’m just a woman who happens to sell books for a living. Each day, I wake up to a bed on my own, wondering what kind of legacy I’ll leave in this world, but I am also timid enough to not want to be remembered. And it’s the paradigm of being…just somebody else. I won’t be listed as one of the most gorgeous women, neither one of the most talented, but I can reassure you…Wonwoo, anywhere you stand, as an actor or not, you’re special.”

He has seen love in scripts, written to be perfection, clouds of pink that cascade the fall of a person who would have never thought romance would be on their way. He has acted it out, softened eyes and sweet words that come with the clash of lips, but he doesn’t expect how love really feels like. Numbed out of every word that could make him feel insecure, trapped in the odyssey of wanting a kiss that has him leaning forward, capturing her face in his palms and looking into her eyes, not seeking softness, but the reassurance of something else. Of the feedback of warmth.

“And I am just a man who wants you to see him as he is. Hollywood or not.”

“I see you, Wonwoo.” She mumbles, and that’s enough for Wonwoo to lean forward. Fill her with a kiss that threatens to whimper in her mouth when her mouth parts and clashes against his.

Wonwoo feels complete, like a thread follows after him and whispers in his mouth everything he wants to hear without a noise at all. Her hands mingle on the back of his head, legs interlocking with his own. And he hates that even when he is kissing her with fervor; tracing the outline of lips that he wishes to remember to the day of his death, there is still a voice of insecurity.

He leans back on the bed, with her body trailing after his, settling a leg in between his own and pulling away to press a chaste kiss to his jaw, soon after pressing her mouth to his neck. Both of his hands expand on her back, under her shirt to feel the softness of her skin when he whispers:

“Could you please turn off your phone?”

“Excuse me?” She questions, only to have Wonwoo shaking his head.

“I…I got some pictures taken of me. I was intimate with a woman I used to date on-and-off and now…everyone has a picture I didn’t consent to of me in my boxers.” Confessing it has his cheeks blaring in heat, and he expects her to laugh. “And sure, you may think it’s stupid, but—”

She settles her hips on top of his, sitting and reaching for her phone in the bedside table, only to show the screen turning off to him. “It’s not stupid to me. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I can consider.”

“Where were you my whole life?” Wonwoo asks, feeling her mouth return to his neck. And she laughs against his skin, drawing sparkling stars in his stomach and letting them tingle with…whatever feeling he’s starting to let cascade over him.

“Far, far away.”

“But I found you.”

“…You found me.” She interlocks their hands together, smiling at him. “Thank God, you found me.”

“What is this?”

Sandara positions three things on their coffee table in a specific order. A cup of coffee, with a savory smell of Bailey’s that he has been obsessed with every since he tried it on a café shop downtown. A croissant, with an extra layer of powdered sugar on top of it, and of course, what takes him off guard. A stack of papers, placed neatly like a script would. He picks up his coffee, giving it a taste even though he’s eyeing the paper, not touching it.

“Well, we’ve been here for almost three months…” Sandara sits down on the couch next to him. Her hair is shorter than how it had been when they got there, and she has dyed it back to a light brown. She moves it to a side on its entirety before pressing her knuckle to her cheek. “I think it’s time we start to think of a comeback. I was introduced to this idea where you’d star with Cillian Murphy, and I just couldn’t say no. You’re totally reading it.”

Acting is a prolongation of his anatomy. Wonwoo can’t exist without acting, but taking a break has never hurt anybody. He believes that most good actors take one in their lifetime. However, being pushed into stardom once again it’s not something he had thought about. Or he has, but he has always pushed it to the back of his head. That would mean going back to Hollywood, casting interviews where he’ll have to talk about the whole photo incident, perhaps take up on that Calvin Klein campaign that Sandara was so excited about…and that all sounds like a ton of work.

“You didn’t ask me about this.” Wonwoo announces, but Sandara is already placing the script right on top of his lap, pointing at it with a manicured nail. “Sandara—”

“I didn’t ask you, but you need to continue, Woo.” She says. “You’re one of the biggest talents of this generation and you’re throwing it all to Hell because of a picture? No. That’s the answer. We’re not letting that happen. We’re going to meet the team the following Monday and Cillian is going to be there. We can read over some—”

“What?” Wonwoo stands up, throwing the script on the table and shaking his head. “I didn’t consent on going back to Hollywood.”

“Wonwoo, it’s where you’ve grown to be the person you are today. You can’t escape it forever.”

“Yes, but I also don’t have to return just because you’re telling me to. It’s more complicated than that.” Hence, he has spent almost every day sharing kisses, touches, stories and whispers with a woman that he has promised is not temporary. It’s been almost a month since they shared their first kiss…and from then, they have fallen into the comfort of…

A relationship, maybe. That’s what he calls it inside his head, but he’s too afraid to voice it. For reasons as such, like this, when he will need to fly away to Hollywood just because reality is calling.

“They are offering millions of dollars for this, and Wonwoo, you’re going to miss acting eventually. I’m sure you do now, as you are standing here every morning just reading books and doing nothing.”

“Healing is not doing nothing.” Wonwoo corrects, and when he tosses a look at the script, he can admit he is a bit intrigued. How can a person be both here and there at the same time? How can the man he has grown to be in the villa meet the celebrity that he really is?

“Just read it. We both know you want to.”

“And then, what? I never come back here. I have a…someone, a girlfriend, maybe, and I don’t want to leave that behind.”

“I’m not—Just don’t get ahead of yourself. Think first about what you want to do and sure, if it’s staying here for a while more, I’ll accept it. But this is such a good film that is going to rise from the ashes and I want you to be part of it. You need to. It’d be iconic, Wonwoo, I swear.”

Does he want to be remembered by everyone as the actor who could do it all, battle against the tabloids and shine as one of the best performers of the generation? Or perhaps, does he want to be remembered by one person as the man who mended her heart after not wanting to believe in anyone because of a horrid break-up?

“I’ll think about it.” He feels bad about saying it and sitting down with that coffee and croissant to read the first page. “Just leave me alone for a while, will you?”

“Right.” Sandara presses a kiss to the crown of his head, patting the hair soon after. “I’m only doing it for you, I swear.”

“I know.”

That’s the only whisper he can muster to give her as he traces the outline of the title. The ink, the indents, the fresh paper…he misses this, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel ready to return to the emptiness that is felt when going through stardom. He’s enamored of reality, and that isn’t supposed to be a sin.

The more he reads the script, the more he likes it…and he starts to wonder if there are two men living inside of him, or if there is one that perseveres more than the other.

Molding against somebody’s body is a connection on its own. Wonwoo could get used to the dance of breathing that comes with laying next to somebody, when his chest connects to her back, arm weighting her waist down, chin squished to her shoulder. However, this morning is different. They don’t wake up to the sound of her alarm but to something else. His ears make out a noise that is familiar to him.

Flashes.

Clicking.

Shouts.

His name.

Her name.

Why do they know her name?

Wonwoo stands up, breathing quickly with the flaming hope of only being in a nightmare. However, the coldness of the floor seeps through his bare feet when he moves towards the window, moving the curtain to the side in order to see a herd of paparazzi standing outside of her home. Jun is in front of them, waving his hand like an idiot and posing for the camera. Quite like the characters in White Chicks would.

“Love, where are you going?” She’s mumbling against the pillow and for a moment, all Wonwoo sees is white. He feels let down by the woman waiting for him in the mattress. How could they have found him here, when he has gone months to no end completely unnoticed by the citizens? And Jun is enjoying the attention, that has to say something.

“Nowhere. I am unable to go anywhere because there are fucking paparazzi in your front yard.” Wonwoo lurks through the clothes left on the floor, running the fabric of a cotton t-shirt over his body and sighing in distaste. He’s walking from side to side in the bedroom. The paparazzi will only leave when he gets out of that door, after all.

“What?”

“Just tell me the truth. When did you call them? I was with you the entire night.” Wonwoo points out the obvious, placing his hands in his waist and frowning towards her. Her eyes widen and he swears he sees the little, fragile glass that she has within her chest playing as a heart breaking with one look alone. “You did exactly what everyone did before you—”

��Fuck, Wonwoo, what are you even saying? I would never do that to you!” She stands up and though he wants to believe her, he has heard that before. She’s walking towards him, sheets pressed to her chest, pleading at him with her vision alone. “Let me see.”

“No!” He shouts, taking her by the arm and keeping her away from the window. “If they take a picture of you, it’ll be everywhere in a second.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how t—these things work.” She stutters, pressing her hand on top of his and trying to rub at the skin there. “Wonwoo, you have to believe me. I would never betray your trust like this.”

“Your roomie is out there making a show out of this.”

“Jun would never, either! He’s probably just enjoying the attention.”

“My God.” Wonwoo takes another glimpse out of the window, feeling his eyes get filled with tears. “How…How am I supposed to believe you when it all ends like this? Another scandal. I don’t deserve to be in the highlights of a magazine once again!”

“I’m sorry…” She mumbles, trying to catch him in her arms but he’s moving. Walking out of the bedroom, he goes down the set of slim stairs as he prepares to go through the masses of paparazzi and perhaps, lose himself in the process of stardom once again. Vacant answers, eye-rolls, and the undignified tilt of his head looking down because of the flashes and the lack of sincerity towards his self. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m—I’ll go with you, just let me get dressed and I’ll talk to them with the truth. They just need to know who you really are.”

“You truly believe that being sincere is what helps me here?” Wonwoo turns around, looking down at her and scoffing. “Sunshine, I’ve tried to be sincere in a world where they only want to see my worse and I expected you to understand that.”

“…You know, I’m starting to feel offended that you don’t believe me. I understand you, but I would never do this to you.” Wonwoo sighs at her words, sparing one good look at her face. He will miss the shared laughter and even more so the love that she had gifted to him without nothing in return. Nothing more than loving her back.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience in your home.” Wonwoo says, putting on his jacket and his sunglasses before turning around and nodding at her. “And thank you for giving me the benefit of loving you.”

“Wonwoo—”

He opens the door in a hassle, eager for paparazzi not to see her in her pajamas and shred her to pieces. Jun greets him happily, offering him a cup of coffee that he ignores as he walks through the masses. The cameras go wilder for him, asking him questions:

“Where is your new love?!”

“When are you returning to Hollywood?!”

“Is she aware of your soft-porn pictures?!”

“Is this the end of your career?”

At this last question, he turns around, grabbing the microphone from the journalist’s hand and adding: “I don’t know, you’ll be the judge of that.” With that, he gets inside his car, hands trembling as he years to get out of there. They will follow after him, but the best he can do is reach Sandara and hope that she can take care of it.

With a broken heart and his wheels swirling, Wonwoo gets out of her life for good.

And he doesn’t look back.

For twenty-one days, she curses believing in love again. Even so, she starts to ponder if she should take out the entirety of the romance shelf off her library, but Jun is the one to stop her before she wiped out the best-selling row of their plethora of books. A fraction of her being understood where Wonwoo was coming from, and maybe, that’s the reason that upon hearing he’d be holding a press conference in a city nearby her own, she decided to go give it a glimpse. Perhaps, be another fan that just happened to get a little too close to the star.

“You’re losing your damn mind.” Jun says when following after her, entering the crowds of people that mingle to get a glimpse of Wonwoo as he’s expected to enter one of the most popular hotels in the city. “And I’m starting to like it. You’ve never acted like this before.”

“Jun!” She drags, a little mortified that she’s here. She has tried contacting Wonwoo, but the last thing she heard about him is that he had taken a plane back to Hollywood. She was even a bit surprised that he had come back. Everyone was trying to deduce who was the one that had captured him for three months in some secluded villa that no one had been able to find him in, but the masses of rumors were met by silence from his team as they announced his new film. “I shouldn’t even be here. He hates me, and for pictures that I wasn’t even in.”

“And I finally got the number of the girl in the supermarket because she saw me on TV. One of us is winning, so that makes two of us winning.” Sometimes, she wishes to pluck each hair of Jun’s head one by one only to see if he has a proper adult reaction. However, her best friend wraps an arm around her shoulder, grinning at her. “Are you sure you want to be around here? I looked up the best places to visit around here and we can totally go. It wouldn’t be on vain either.”

“I want to see him. One last time.” She ponders, humming at his words. Though, she has to scream a bit, considering the fans are going crazy, talking within themselves about the announcements he was supposed to be making today. “You know, maybe I can pluck him out of my heart that way.”

Though, that thought completely vanishes when looking at him. Wonwoo has decided to wear a long brown coat, sunglasses propped on the tip of his nose, getting out of a limousine as two guards help him get through the groups of people. A black shirt enters his black slacks, accentuating the waist she’d rest her cheek on when hugging him from the side as he poured coffee for her in the early mornings. She had lost that, along with the smile that characterized him when being with her. Though, she can say it had been taken away from both of them.

They are placed in a corner of the grand room in the hotel that is supposed to be taken up by Wonwoo and his team. He’s seated on a table, well perched and high on the stage, with Sandara on one side and another man whom she does not recognize on the other, but he’s making sure that the microphone is working well. The fans, such as them, are on the side to support him as the journalists take up most of the space.

Like parasites, she realizes, when the interview starts to enroll.

It’s supposed to be a press conference to announce the return of Wonwoo to acting and stardom, but they have made it all about the pictures that months ago had reached a magazine because of his ex…situationship, and also included glimpses of her. Of the mysterious woman whom he can’t find words, for he chooses other questions and gets shouts from the journalists who want more from him. He does admit to have signed a contract for a film, and she’s entranced in the way he speaks about the plot and what he wishes out of it.

A woman in her forties stands up, heels clicking when she plots her hip to the side, grabbing the microphone in between her hands with expertise before adding: “We have gathered information and found out, Mr. Jeon, that you have lived in the villa for almost four months by now. Reading books, having coffee, just living the life of a man in his fifties while also being in your twenties. What was the reason to stay out of stardom for so long and do you wish to go back to it any time soon?”

Wonwoo is uncomfortable; she can tell by the way he wrings his hands and turns them pale after taking off his sunglasses. He’s rotting in between the sense of lying or being truthful to himself. However, before Sandara could say to ask another question, Wonwoo leans over the microphone and sighs.

“Because I…happened to meet people who made me want to stay, and I sadly did not have the chance to stay for longer.”

“How so?” The journalist keeps prodding now that he has answered, and Sandara takes up over the microphone.

“I think it’s time we cut this round off—”

Though, Wonwoo gently pushes her away, rubbing at one eye before clearing his throat. “Because, as an actor, I have played enough roles for people to visualize me as such. I wanted to be someone normal for once, and reading books, like you said, made me unite with the citizens around the villa. I—I would have stayed if I could, but…reality wants me here. This is who I am.”

That could be the finalization of them, and it should have been, but damn her for being stubborn and knowing precisely when a good person is leaving her life, because she places a hand on top of Jun’s shoulder and whispers in his ear:

“Hoist me up. I’m going over the gate and getting to him.”

“What?”

“I can’t let him leave like that. Not without knowing I love him, at least.”

“Alright. If you’re going to jail, I’m going with you.”

What a paradox, it is, that the start of their story included him helping her get over her own gate and now she does as such, earning gasps and shouts from the masses of people as the guards rush towards her and catch her just in time for her mouth to let out:

“I just—Hey, I just wondered, Mr. Jeon, if you’d like to hear something from one of the citizens!” She’s battling against the strong hands of the guards trying to drag her away, feet kicking and asking to be given a second by Wonwoo.

She swears she sees a smile creep up his features when he leans over the microphone once again and says: “Let her go. I know her.”

The strong pair of arms unravels from around her waist and she sighs out in glee before she’s granted a microphone. She fixes her hair, stands up a little straighter and hates the fact that she didn’t try to look better after twenty-one days of missing him. “I was wondering, Mr. Jeon, if there was anyone who would have made you stay in that villa if it weren’t for your duty calling you. If…if it hurt you leaving the villa at all.”

She should expect the worst, judging by the ways cameras start flashing and people start whispering within themselves. However, Sandara is talking in Wonwoo’s ear, eager to get him to say the right thing, but as they look at each other, they are back to the nights in which she’d ask him to turn off the lights because she didn’t want him to see her without makeup or sick and he’d shrug his shoulders without a care in the world. They are back to the first time he was able to sleep next to her without turning off all the phones in the house.

It’s just the two of them. Their world. Their villa. Their three months.

“…You. You are the only one who could make me stay.”

That’s what makes everyone talk louder, after the bead of silence that leads up to the grandest reveal. The cameras turn towards her and she’s afraid of how she’ll look after, but that won’t matter if Wonwoo returns…one day, even after the movie, even for the weekends or when he’s free.

“That’s…that’s lovely.” She says, looking up as not to feel shy or embarrassed by what she’s about to admit. “Because I want you to stay, Wonwoo.”

“Um, I think we need to return to the questions—” Sandara is speaking, but Wonwoo has lifted his eyebrows, smiling softly and standing up from his spot and going over to where she is. Each step slows down the closer he gets, and the guards move to his place in order not to have journalists or fans jumping at him.

“Before you say anything,” She starts, interlocking her hands together in front of her body. “I…I love you. I just need you to know that. I don’t need anything else right now.”

Wonwoo quirks his head to the side, cheeks blushed and hands fisted in his pocket. “Well, I was about to offer three months in Los Angeles to film a movie and then, back to our villa indefinitely but—”

“You have to be joking.” She coos with a smile on her face, but Wonwoo shakes his head.

“Pretty honest. I am characterized for being such, aren’t I?”

Before she knows it, she’s launching herself at his arms, lips jotted to his own and even though everyone is looking, she couldn’t care less.

Indefinitely. That starts to sound a lot like forever, and with him, that doesn’t seem impossible.

“I love you, too.” He whispers as she hides her face from the cameras in his jacket, laughing at his words.

dedicated to @wisteria-woo

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #actor!au #notting hill!au #and my return from writing after months be nice to it omg

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xeeroo08 · 1 year

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Astro Observations 《2》

Disclaimer : I am not an astrologer so please take these observations with a grain of salt. Plus I have noticed, I ranted a lot here so please bear with me. It's only for fun.

♦️ Mercury could indicate what kind of genre/content you like to read. For example:

Mercury in Taurus/2nd – Cookbook, rom-com, finance, fashion magazines.

Mercury in Leo/5th – Children's story books, Tales, quizzes, riddles, Adventures books.

Mercury in libra/7th – Romance novels, fashion magazines, pamphlets, brochures.

Mercury in Scorpio/8th – Non-fiction, Thrillers, mystery, smut.

Mercury in Sagittarius/9th – Encyclopedia, Rom-adventure, historical books, Atlas.

Mercury in Pisces/12th – Spiritual books, inspirational, Autobiographies.

♥️ Pluto in 11th house is a big Best friend crisis placement, if you ask me. In this, you can never be anyone's only bestfriend and no one can be your bestfriend. Friends are a lessons in your life. They come, you transform each other in some way, they go. Nobody stays long enough. Their definition of best friends is tricky, because– "We have known each other for 6 years but we haven't talked since 3 years, are we still besties?" To these people, Instead of feeling betrayed or petty, accept it and move on.

♦️ People with Asteroid hobby in their 11th house might like to do coding or other technical work. Technology and social media plays a major role when they are free. They might even share their hobbies with others on social platforms.

♥️ No matter what the reputation says, Sagittarius venus are the most hardcore lovers. They also don't mind a bit of possessiveness in the relationship. When I say possessiveness, they don't want to hear how you will lock them up in a castle for the rest of their life if they try to run away from you. Whereas, that might be a fantasy for some but its not for Sag venus. They will purposely take the next immediate flight and be gone for good. What they actually want to hear is how you will chase them to the moon and back. And no matter where they go, you will always be there to embrace them with your open arms. All we Sagittarius people need is to feel grounded not caged.

♦️ Asteroid Lie aspecting Neptune could make very imaginative and fluent liars. Sometimes it won't make any sense but you will still believe them because they lie with such a honesty and projection that you are forced to doubt your own judgment. Their lies are very descriptive and they make them on the spot. They appear dreamy as if they are not lying but living their own reality. Sometimes it comes handy to them but sometimes it backfires when they forget what they lied about for no reason.

♥️ Aquarius Rising got nothing on Uranus conjuct ascendant. Look, I get that Aquarius is ruled by Uranus but honestly I can't relate to the stereotype when they say Aquarius risings have a unique fashion sense. Being a Aquarius rising and having Uranus in first house I personally think it fits the Uranus conjuct ascendant more. Yes, I like to stand out but my fashion sense is not that unique. I like it different but simple. My brother has a 12th house Uranus conjuct ascendant and he is a uranian more than me. He wears the most unconventional outfits at very wrong timings. He has a very unique fashion sense and he remains fixated on it until the last moment. Man... and he still pulls it off effortlessly. I could never do that.

♦️ Asteroid Sharp (5426) true to its name could indicate the area of your life where you excel the most and are quite attentive. You also learn and grasp those parts quickly. For example: Asteroid Sharp in Aquarius means you are good with electronics,technology, innovating things. In 2nd house could mean you handle money matters very well. In 10th house, you make profitable business deals, bargains and have a good eye when it comes to trading something.

♥️ Have you seen a Mars in 4th house getting angry? They are never angry. Well, never angry enough to be angry. But be careful just because they are not saying anything for the past twenty minutes while you are chewing their head off doesn't mean they are calm. It means either you are someone they can't cross with for the time being or they are thinking of hundred ways to kill you without getting into jail. Good luck bby, these people are damn calculative and smart. They will let you walk all over them for a moment but later.... oh boy you will not even realize what hit you. And trust me, they will have a strong alibi.

♦️Venus in 10th house 🤝 Get them a man/woman with financial stability. They themselves prefer to be independent and classy in a relationship. But no matter what financial stability is a must for them. Maybe not the first but definitely one of the top priorities.

♥️ Virgo Mars people are really fond of ropes, handcuffs, belts, elastic things and all. Idk why my brother keeps checking their strength when he encounters them. Hmm...sus

♦️ Saturn in 1st house could mean you were forced to grow up too early. You had many responsibilities on your shoulders at a young age and faced a lot of difficulties expressing your weaknesses. You might also be the person in the family who is looked upon and respected the most. No decision is taken without your consultation because you are considered to be the wisest of all.

♥️ Pluto in 3rd house, don't tell me your school life was easy. Either you failed a subject, were bullied for no reason, had abusive teachers, teachers who always picked upon you, unstable attendance or your family could hardly afford your studies.

♦️Scorpio/8th house Mars and their gazes. God, please don't stare at me like that. I get chills. There was this girl in my class. She used to stare at people a lot, that too bluntly. We thought she was creepy. But later after knowing her, she turned out to be really sweet and pretty decent girl.

♥️ Moon in 3rd house, very very curious people. They need to know everything there is in this world until they are emotionally satisfied. My 8 year old cousin asked me where do babies come from? She also added, don't say from God.

♦️I don't know about other Pisces placements but Pisces venus, they do have a thing for foot. Trust me on this, I had a deep conversation about this topic with my cousin who is a Pisces venus and because I didn't want to go with stereotype judgment, I had to make sure it was true. But it can vary from person to person tho.

♥️ Saturn in 2nd house people could come from a poor household or used to be financially unstable. But trust me it doesn't stay this way throughout. They usually face many difficulties with money until they don't at all. Karma always pays off and most of the times they live a very satisfied life. Very down to earth people. They don't fear poverty either.

♦️8th house Virgo are suckers for hygiene and perfection. But can be quite freaky in bed. Or the complete opposite of both. They can also have a guilty conscience after sex or masturbation.

♥️ Chiron in Capricorn/10th house can be very hard on themselves. These people often feel incompetent when it comes to their professional life. They can be insecure and anxious if things don't go their way. For them being unemployed is much worse than being heartbroken and it can be destroying.

♦️ Saturn in 6th house placements have an unimaginable disturbed mental health. They don't show and it seems as if no one sees it either. They pretend that everything is okay and no one can tell that it is not. Sometimes they are not even capable to share because people around them make them feel as if they are not supposed to. They often feel restricted when it comes to their emotions.

♥️ Now this is kinda funny but I have noticed some of the people having Sagittarius in fifth house or prominent Sagittarius/Gemini placements come off very lively and enthusiastic when it comes to kids. They also have a thing for irritating kids in a funny way to the point they start crying. Then they laugh it off.

#mercury #sagittarius venus #zodiac signs #astrology #astro observations #sharp #asteroid sharp #saturn in 6th house #pluto in 3rd house #saturn in 2nd house #aquarius rising #uranus conjuct ascendant #pluto in 11th house #asteroid hobby in 11th house #asteroid lie #mars in 4th house #venus in 10th house #virgo mars #Capricorn chiron

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ridestomars · 9 months

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GIRL U WANT – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: steve harrington is in love with his coworker, y/n, and max mayfield can't stand how annoying a lovesick steve is. 𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: y/n is used!! it's kinda told from max's point of view. idiots in love (obv), max and steve have a little sister-older brother relationship. bad grammar ig. not proofread (yk the deal). 3k-ish words.

💭 liv's thoughts: look at me rewriting my wip list works. this is another one that has been sitting on my docs page for ages, and i finally got the courage to fulfill it. i hope you guys like it!

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

“Look at you with your mouth watering, look at you with your mind spinnin'. Why don't we just admit it's all over? She's just the girl you want”.

People say patience is a virtue, but Maxine Mayfield begs to differ.

She doesn't believe in that "good things come for those who wait" crap, because nothing nice ever came her way for just standing there until something happened. The only thing she got from waiting around was a terrible yearning sensation of what could have been if she wasn't such a wimp. That is why Max doesn't exercise the righteous quality of patience, preferring her natural impulsiveness instead. Her restlessness is just too precious not to be used – Seventeen magazine insists on telling her that it's just a thing Aries girls do.

Her effort usually pays off, but when it doesn't, there is nothing better than a "fuck you" to tend the wounds. Rejection is always a possibility, but being disappointed because of it isn't, and with time, you learn how to deal with the negative responses… despite that, Max likes to consider herself too persuasive to ever be declined.

But she has to admit that her intrinsic sense of fearlessness can make her a little insensitive when it comes to people's fear of rejection because, to her, it's just all so simple. Though she tries to be understanding, others' stupidity can become a bit too much for her to handle, and she almost always finds herself on the verge of scolding them for their inability to be bold. It was like when she first started dating Lucas: she had a very serious talk with him about his embarrassment to complain about his wrong orders to the servers because he fears being met with a rude attitude – she still walks up to the workers to point out that his order came with pickles when he didn't want any, but just because it's him.

For some time now, Max found herself in an annoying situation. Over her boring vacation evenings, she began visiting Family Video a lot, and began picking up on something that grew to be infuriating: Steve's and Y/N's constant bullshit. Their (initial) quiet pining was cute, at first, because it made her feel like she was watching a real-life rom-com, with an exciting "will they or won't they?" plot line… reminiscent of the late-nights where she would pretend to be asleep on the living room couch to catch the new Cheers episode, to see if Diane and Sam would finally get together. Yet, as the days passed and their never-ending coyness appeared to only grow stronger, her hopes started to falter. In fact, the situation began to get so obvious that it started to get on her nerves. Big time.

She was an observer, and easily noticed the lingering looks as they talked, one getting distracted by the other's lips, or the way their brows furrowed when attempting to flirt. Or the jealous blush that dusted over Steve's cheeks whenever he saw you talking to a good-looking customer. And then, whenever you weren't at work, she hears his grumpy huffs that turn into infatuated sighs as soon as you walk through the door, apologizing for being late. It wasn't hard to miss your affectionate words about him when he wasn't around, as if talking about your co-worker would make his absence more tolerable.

What was sweet, quickly turned into tiresome when the instances of you two almost kissing turn into a daily thing. She can't count the times when she caught Steve leaning his face closer to yours, taking the courage to make his move, but right at the last second… the plan totally backfires. You either bump heads (Max physically cringes whenever she remembers the scene) or too distracted, ended up turning away from the other. Either option brought a burning ache to the chest.

The blatant crush you have on each other followed Max everywhere she goes as if she was doomed to hear about it until the end of times. Steve was never necessarily reserved about his infatuation – although it seemed like everyone knew about it, except the one person that should –, and since he gives her rides everywhere, she found herself listening to him babble about the gorgeous gleam in your eyes and your shiny hair. The guy sees you as something sacred, and yet… he never admits that he actually likes you, despite the fact that you are all he ever talks about.

To him, you are a piece of heaven on Earth, the person who understands him the most and makes him feel good about himself, among other incredibly elaborate platonic compliments.

Max knows Steve is pretty much the most idiotic guy to ever exist, but he isn't stupid. It's obvious that he just doesn't want to admit his feelings because, if he does, he will have to do something about it, and being blind to the fact that you feel the same, he doesn't want to risk it. If things went wrong, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.

The only question roaming Max's head is: he is secure, but at what price?

It all makes days like today even more unbearable.

They have been sitting inside Steve's burgundy BMW for almost five minutes now, with the clear window closed, the A/C turned up to maximum speed, and Madonna's 'True Blue' playing on the radio. After their arrival at Family Video's parking lot, Max had asked for a minute, just one fucking minute, to fix her shoelaces and Steve used it as an opportunity to daydream as he stared out the windshield. His eyes were set ahead, and she didn't need to look to know who he was staring at.

This was starting to get depressing.

"Steve," Max calls, as harsh as ever. "Stop".

As if he had just been electrocuted, Steve turns his head to stare at the fifteen-year-old. Eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, he defends himself, "But I'm not doing anything".

"Exactly, you moron," she grumbles. "You gotta tell her".

'No more sadness, I kiss it goodbye. The sun is burs-', Max interrupts Madonna by turning off the radio, stopping any possible distractions.

It's clear that Steve doesn't like where this is going, because his face contorts into that sour annoyed look that makes her take a deep breath. This is going to be difficult.

"Tell what to who?" pretending to be clueless, he purses his lips, but his eyes don't lie, quickly drifting back to Y/N's figure. There was no escape now, not with Max's sharp gaze bearing down on him.

"You're so full of shit".

"Hey! Language, Maxine," he reprimands, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about".

"You're in love with her," she motions to his co-worker who was still blissfully unaware of the car parked outside.

And her words rang as an absurdity to him.

"Max, for the love of-," his protest is interrupted by the girl and the know-it-all tone he hates so much.

"Steve, you're so into her it's ridiculous," her blue eyes narrow at him, hardening her expression. He scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks in the other direction, trying not to give too much away.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with him staring out the window, refusing to take part in the discussion, and Max glaring at his blushing, conflicted face.

But then, he breaks.

"Fine," Steve breathes out, "I mean, I'd make out with her… like, platonically, you know?"

The word comes out as if he had just remembered it existed, and Max doesn't buy it for a second, "You can't make out with someone platonically, Steve".

He takes her harsh delivery with a contemplating face, letting it all sink in. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did break his argument, and he finds himself agreeing with what she had said… and he gets a grip.

"Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?" he mutters, in disbelief. Huffing, Steve turns back at her, already gripping the door handle, "You know what, smarty-pants? I gotta work".

"I'm fifteen, Harrington! And we're not done!"

Max trails behind him as he gets out of the car in a hurry, stepping heavily into the pavement. As Steve bursts through the glass door with the girl in tow, they catch the attention of everyone inside Family Video. He gives you and Robin an embarrassed smile, stepping onto a random aisle, trying to hide from the curious stares.

From the corner of his eye, Steve realizes that he still hasn't gotten rid of the stubborn girl, so he gathers the cluttered tapes and organizes them, in a failed attempt to avoid Max's inquisitive look. Moving the Pretty in Pink tapes around, the redhead crosses her arms, still staring.

"You should learn a thing or two about that movie, you know?" she says with a quiet voice.

"What are you talking about, Mayfield?" he asks with a defeated sigh, clearly getting annoyed by her.

"Duckie didn't do anything about his crush on Andie, and had to settle for being her best friend in the end," she spells it out for him, "While she got to make out with Andrew McCarthy. Arguably more good-looking and charming than Jon Cryer".

Steve rolls his eyes, but the situation does ring out an alarm at the back of his mind. What if… no, let's not go there. "What are you trying to say, wise-ass?"

"I'm saying," she continues, not willing to let him take a breath, "Are you truly willing to miss your shot? Stop being such a coward and go for it!".

"You talk as if I actually have a chance".

There it is.

This was what she wanted to hear.

"Steve, the girl is almost putting up a bright sign saying 'Go for it! Ask me out, you idiot!'".

Drifting his eyes away from the tapes he was organizing, Steve watches as you laugh at something Robin had said. His gaze softens as he contemplates the scene, his hesitancy quavering every time the sound of your laughter reached his ears. This time, seeing the longing look in his eyes made a gentle, sympathetic feeling grow inside Max's chest, so different than the impatient annoyance she was so used to.

"Look, Steve," her green eyes droop with friendly warmth. Though she might say that this is such a rare sight, that is what he sees every day when he talks to her. "I'm just saying what I noticed, and even if I'm wrong, which I'm not, by the way, you gotta take this off your chest. This is your chance!".

Staring down at her, he can only blink. Her encouraging words are settling in his mind, screeching as they do so, and he wonders… the gears inside his head spinning out of control, smoking everything so bad he almost can't see anything. Steve feels a bit out of breath.

But, impatient as always, Max keeps going as if she hasn't just collapsed all of his plans to stay in your friendship's comfort zone. With the wisdom that few possess, she continues, "I know you're still hung up on your Nancy-heartbreak and everything, but you're standing in your own way on this one, Steve. I can't tell you what the future holds, but I'm sure that you'll feel a lot better after you tell her about it".

His intentions to continue ignoring it all are crumbling to dust inside him right now and her words make him feel defenseless, too vulnerable to continue disregarding his own fear of possible rejection.

"That doesn't make sense," he scoffs, though his voice is soft and quiet, "Why would I want to do something like that if I don't know what the outcome is? She might just turn me down, and I don't think I could…"

Eyes drifting back to your breathtaking figure behind the counter, he stops himself before finishing the sentence. His face lit up with an astonishing expression of realization. Steve lets out another defeated sigh… maybe Max was right.

With a knowing smile, she tells him, "Because you know she's worth it".

xxx

Steve has had his head in the clouds ever since his little chat with Max earlier and could barely concentrate on having any work done throughout the rest of his shift. It didn't help that he also couldn't escape the sight of you from any corner of Family Video, and had to take several breaks until closing hours to avoid his head from exploding.

Pacing back and forth inside the employee's break room instead of helping you put everything away (not exactly the top priority on his list right now), Steve tries to muster up even the slightest string of courage to talk to you about his feelings.

Now, on top of being an absolute wimp, he can also add useless when thinking to his list.

He takes a big breath as he replays what Max had said, and almost unconsciously, snippets of Billy Joel's 'Tell Her About It' start echoing with it. The combination was able to help him make an outline of everything he'd like to say to you.

"I like you. I don't want the chance to slip away. It's okay if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to say something before it's too late", he mutters to himself, still walking in circles. "If yes, then, ba-ba-bam, charm her up. If heartbreak, retreat. I'll be fine. Fine. Just fine. A-okay".

Steve feels the same rush as he felt before going to his High School basketball matches, and he can only hope that the results will be far more positive. He takes another deep breath, shaking his arms before he walks over to the door. His fingers touch the door handle, cool under his fingertips. This is his chance. The store was closing, there were no customers around, and Robin had left early for band practice.

Let's do it, he thinks to himself.

Determined and possessed by a sense of overconfidence, Steve snaps the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud noise. The sudden movement turns your attention on him, and he can feel his cheeks burning bright under your gaze, his faux bravado trembling below the warmth of your eyes. The quizzical look you gave made him question his own ability for the dramatics.

"It, uh, got stuck", he offers an embarrassed smile.

Good. Already starting with a lie.

"Yeah," your expression turns into amusement, "it gets jammed all the time".

The kindness in your voice makes him feel a little better about himself, maybe he wasn't being such a fool in front of you. His heart started to thump inside his chest, blood pumping in his ears like thunder as he walked closer to where you stood, just behind the big counter. With an intense gaze set on your face, he watched as your eyebrows furrow in his direction again.

"Is there something on my face?" you lift your hand up to your cheek, wiping it off in a hurry.

"No! It's just-," he interrupts himself, suddenly realizing that this script wasn't supposed to go this way. What is he meant to say now? Under your expectant gaze, it's not like he can think of anything intelligible. "It's not that".

"Oh, okay," breathing out, seeming relieved by the information, you bring your hand down. With a voice that dripped with curiosity, you ask, "Why we-were you staring, then?"

Steve feels so stupid now that he can only blink down at you, his head getting fuzzy by that cute look in your eyes and the way your lips quirked up, stifling a smile. Yeah, he's a goner.

Before he could actually think about what he was saying, he hears the sound of his voice echoing through the empty video rental store, "I don't wanna be a Duckie".

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out loud, though it's clear that you're not laughing at him. His words took you both by surprise, and he couldn't expect any other reaction.

"Sorry," Steve apologizes, chuckling along, "I didn't mean to say that. What I wanted to say was… well, by the look on your face I think you already know".

Again, he just blurted it out without reflecting on it first. But it was justified.

For the first time, he saw something different in the way you looked up at him. Maybe it was just him being impacted by Max's words, but Steve swears that he has never seen that mellow tenderness gleaming in the color of your eyes before… or at least, he had never noticed it like this. He feels like an even bigger idiot now for not realizing it sooner.

"Know what?" your question comes as a sign of your unawareness of his new understanding, and it makes a sweet smile grow on his face.

"I like you".

The three words come out in a far more relaxed way than he had originally imagined his confession to be. Clearly, his realization made a wave of true confidence wash over his body, putting him back in his element of ease. And to say it out loud was a relief like no other.

But when he was met with no answer, just that shocked look on your face, his smile faltered.

"It's alright if you don't feel the same," he reassures, "I just… I didn't want to keep waiting around, wasting more opportunities by never telling you how I feel, because if you feel the same, I really don't want you to get away just like that. And uh- I don't want to be just your friend, but it's fine if you-"

"I like you too", you talk a bit louder than him, interrupting his train of thought, without any remorse. "I, uh- never said anything because I thought you didn't like me back".

He is still, like a statue in front of you, processing the information.

And it seems like an eternity before he cups your face, the palms of his hands resting warmly over your cheeks. His long fingers graze against your temples, and just the feeling is enough to ease your hammering heart, but as he leans closer to your face, you can feel your own breath ricocheting against his lips.

Steve stares at you through half-lidded eyes, as if he is waiting for your go-ahead. And it's only when you softly nod up at him that he presses his mouth against yours, letting his lips wrap around your bottom lip in a soft, loving peck. His mind was misty with increasing thoughts of you, your candy-flavored lips, and the smooth texture of your cheeks, along with the feel of the roots of your hair on his fingertips. You were breathing in each other in your kiss, and your breath came faltering against the other cheek. It was truly world-shattering, something you had never felt before in your life.

As you slowly, and almost reluctantly so, pull apart, Steve feels a small chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Seeing your amused expression, he smiles.

"We have so much time to make up for".

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie.

𖤐 taglist: @oncasette if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

#liv talks about stevie #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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lemonhemlock · 1 year

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tried watching the new queen charlotte series but was immediately put off by the ridiculous anti-corset propaganda, so get ready for another rant.

first of all, this is the georgian era so what she's wearing are called /stays/ - corsets are a victorian invention. why do we still not know this in 2023 when period productions have remained consistently popular throughout the years? the concept of tighlacing (the goal being a reduction of the waist) is also victorian and was not the norm at all and v much an extreme practice. this understanding of history is so superficial, it's as if an alien were to open up People magazine and conclude that all human women resort to butt injections and lip fillers to stay with the fashion of the times. also, no, you cannot tighlace in stays to obtain a waist reduction because they are shaped like a funnel (picture 1 = long stays, 2 = short regency stays, 3 = corset)

charlotte goes on to complain about how dangerous whalebone is and that it might kill her if she makes the wrong move. what the actual fuck? whalebone was actually the very best material to use for this because it was sturdy yet flexible and allowed the /stays/ to completely and comfortably mold around a woman's unique body shape. one of the reasons why today it is v difficult to replicate the same effect in corsetry is because we do not have access to whalebone (killing whales is not cool for obvious reasons) so corset-makers have to resort to other materials like plastic or metal, which CAN break. whereas whalebone doesn't really break as easily. furthermore, stays/corsets were NEVER worn on bare skin, but with a chemise/shift underneath.

why did women in the past resort to this type of undergarment, you ask? well, apart from the fact that women need bust support, the stays also serve the purpose of allowing all the many skirts and petticoats to be placed comfortably onto the waist. you try piling on that much fabric around your bare waist and see how you like it and if you can even carry it all around without it cutting into your stomach.

clothes throughout human history did cater to the popular fashions of the time, yes, but they also reflected the technological limitations and there was thus a practical aspect to it. this is a time before elastic bands, before industrialization and fast fashion, clothes are v difficult to make, everything is done by hand, so a lot of care is put into preserving them, because they are /expensive/ and labour intensive. you don't want your fancy outergarments to get ruined so you wear a lot of undergarments to absorb your bodily fluids since those are easier to make and don't have to look "pretty", can be stained and patchy etc. again, why do you need so many layers in the first place? because this is a time before comfortable heating, with poorly isolated and drafty houses, and it's bloody cold otherwise.

the third reason why that monologue was so dumb is because CHARLOTTE is the reason regency court dress was so preposterous. long story short, in a few decades, the fashionable silhouette changes wildly from the late 1700s to the 1810s.

the regency waistline was much higher and the gowns were much more flowy and unstructured than the late georgian ones (what's commonly known as the empire waistline). the long stays of the late 1700s were now replaced with short stays that really were similar to modern bras. the scene in the first season of bridgerton where they squeeze penelope's sister into what looks like a pair of long stays (?) is bonkers bc no one would wear a waist-constricting boned undergarment under a regency dress. why would they? the natural waist is not even emphasized in any way. this is just another reason to peddle the women-were-oppressed-by-their-lingerie agenda. so if charlotte really hated long stays that much, regency would really have been her time to shine, right? wrong. the woman loved the fashions of her youth so much she forced everyone who came to court to still comply to them, which is why we get the absolutely atrocious regency court dresses - essentially a combination of the georgian style with side panniers, but with an empire waistline.

yeah, this is how daphne SHOULD have looked like when she was presented at court in front of charlotte. i can understand why the showrunners decided to just leave her in a regency silhouette because this is ugly af. but, anyway, queen charlotte is the last person on earth to be complaining about how uncomfortable stays are.

creative licence aside, the reason this pisses me off is because it is SUCH lazy storytelling. the show wants us to know charlotte is a spunky pseudo-feminist character so the easiest way to do that is to have her complain about the evil 'corset' trying to kill her. it is so profoundly ahistorical and does nothing to contribute to the conversation about women's true problems and true limitations during that time. instead of genuinely exploring social history and women's actual lived experiences, we are STILL, in the year of our lord 2023, diverting the discourse towards fabricated issues that never existed in the first place.

the reasons actresses complain about boned underwear in interviews are manifold. costume designers are very overworked, they have to produce clothes for hundreds of people in a very short time, so they simply do not have the time or resources to construct corsets/stays that fit the actresses like they are supposed to. in the past, these garments were made individually for every person and completely to their own requirements. they also make these actresses wear the boning on BARE skin to look extra sexy to the audience or to emphasize their oppression - that never happened, a shift was always worn underneath (hello dakota fanning scene in the alienist??).

moreover, they lace them up until they constrict their ribcages - these women are already super thin and their bodies cannot support more reduction - instead of relying on the historical practices of padding and illusion. nowadays, body parts are what's fashionable - that's why so many resort to fat transfers or breast implants or starving themselves to achieve a flat stomach. in the past, anyone of any size could have accomplished the fashionable silhouette because they had a wide array of accouterments to plop underneath their garments - panniers, bustles, hoop skirts, padding of any sort. it didn't matter how big your waist was, you just padded other areas until you achieved the desired shape. fat women wore corsets/stays, too. working women, who did a lot of physical labour, did the same. how were they able to perform all of their tasks if they were incapable of moving or breathing? even today, people wear medical corsets all the time.

TLDR the media's obsession with portraying modern women as so liberated because they wear bras instead of "patriarchal" underwear is so tedious.

EDIT: Some very basic chronological tadpoles to make this easier to place within historical context. "Georgian" is used to denote the 18th+ century when Great Britain was ruled by several kings named George, so roughly 1714-1830. Within this interval, we refer to the Regency period as encompassing the regency of Prince George, future King George IV, when his father George III was incapacitated by mental illness. The official political regency took place during 1811-1820, but culturally speaking, this was extended to roughly the end of the 18th century up to maybe 1830 or 1837. This is the time period of Napoleonic wars and Jane Austen novels, so all her heroines should normally wear Regency styles. Think "empire waistline" as in Imperial France and Napoleon. The Victorian era (and its corsets) follows throughout the rest of the 19th century. Queen Charlotte was a contemporary of Marie Antoinette's, so they should be dressed in similar fashions (robe à la française vs robe à la anglais).

#but what can i expect from a production by shonda rhimes 🤷‍♀️ she certainly has a marvel-heroine type understanding of feminism #queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #bridgerton #fashion history #anyway this post is relevant for my blog bc i generally watch a lot of period media so this issue inevitably pops up now and again #would also like to add that while the term 'corset' did exist in that era #it referred to a v wide array of chest undergarments #so as to become impractical to use for a relatively short explanation #corsets as we conceptualize them today are tied with the victorian period #also pls remember i am simplifying for the sake of brevity else this post would have been enourmous

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kat-sribbles · 9 months

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FOB lost media help

Hey guys, so I need some help with finding a few lost things that is FOB related. Ever since covid, I have been trying to find the FIRST fob show and its been a struggle ever since then. Me and two other mutuals had made a Master document of all fob related stuff, including lost media stuff. And we need some help finding a few videos and MP3 files.

First video were looking for:

The very first FOB show was held at Cortelyou Commons at DePaul University on October 9th, 2001. We know this because of two video on youtube that were uploaded onto a channel called ForgeAgain. I did some digging and found out that the guy who posted those videos is the owner of Forge Again records and is the bass player for Stillwell (they were one of the other bands that played that night as well)

we got into contact with the guy via instagram, he told us that the guy who played drums at the time, Ben Rose, called him and ask to put them on last minute onto the lineup, a week before the show (this is why there are no promotional flyers because of that). They were the first to play the show, sadly the guy who filmed the other bands that night didn’t film them bc they were bad (which I don’t mind, this is lost fob history were talking about here). He then tells us that in the Oral History of TTTYG by AP magazine, and to look in there, and this is what i found:

Second video:

The second video is actually their second show, and this show is important since this is the show where they got their name from. They opened for The Killing Tree at a small southern illinois college, they didn’t know what to call themselves yet until the end of the show. This was also mentioned in the oral history too:

Third video(s):

These videos i’m gonna mention are kinda lost (?) since there is footage slightly in The Story video on youtube. Fob play three shows at Fireside Bowl.

-March 5th, 2002

-April 24th, 2002

-July 3rd, 2002

We know these shows happened since theres some clips of it in The Story and its documented on an archived website for shows at Fireside Bowl. Were looking for any fireside bowl footage from any of these dates.

Fourth thing:

This last one is kinda insane and might be near impossible to find. while i was reading the AP article, patrick mentions how he gave demos to joe by giving him a link to his MP3.com page. Joe says that it was just patrick singing and just playing acoustic, thats it.

We have tried looking on a site that someone archived for all MP3.com files before the site went completely defunct. The problem is that we have no clue what username patrick used on the site. We’ve looked and used every possible name we could to find these mp3 files, but nothing.

There is also a missing mp3 page that fob had, we know this bc on the back of the Project Rocket split CD, they put a link to their mp3 page and it was called mp3.com/fall_out_boy

This all the types of fob lost media that were in the search for!

if you know ANYTHING at all or have information about any of these, Please DM me!

Thanks so much!!

#pete wentz #fall out boy #patrick stump #joe trohman #andy hurley #so much for stardust #arma angelus #take this to your grave #chris gutierrez #lost media

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milkiane · 2 years

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GOLDEN GIRL. robin buckley.

navigation - masterlist - taglist

summary: steve flirts with the cool beautiful tourist who visits family video for her girlfriend.

warnings: profanities. suggestive comments. embarrassed steve. gif credits to @dykejaskiers

word count: 1.4k

steve doesn’t know how everything went off the rails or why he suddenly has six kids under his wing – seven if you include robin. he used to be king steve, now he’s mom steve to a pack of fifteen-year-old shitheads.

where are their parents? it’s a question steve wishes he has an answer to.

the said shitheads were currently huddled at the corner of family video. it was a monday so they were the only ones keeping him busy. he had to drag the staff room’s television out and let them choose a film from the newly shipped releases after getting blackmailed by dustin.

“farrah fawcett.” dustin mouthed. he was lucky keith was out for a two-week vacation.

steve glared at him like there was no tomorrow — other than the mean blackmailing, it was peaceful. they were quiet, aside from occasional comments and laughter. steve basks it all in.

robin is out back, rewinding tapes, and steve is, yet again, stuck by the counter whilst looking out for the kids because where else will steve be without his children?

the overhead bell rings, signaling a customer, but steve couldn’t even bother to look up as he mindlessly flips through a magazine. he drones aloofly, “hi, welcome to family video. my name is steve and i’ll be helping you find the perfect film for yadda yadda yadda.”

“you think you can help me find a good rom-com, steve?”

his head snaps towards the lovely voice, magazine nearly dropping from his hands as he gapes at the sight of you. hawkins is a small town and you must be a tourist because it would be foolish of him to miss someone as drop-dead gorgeous as you.

“h-hi, my name is uh- harrington. steve. steve harrington.”

“hi, steve harrington,” you smile, a hint of mischief in your sultry voice. you knew who he was, you’ve seen him in the manifold of polaroids robin has. you decide that you want to have some fun.

steve’s knees nearly buckled, chills ran through his bones, and goosebumps rose on his skin. your voice was airy, like a soft breeze alleviating the heat of a feverish man under the scorching sun.

he feels his hands start to get clammy, was it getting hot in here? he lightly tugs at the collar of his god-awful shirt. “what was your question again? i’m sorry, i must have gotten lost in your eyes for a bit.”

you scoff in amusement, ignoring his outdated pick-up line. “rom-coms? do you have any new releases that are worth watching?”

max snickers at the sight of a tomato-red steve, she nudged the others and paused the movie to watch steve instead. it was better than whatever movie lucas picked.

steve directs his attention to the kids and glares at them. he takes a deep breath before turning his gaze back to your expecting one.

“well, if it’s romcoms you’re looking for, we don’t have any good ones yet,” he starts, tilting his head to the side to flash you his ever-charming smile. “but, y’know, i heard that pretty in pink is good.”

robin shuffles out of the back room and grins at the sight of you. she heard steve’s poor flirting attempts and decided to bring out the scoreboard, but when her eyes settled on you, her grin widened even more.

“yeah?” you muse, leaning against the counter. you notice robin’s presence.

steve gulps at the proximity, he wasn’t lying when he said he gets lost in your eyes. “yeah… i can- i can take you to the movies and we can watch it together?”

you hum as if in thought, playing with the charms on your bracelet before you look up at him with a smile. you ask sweetly, “you think i can invite robin to come with?”

robin stifles her laughter.

“rob-” he pauses, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “robin? buckley? my robin buckley?”

“well, yeah,” you shrug, lips curling into a smirk. “i mean, i don’t think it’ll look good for me if i go out with my girlfriend’s best friend to the movies alone, don’t you think?”

steve’s jaw drops.

the kids burst out laughing.

robin snickers, making her way towards you. “i thought you were staying at home today, baby?”

steve grimaces at the pet name.

“well, i thought i’d visit my best girl,” you smile, leaning into her embrace as she wraps her arms around you. she pulls you in for a kiss.

“-and flirt with her coworker slash best friend?” steve asks bitterly, a small pout on his lips. his glare steers to robin. “and you! you let me go on with it – what is wrong with you, seriously.”

dustin and max cackle at his demise. tears were forming in their eyes from their laughter.

“you were doing the flirting,” robin points out. “she was asking you for movies. you know, like what you’re paid to do?”

steve grumbles, but he isn’t mad or annoyed. he’s actually happy for robin even though he felt cross that she never told him about her cool girlfriend from the city.

“aww, it’s okay, steve,” you coo. “we can still go to the movies. if it helps, i know robin will let you hold my hand if you get lonely.”

he shoots you a sarcastic smile.

“i will, actually,” robin agrees, wrapping her arm around your shoulders. “i know how you cry when the guy and the girl finally get together.”

“okay, you’ve had your fun.” he rolls his eyes, hands resting on his hips as he looks at the giggling children. mom steve mode activated. “and you shitheads, do you want to walk home later?”

robin grins, intertwining her hands with yours. she drags you towards the backroom, sneaking behind steve as he continues to scold them. you hear the faint sounds of the television after a few seconds.

you hop on top of the low shelves in the room, grabbing one of the lone vhs tapes as robin shuts the door. you snort, showing her the tape with wiggling eyebrows. “may the foreskin be with you.”

she pulls a face of disgust as she settles herself in between your legs. “that’s actually so fucking gross, i can’t believe people are into these.”

you laugh. “don’t kink shame, robs. might i remind you that you absolutely love being-”

robin scoffs, pinching your thighs. “you’re being malicious.”

you smile, putting the tape down to wrap your arms around her neck, her own promptly snaking around your waist to pull you just a little bit closer. you pull her into a soft kiss, mumbling in between pecks, “missed you,”

“you know i missed you more,” she says, moving forward to kiss you again, and again, and again. it was an act that she will never get tired of. it was dizzying, the feeling of you, the feeling of your love.

the kiss was heated, lips pressing together like the final piece to complete the puzzle – the feeling of domestic content as you step back to admire your work. it’s bruised and red, a feat of passionate love and adoration.

your hands roam wherever they can, trailing and leaving goosebumps in their wake – an unconscious matter of habit; memorized after spending time after time of lingering touches and ardent intimacy.

you’ve never loved anything more than you loved robin. it was endless, the love you have for her, and you never quite failed to remind her, to show her. it goes on a long way; like going on a trip to find the other side of the rainbow where you’ll find a pot of gold.

but the happiness doesn’t stop at the gold; it’s where fortune leads you.

and it’s infinite because with the gold in your hands, life keeps getting better every waking moment. you’re lucky.

with robin, you are golden.

a soft moan slipped out of your lips as her tongue slipped into yours.

steve makes himself welcome in the room, leaning against the doorframe. “you aren't paid to sneak in your girlfriend and make out with her, you know?”

robin hums, a soft smile gracing her lips. her eyes never wavered from yours. “wish i was,”

you are golden but she will always be your golden girl.

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cordspaghetti · 10 months

Note

hi sorry if this is a silly question! but i’ve seen your art around and it’s amazing!! i’ve been wanting to get into mcr for a bit because of it and i know nearly nothing about them (somehow) and it seems like they have a lot of, lore for lack of a better word. if you have any suggestions, where should i start? btw i adore ur style! :)

Hey!! this is such a fun question oh my god. And thank you so much, i’m so happy that you like my art!

ok so when you say you know nothing about them I’m going to assume you mean like… absolutely nothing. after listening to the music i think youtube is a pretty good place to begin getting into the My Chemcial Romance Lore. very visual band. definitely watch the music videos on their channel if you haven’t already—any behind the scenes/making of videos, live performances, and promo videos on there are really great too. their tour diary/documentary Life on the Murder Scene is CRUCIAL. Some other nice ones to look at afterwards are mcr in the studio 2002, this WSOU interview, this 97x a look back with mcr series, this kevin smith smodcast... also anything from steven’s untitled rock show or fuse tv for early stuff !!! mcr’s career can be split into 4 extremely distinct eras corresponding with each of their albums, so you can pretty much pick what you’re most into and investigate from there… some other fun ways to learn about them are searching up magazine scans/articles (AP, kerrang, and rock sound covered them a lot, plus SPIN and nme a bit), combing through my chemcial romance dot com on the wayback machine (their blog posts are a highlight), checking out fan zines and archives (lots on tumblr and also ig), and reading Books (off the top of my head i can think of Not the Life it Seems by tom bryant and Where are Your Boys Tonight by Chris Payne). Also the Killjoys comic series if you dig danger days 😎. ok i’ll stop there!!! this is mostly like… how to Find the lore, rather than the lore itself haha. i hope you find it helpful! anyone who wants to add on pls do…

#thank you for the ask anon #sorry for the lack of organization 😭

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justjams2003 · 3 months

Text

Fast Pace- 14

I'd just like to thank @multi-universe21 for the Spanish Translations for these last two chapters.

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smut (Actually this time!!), sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', nudity, i guess Instagram posts?? Tell me if I missed any

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis @carlossainzwho @lordpercevalcharles @topguncultleader @kitixie @serp3ns0rtiae @hangmandruigandmav @therealone4r @keii134 @dark-night-sky-99 @jax-the-oregonian @hachrinnen @formulaal

Word count: 3,4k

Masterlist

Part 13 ~Part 15 (coming soon)

Glamour

“Y/N Y/S/N; the new ambassador for Armani Beauty.”

Elle Magazine

“Y/N Y/S/N looks simply gorgeous in the new Armani Beauty: My Way perfume ad.”

Vogue Magazine

“Y/N Y/S/N puts new handbag brand DeMellier on the map with a stunning ad.”

Us Weekly

“Does Y/N Y/S/N deserve her new found fame, or has it been sped up by boyfriend Carlos Sainz?”

Us Weekly

“Y/N Y/S/N’s fame has skyrocketed in the past view months, going from a mere 200 followers to 2 million in 3 months.”

E!News

“Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend seen in Madrid. Her Instagram shows them moving in together.”

Y/N’s_username 05 October 2023

Liked by: CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 556,794 more. Caption: What more could a girl ask for? The perfect birthday, the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life. 24 Years but this one has been the best, all thanks to you, Mon amour. 💘 Tagged: CarlosSainz55 Comments: CarlosSainz55: So much love for you Mi amor, happy birthday 💝

Charles_Leclerc: Happy Birthday Y/N, you make Carlos so happy.

Charles_Leclerc: P.s. Carlos, you’re setting the bar too high.

Alexandrasaintmleux: Happy Birthday, gorgeous! 💕

Francisca.cgomes: Happy Birthday, you amazing girl! So happy to have you part of the wags. To so many more get aways during those boring media days. 👀💖💖

Username1: Y/N’s getting that princess treatment👀 Username2: Is it princess treatment or is she getting that sugar baby money? Username1: No way, look at them! They’re in love. Username2: What I can’t look past is that age gap👀

Username3: The nicknames they have for each other? When is it my turn😭

Username4: That’s a ten year age gap! That’s not right. Username5: I think it’s hot.

Username5: Someone play Lana Del Rey.

Y/N’susername 13 November 2023

Liked by: CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, LandoNorris and 493,618 more. Sun, beach and the love of my life. Tagged: CarlosSainz55

Comments:

CarlosSainz55: What more could I want?

Username1: Dead. She’s killed us all.

Username2: I’d love to be those rocks. Lurking.

Username3: She’s living my dream life 😭

Comments have been limited.

F1News

“Carlos Sainz’s car is wrecked after driving over manhole cover.”

F1News

“Carlos Sainz receives penalty after having to replace his Chassis.”

F1News

“People are enraged after Carlos Sainz’s got recked during the train wreck that is the Las Vegas GP.”

Your heart is pounding as the loud bang rings through the entire paddock. You hadn’t been watching the practice, you’d been enjoying a drink with Alex. It is Las Vegas after all, you’re there more to party than to watch the race. But the sound has you disregarding the drink entirely. Your eyes scan all over the hospitality, trying to find a tv or something to see what happened.

But when you do see that classic red Ferrar with the stripped 55 painted on illuminate in a huge cloud of sparks, your heart sinks into your shoes. That’s a lot more than normal, not to mention the sound has you panicking. You run through the hospitality sector all the way to the garage, right in time to see him box.

Carlos doesn’t climb out instantly, he just sits there in the seat, his head lulled back on the headrest. It makes your heart race even more. He said on the coms that he’s okay, but this isn’t much of a good sign. You can hear Caco in his hears telling me that he’s okay and everything will be alright. But, it’s not the same.

Eventually though, he does climb out. Slowly at that, each of his movements happen at a snail’s pace. Even with his helmet off, he doesn’t instantly find you. He just kind of stands there, still in shock. So instead, you find him. Not caring for the engineers. You wrap your arms tightly around him, he weighs heavy in your arms as if he’s leaning all your weight on him.

“Are you okay? You scared me half to death.” He lets out an airy chuckle. “I’m sorry, mi futura esposa, I’m sorry.” Carlos’ voice is just as heavy as him. “What happened?” Caco comes next to you, more worried for his cousin than the formula one driver. Carlos sighs, his arm still wrapped around your waist, with you close by his side.

“I don’t know. I hit something on the road and all of the suddenly I couldn’t feel my legs and all I saw were sparks.” His eyes seem more scared than usual. “Come on, we’ll go get you checked out.” He agrees with you.

“The engineers say the car is fucked. Completely shred the floor, your seat was exposed to the track. They say you’re incredibly lucky that you made it out unscathed.” Caco reports to Carlos while he’s being checked by the doctor. Carlos’ eyes finds your form when Caco says he’s luckily. “They say you won’t be able to drive fp3.”

The driver sighs and just nods, he hasn’t let go of your hand but refuses to meet your eyes. “Carlos, you seem more shaken up than usual.” You rub circles on his back after the doctor cleared him and told him to rest. The driver again sighs, “I don’t know what it is. I couldn’t feel or control my legs and it scared me. I couldn’t control the car and all I could think about was you.”

Now finally his eyes peer into yours. You can see tears on the back of his eyes. Fear and worry all mix into one. You coo and pull him closer to you. “All I could was what if I become paralyzed? I can’t provide for you anymore. I’d rather have died than have you see me like that.” You have to stifle a laugh because to you it seems almost silly.

You pull his head against your chest, wrapping your arms around him and your fingers deep into his locks. “Don’t you remember, Carlos? We’re more than just money now. We've talked about it before, marriage, kids, the whole thing. You know I’d be with you, even if you were on the streets. It seems that crash really did a number on you.” You ruffle his hair with your fist, forcing his giggles out.

“This is so fucking stupid!” His voice booms through the garage. People run to hide, trying not to be on the receiving end of Carlos’ anger. Or even worse, make him even angrier. Not you, you sit right where you are. Everything in you wants to go and comfort him, but you know that’ll only make it worse, he hates it when you see him angry. He says it’s not for you, you should only see him angry, when you want him angry. He’ll find you when he’s ready.

Not this time. He finds you, in the middle of taking photos with you assistant. Carlos grabs you by the arm and begins to drag you. “Come.” It’s all he says and you’re struggling to keep up with his pace. “Carlos, what happened?” He doesn’t say a word but soon enough you hear the door slam shut. Your back is shoved up against the same door with the same aggression that it was slammed shut.

Carlos’ lips attack yours with a vigour. While yes it’s true that ever since you kissed him at the Singapore Grand Prix, its been hard to keep his lips off you, it’s never been this assertory. He’s pressed his body hard against yours. His tongue is roaming your mouth. His hands wander about your body, until it starts creeping up your shirt. It’s as if he’s trying to become you, fore himself into your shoes. That’s when it has to stop.

With a gentle push against his chest, and the call out of his name, he stops. His brows pulled together, fury still sharp in his eyes, but not towards you. “Carlos, I know this isn’t how you planned this. I won’t mind, but I don’t want you to jump the gun just because you’re upset.” His gaze goes softer before he pulls you in for the tightest hug.

His head is in the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry, mi futura esposa, it’s just such bullshit.” There is that nickname again, he forbade you from googling it. “What is?” He sighs and then lets go of you. He takes off his hat and rakes it through his hair, all while taking a seat on the couch. “Ten place grid penalty. After I would’ve been in second.”

Carlos looks so beat up, completely hopeless and you just want to take away all his hurt. Even feeling the need to cry for him. This has been a great year for him, and now such nonsense. “I’m sorry, Mon Amour. You’re right, it’s not fair. It’s their fault, can’t you appeal?” He nods but still with a puff of air. “We are appealing, but it’s unlikely that it’ll change.”

You push out your bottom lip, he chuckles at your reaction. “Come with, I’m sure your pout will make them change their mind.” He pulls you closer by the waist and rests his head on your stomach. Clearly he’s exhausted. Your hands rake through his hair, hoping it helps even just a little. “Carlos?” He doesn’t even bother to raise his head, but he does hum in reply.

“You promised you’d go clubbing with me, but I don’t want you to go if you’re too tired.” He raises his head and then shakes it no. “Don’t worry, mi futura esposa, it’ll help be burn off some steam.” It warms your heart that he always does so much for you. “You mean it?” He stands up, and gives you a peck on the lips. “Of course, mi futura esposa, you can wear that new necklace I got you.”

Sweaty bodies push against the other. You don’t notice, because only one body is touching yours. Carlos’ hands are on your hips as you move to the rhythm. He’s got his shirt buttoned down low, and he just looks so delectable. As if he should be the perfume model between the two of you. You can tell he’s already starting to feel better.

Neither of you have really drunk anything, you’re just high on each other. Enjoying the other’s touch and the music. Soon though, the few mocktails you had catch up to you, Carlos waits outside the bathroom. You can still hear the music, but it doesn’t thud as loud. You can finally her your own thoughts and someone calling your name.

Only to turn around and see Jasmine and Ilsa. They both greet you with smiles, “Y/N, what are you doing here?” They ask, wanting to go in for a hug but you just give them the cold shoulder. “It’s the Las Vegas Grand Prix, why else would I be here? Better question, why are you two here.” Their smiles falter just a bit.

“We’re on a girls trip. We wanted to invite you, but you blocked us on everything...” Jas explains, you don’t remember doing that. Maybe Carlos did, he does have access to everything after all. If he decided to block them, then it’s the better option. You haven’t missed them one bit, after all you rarely saw them anymore.

You cross your arms, “You planned a girls trip to Las Vegas, on the weekend of the GP and didn’t expect to see me? Strange coincidence huh?” They grimace at your words. “Did Carlos buy you that?” It’s Ilsa this time, her words are more sour. You touch the diamond necklace sitting comfortably on your neck and nod.

“It was a birthday present.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “No, Y/N, it was the cost of your family. You’ve sold off every sign of yourself just for the glamourous life.” Her words are sharp like the diamonds you’re wearing. But what does she know? Never before have you been happier. You have nothing to worry about.

Your assistant books your modelling jobs, takes your photos, makes the videos. Carlos takes you everywhere with him, and you don’t even have to plan a single thing. You haven’t thought about money or the cost of something in months. Not to mention you’re healthier than ever. You haven’t gotten sick this whole time and your confidence has sky-rocketed. And all you really have to do in return is be yourself.

“Really? Is that how you see it?” She glares you down for your words. “It’s true though, isn’t it? You gave up us, your family, your future and passion for cheffing. All for what? Some diamonds and dick?” What? Is that really something she just said? Losing them was clearly the better thing to do.

“If you guys had really known me, you would’ve known that cheffing has never been my true passion, so clearly giving you and that up was the better choice. And I haven’t lost a family, I’ve gained a better one. Because the Sainz has welcomed me with open arms and have treated me better than those fuckers ever did. So excuse me for living a happy life, and not choosing to suffer like you lot!”

Us Weekly

“Y/N Y/S/N says she has met her idol after talking with Madeleine White at Las Vegas GP.”

Us Weekly

“Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend seen blowing off steam after horrible first practice.”

Glamour Magazine

“People are shocked as Y/N Y/S/N is seen wearing $300k worth in diamonds, sources states it’s one of her many birthday presents.”

Gossip Magazine

“Y/N Y/S/N’s party looks this Las Vegas Grand Prix:

Y/N’susername 9 December 2023

Liked by CarlosSainz55, landonorris, charles_leclerc and 539,072 more It is such an honour that Dior allowed me to wear one of their vintage dresses. Much more to come between us. So proud of Mon amour for all that he has accomplished this year. Next year will be our year, Ferrari. 😘 Tagged: CarlosSainz55

Comments:

CarlosSainz55: So honoured to call you mine. You looked gorgeous, mi amour.

CarlosSainz55: Also you promised you wouldn’t post that last picture😭 Y/N’susername: But you look so cute😫 Y/N’susername: Not to mention, I need to give the people what they want!

Charles_Leclerc: These two were inseparable🤚

LandoNorris: Y/N, you’re taking my spot 😭 Y/N’susername: Don’t worry, he still talks about you all the time. LandoNorris: That’s not enough😭

Username1: Mother is mothering.

Username2: That caption can’t mean nothing👀 Username1: Mother is a mastermind...

Username3: Y/N x Dior coming soon??

Comments have been limited.

CarlosSainz55 26 December 2023

Liked by Y/N’susername, LandoNorris, Charlec_Leclerc and 639,706 more Our first Christmas together and I loved every second of it. Missing the racing, missing the fans. Can’t help but feel loved. Tagged: Y/N’susername

Comments:

Y/N’susername: 💖💖

Y/N’susername: Hope you enjoy your present😘

Username1: Missing F1 so much😭

Username2: Damn...Carlos got himself a baddy👀

Username3: No one cares about her, we just want more Ferrari! CarlosSainz55: If you care about me, you have to care about her. All replies have been deleted.

Y/N’susername 26 December 2023

Liked by CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, LandoNorris and 497,309 more It’s a nice car and all but all I really wanted for Christmas, is you😘 tagged: CarlosSainz55

CarlosSainz55: But the car was a pretty good present, wasn’t it? Y/N’susername: I won’t lie, I love it so much😍

Alexandrasaintmleux: How did you get Carlos to do the last photo? 😆 Y/N’susername: He does just about anything I ask 🤷😝

LandoNorris: Damn, Carlos, she has you whipped 😆 Y/N’susername: You know it😉 CarlosSainz55: Who wouldn’t be😍

Comments have been limited.

The sun is blazing down on you, you’ve gotten a much more golden colour since you’ve been with Carlos. Even so, he insists that he wears sunscreen. Not that he needs the sun. As he stands now, chiselled and defined, glowing like a hot flame, he’s the perfect advertisement for Spain and lust.

Lust especially, when he looks at you as he does now. He hasn’t looked away from you for the past few minutes now. Carlos is drinking up every inch of your form. Soon enough, his trance is broken as he makes his way to you. His hand follows the curve of your leg all the way to your middle.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” He whispers into your ear, handing you the mojito he had just made for you. You hum, “Only in passing, but never in enough detail.” He chuckles but then looks so giddy. “Let me make that right then.” He takes your free hand and places a kiss on your knuckles.

“I’d like to think your beauty surpasses that of any other. The Greek statues in Athens, we’re all modelled after you. But none of them achieved, because they haven’t truly captured you. The statues do not smile, they do not laugh, they do not love me the way you do.” His words are like sweet melodies, but like said before, it’s much more detailed than before.

But the reason for it is revealed, when from his swim shorts he pulls out a velvet red box, now you really notice than he is down on one knee. The tears pool in your eyes. “This might seem crazy, and I know it’s only been six months, but you told me yourself you like a fast pace.” A chuckle escapes the both of and you can see happy tears in his eyes.

“I’m crazy about you, absolutely obsessed. You’ve changed me, changed the way I think, forever, and I can only imagine the man I’ll be if we spend forever together. So, will you become mi futura esposa and marry me?” The answer slips out before a thought even makes it way through you. “Yes. Yes, of course, yes.”

He slips the ring over your finger, not fast enough for your lips to find each other. His passion is even more than the night in Vegas. So, so much more. But this time, it’s filled with so much loved. Placed intention of showing you that you won’t regret this decision. Before you know it, his arms are under your legs and he places you on the only bed in the yacht.

Carlos’ lips are all over your body. His hands expertly slip your bikini from your body. “Joder, nena, he esperado tanto para esto.” He says in between kisses, his lips leaving marks wherever he goes. Before long, his hands cup around your boobs. He pulls and plucks, sparks of pleasure roll over you. “English, Carlos.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, no mi prometida, my brain can’t translate now.” You laugh but it quickly turns into a moan when he cups your groan. His fingers find your clit within an instant. He has you moaning and begging his name quite easily. Luckily for you, you’re in the middle of the ocean and can be as loud as you want.

“Hmm, nena, quiero, quiero, taste you. But, no puedo esperar más, need to be inside you.” His tongue is struggling to keep up with his mind. His languages mixing into one big mix because you’re the only thing he can focus on. It doesn’t help that each time he rolls his r it makes you even wetter than he already has you.

He slides his swim shorts off, and your eyes go big at his sheer size. You’d eye him in race suit before, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. But his lips swallow your worries. “No te preocupes, cariño, you can take me, I’ll be gentle.” He lines himself up with you, then holds onto you shoulders and guides himself inside you.

It’s as if you fit together like puzzle pieces. Yes, it does burn at first, but complying with your pleas, he begins to moves. A slow gentle pace, te sientes tan bien, mi amor,” he comforts by your ear. Whispering praises, “You’re so tight,” along with his kisses and nibbles. He has you in the seventh heaven.

All you can feel is him buried deep inside you, along with his gentle touches and longing kisses. All you can smell is him, he doesn’t smell like burnt tired anymore. No, he smells like the ocean and the new perfume you got him for Christmas. All you can hear is his praises, him whisper about your wet self and how you’re his. “Mine, only mine.”

Soon enough, the knot in your stomach makes itself known. And he too, begins to increase his speed. In a sudden and rapid rise, you both reach your climax. Maybe you sooner than him, but there is little control or judgement now. All that there is love for the other. And the bliss of finally be able to feel his body warm in yours.

What could possibly ruin this?

Lemme just say, this chapter and the next took forever to make, just because of all the Instagram posts. Just a props for all the fic authors who do this as their primary works. So nervous for the feedback on the Instagram posts, I've never done them before!

Also, shameless plug for my Landing: @CreativeRobot_

If you want to be added to the taglist, just ask!

Although there is only one chapter left...

#Fast Pace #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f 1 x reader

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juvenillia · 7 months

Text

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 02: too close

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: this is the first time for me writing something like this, so bare with me if the actions scenes are a bit sloppy, I'll get the hang of it, idc about the actual height of reader, but we're at least the smallest in the group, also little extra note: I'll go on vacation upcoming Saturday and won't be able to write for two weeks, I try really hard atm to prepare as much chapters as possible for the time ahead

CW/TW: mentions of canon violence, smoking, closing off due mental illness

wordcount: 3.2k

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The first beams of sunlight broke through the window just above the bed. Your eyes trailing over the rays of light that were dancing on the ceiling. You lay awake for what felt like eternity. The night was somehow restless, again. By now you committed to a few hours of sleep. As few as possible but as much as necessary. Keeping the risk low to trigger your nightmares. Keeping the chance low to have to look into his eyes again. A lump was forming in your throat while you let your thoughts roam back and forth. Maybe you should learn about a thing called power-napping, you read it in a magazine some time ago while sitting in a coffee shop. It really could save you one day.

With that thought you pushed yourself out of bed. Putting on a casual sports fit. Now that the sun was finally up, there was no need any more to stay in bed. You put a cap on, pulled your hair through the back. Laced your boots up and went out for some casual morning rounds around the base. Price already told you their usual morning routine and it was kind of funny, how all military bases had a quite similar routine. You sneak through the hallway to go outside. Trying to keep as quit as possible to wake no one. It was still early, even for the military. As soon as your feet touched the gritted ground you started running. Keeping a good pace while rounding the base. At some point you nodded your greetings to a few other people already awake and going after whatever, they pleased. You decided to pick up your pace. You didn’t want to waste all your energy, but still wanted to push yourself a bit further. You had quite some busy day ahead, so you needed to get yourself going.

You took a few more corners until you heard a voice. “Skadi.”, turning around you were greeted with a blissful smile. You stopped in your track, jogging slowly at the spot. “Madainn mhath!”, [Good morning] Soap breathed out after catching up to you. “Good morning.”, you replied with a quiet snicker. Your reaction earns you an even brighter smile from the Scot. “Yer understood?”, his eyes were nearly beaming. It was somehow adorable, and you knew, that the two of you would get along at ease. Maybe too good for your liking. “Seems like it.”, you shrugged off while keeping your legs busy. “Dae ya mind if I join ya?”, a nod with a slight smile was your only response. So, both of you started jogging around the base. Not talking much, at least for your part. You were rather listening to everything Soap gladly explained you. The way the team works together, each specialty, some pet peeves, their little rituals. Some fun anecdotes from after mission celebrations. He really was chatty, and you gladly listened in. He was so sincere and pure, plus all his words gave you a good overview about everyone. They also gave you a warm feeling around your chest. Even if you tried to avoid this kind of reaction, he was just too genuine.

Still, you barely told him about yourself. It didn’t sit right with you. He learned that you were quite an allrounder when it comes to the job and that you were obviously an early bird. He didn’t know that you were also a night owl. The sweet nemesis called sleep. A fight you’ll win one day, hopefully not on your last day. He also learned that Price and you met about three years ago. Not really how, but that it was for a coincidence that comes with the job. Also, he learned that you were quite capable of speaking a few languages and understanding even more. He quite often threw some Scottish at you and for once in his life (while being outside of his home of course) he didn’t get scolded for it. It was clear to see that he enjoyed your company, and you would’ve lied to say you didn’t enjoy his. It felt just smooth.

After some time, you came to a halt. Catching your breath, you couldn’t remember the last time you were talking so much while running. Stretching your body while bending down to grab the front of your boots. Halting the position on suspense. Suddenly you saw a bottle in front of you, Soap held it out for you to grab. “Thanks.”, you gladly took it and nearly downed half of it. He only nodded, still a happy smile around his lips. How can a person be smiling non-stop. “Dinnea know about ya, but ‘m starving.”, he exhaled with a chuckle, drinking his own water. “Wanna head to the canteen?”, he looked at you with those clear blue eyes. As you gained your posture again you let out a slight sigh. “Sorry Soap. Still have to unpack and other stuff to do.”, you didn’t look at him. Sure, it was a half-assed excuse, but you didn’t want to get his expectations too high and if you were honest, you didn’t want to get too close. You already felt so comfortable in his company. Too comfortable. You needed to keep your guard up. He was a stranger after all. Maybe he wasn't even such a nice guy, maybe he only treated you so wholesome because of your gender and therefore some different assets. Maybe he had strictly different intentions in his behavior. You couldn't tell, and you shouldn't care.

But maybe that’s why you never called the cute barista guy from around the corner, back at your place. Because he was too genuine, too innocent. You gave it a lot of thoughts to be honest. He was a nice dude, he memorized all your preferred drinks depending on the weather and had them always ready when you came back from your morning run. You loved routine and you kinda enjoyed that he became a part of it, but sooner or later it would break apart anyways. He was just too good for you. He wouldn't be able to keep up with you. It surely wouldn't be something more than a lousy one night stand, what wasn't your thing at all. You were too complicated, too distant and you couldn't let yourself believe that someone could even show a glimpse of honest interest. Well, that's at least what you told yourself all the time to justify pushing everyone away. Same for Marc, or was his name Maik? Your neighbor next door, he even invited you for his wedding. Did you go? Of course not. You only send a card, not even able to look him in the eye to congratulate him.

This way you did what you could do best, you started closing off to the man in front of you. For the rounds it was different. Here it was only the two of you, two comrades having a morning run and just some little introduction, but heading for breakfast together, that was already a commitment. A commitment you were not capable of taking. You’d rather pick a quick snack before looking for Price. See what he has planned out for you today, and God, you hoped it was just getting to know everyone around the base. Spoiler alert, he had different plans.

To your surprise Soap did understand, still wearing a slightly disappointed glance, but he didn't push it and so, you parted your ways.

Going after your day wasn’t so hard. Price introduced you around, you finally got your keycard, you had to fill out a few formulars. Stuff was going along easily and most of the times you were on your own. Until you heard Price’s voice again. He told you, that they could need your help with today’s rookie lesson, and you gladly accepted the duty. Gladly, until you were greeted by Soap and Ghost. Latter didn’t really greet you, but at least he was polite enough to nod towards you. The men were already standing and watching a bunch of recruits still chatting away. You walked over to them with Price at your side. Standing next to Soap and watching the crowd not paying much attention to your arrival. Ghost only needed to step forward to gain the attention of every youngling around. He held an intimidating appearance.

“Listen up.” He yelled out and you totally felt the thick air. He was already a behemoth of a man, but his voice plus the mask really made a silhouette that was frightening. It reminded you of something you’d rather forget. Yourself straighten up as he begun, but before he kept going, Soap stepped forward. Seemed like Ghost was only here to keep them in line and Soap was the official speaker. Maybe it was better for the recruits this way. Soap quickly explained that they were doing sparring sessions today. Especially learning how to read the intentions of your enemy and to be able to be a step ahead before their actual move. You remember how your first sessions were and how you were barely able to keep up with your opposite. How time flies, you thought to yourself and kept your attention on Soaps words. He had quite a way to motivate the younglings in front of him.

Your glance traveling over the faces and catching quite some few females as well. It always brought you a pleasant feeling in your stomach to see, that more and more women would join the army. Especially because you were always underestimated. Your path from the beginning till here was an odyssey. Not talking about the bone crushing weight on your shoulders by now, but to start through in the military as a woman was nearly impossible some time ago. Way too many prejudices.

The recruits were told to find each other a partner for today's session. Soap and Ghost would give them a quick demonstration of what they were up to. So, Price and you would be teamed up in that case. That wasn’t to be going to be so bad, you heard your words echoing through your mind.

That was until you heard the raspy voice of the Lieutenant again. "Don't mix up genders. Shall stay fair.", he exclaimed dry and that way he earned a scoffed chuckle. He turned around and faced you with a death glare. Soap immediately turning around looking at the scenario with shock in his eyes. "Have a problem with that Seargent?", his voice went even deeper when he turned his whole body towards you. Soap made a gesture with his hand shaking before his throat, symbolizing you to stop what you were doing. Unlucky for everyone around - except your Captain - you were way too stubborn to retreat now. "Just a suggestion but let them pick their opponents themselves regardless the gender. Nobody cares on the battlefields either.", you stated calm, your glance not adverting. Price watched the whole scenery a bit too curious. He knew the two of your for quite some time and he already expected that the tension between you would become thrilling.

Ghost stepped closer to you. You couldn't read him, but you could definitely see that you pissed him off. His eyes burning into yours. "We should keep it easy by now.", he was only a few inches away from you. You stared back, looking in that chocolate iris. You could've just backed down, but it was too challenging. "So, you believe women are not worthy a challenge?", your eyes never retreating his state. He was so damn pissed. He stepped even closer to you, you could feel his hot breath even through the mask, brushing a long your skin and sending shivers done your spine.

Soap wanted to step in, but Price let just a hand rest on his shoulder, signaling him to stay out of this. "I'm only saying that they have to learn something without getting real injuries before even placing a foot on the battle ground." He hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't even know why he argued with you, but he couldn't stand it. He knew that one shouldn't miscalculate about the opposite gender. But the way you interrupted him, the way you looked at with him with such a stubborn glance.

It made him furious. But the way you didn't even reacted the slightest to his presence. Well, you did, but you were to pride to show it. "Then you underestimate them." - "They have to learn before proofing themselves." - "You only learn when you can try and error." - "Error doesn't mean getting real hurt." - "Okay, so you're sure about them getting hurt." It went on like this for some time. Back and forth, staying always in polite line, but the tension grew with each word.

Soap looked the most nervous of all watching the two of you battling with your words. Price still holding him back. Of course, a situation with only the team would have been better to test the waters out but he would take what he could. "You're stepping a line, Seargent." He literally growled at you. "Then you're also underestimate me, Lieutenant.", you hissed back at him. Right here, right now you noticed how close he was standing in front of you. Your breath brushing along his mask, and his hot steaming breaths dancing over your bare skin. He was way too close for your liking.

Standing across of each other and staring holes into the other person. You only realized now how huge he was, trying to literally stare you down into the ground. A ground you would gladly like to stand.

"Why don't you pair up and we will see who's right.", a mocking voice of the recruits let both of your heads snap out of the haze you were in. You leaned a bit back. You didn't even notice how you tried to make yourself taller in front of him. "That's...", just as Ghost wanted to scold the rookie, Price stepped in, "a wonderful idea. This way we can exactly demonstrate a perfect example." He stepped forward looking at both of you. A slight chuckle escaped your lips, still looking with vitally at Ghost. His chest was waving heavy. He tried to steady himself and his temper. "Why not.", you turned around to move to the mat that was originally reserved for Soap and Ghost. The latter following you. "Don't hurt yourself.", he teased and with that he only awakened an insatiable competing desire.

Soap wore a face of a mixture between curiosity and concern. He had pushed Simon a few times before, but this was somehow different. You had no suspicious about each other’s limits and you gladly pushed everything over the edge right now. "Don't hold yourself back, big boy." Even with the mask you know his face would be burning.

You already fought bigger guys than him, just keep your cools and be observant. Just pinning him down once would be enough to proof your point. Your mind literally switched and cutting all of the unnecessary surrounding out. He was nothing different to any of them, but oh lord, you were so wrong with that statement. You could see a switch in his eyes, something you knew too well yourself.

In a heated movement he already reached out to you, trying to get hold of you. For a guy with his build, he was especially fast. Something you didn't suspected. Before you could think of your first turn, his giant hands were already onto your shoulders pressing you down. Lucky for you, you were particularly flexible and even more agile. You find a way to bend yourself out, but Ghost was soon on it. Throwing one of his legs in your direction to block your way out. You reached with your free hand to use his thigh as support to push yourself further up. His hands gripped for your wrist to pull you down once more, but he missed, so you saw your chance. Throwing your legs up and literally over his throat. Forcing him down. His legs were weaker in the position he found himself in, so he slowly bends over. He reached for your waist to throw you over his shoulder, but you were quick to use your hands to get a grip of his statue. Pulling yourself further up, that you would literally split his arms away with your thighs. Your completely weight pushing him down, until his knees gave in, and he found himself with his back on the mat. Your upper half resting inches away from his throat, where you had placed one of your arms to give it a bit more strength. Hovering slowly over him. A self-content smile on your lips, you looked him in his eyes. He just stared back; his eyes quite blank. You could feel his heavy breaths onto you, his chest rising and lowering just like your own. Now you were the one staring him down.

Soap was completely paralyzed by the scene in front of him, and Price only chuckled watching his charges. He knew from the beginning that the two of you needed a lot of patience with each other, especially when pushing each other so far, but he also believed that you would fit in just perfectly. You could learn so much from everyone around so that the 141 could even grow better and closer. Ghost for his part was really glad he had his mask. His face burnt from the heat of his own skin. Ashamed, anger, annoyance. He couldn't tell it apart. So many thoughts flooded his brain while staring into your eyes. "You know how to retread, don't ya Lieutenant?", your voice pulling him out of his mind. He let out a completely pissed groan, before lifting his hand and tapping two times at your thigh. You gladly stood up from your place.

You knew he did spare you; he didn't used his full strength on you but this way he really did underestimate you. A mistake he would never commit twice. You reached out a hand to help him up, but he only ignored it and stood up with no problem. You shrugged it off. "Don't be such a sore loser.", Soap cried out behind your back, but Simon did ignore him. He rather shouted at the recruits to keep starting. You turned around and Price gave you a paternal thumbs up, which only made you shake your head. You didn't give too much attention to Soap though. Still letting the incident of the morning washing over your mind. Ghost also looked out for getting away as fast and as far as possible from the Scot. He knew Johnny would be nonstop teasing him about the situation, and Simon couldn't even blame him, therefore. His cheeks were still streaming hot.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub

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freddiemercurylegendabovelegends · 4 months

Text

Today - December 13th, 1974 - Queen Story!

Barcelona, Spain, Palacio de los Deportes de Barcelona

'Sheer Heart Attack Tour'

- Last show of the European Tour

🔸December 13th, 1974, Barcelona, Spain - Queen chatting with ‘Rock'n'Roll Popular 1’ Spanish magazine redactor Bertha M. Yebra, who also is combing Freddie’s hair in the first picture, for a photoshot session with Martín Frías (known as Martin J. Louis)

Bertha M. Yebra (editora de la revista musical 'Popular1', amiga)

“El vaig conèixer cap a l’any 1974 perquè a la revista vam dedicar a Queen una de les fotonovel·les que fèiem. Crec que va ser el primer cop que visitaven Espanya. Amb Mercury va sorgir de seguida una connexió especial, ens vam caure molt bé. Teníem aficions comunes, li agradava que el pentinés, que li pintés les ungles i que intercanviéssim braçalets i joies. Era un home fantàstic, amb una gran sensibilitat, i un talent descomunal per a la música, capaç de compondre temes tan extraordinaris com 'Bohemian rhapsody'. Des de llavors vam ser sempre amics i quan ens retrobàvem era molt afectuós i atent amb mi, com si fóssim amics de tota la vida i ens acabéssim de veure el dia abans. Vam coincidir sis o set vegades més, l’última dos anys abans de morir, quan va celebrar el seu aniversari a l’hotel Tony Pikes d’Eivissa i em va convidar. La malaltia encara no se li havia desenvolupat gaire i estava radiant, contentíssim de trobar-se amb els amics”.

(➡️ source: https://www.ara.cat/…/Freddie-Mercury-perfil_0_1604839652.h…)

#bertha yebra #barcelona 1974 #1974 #barcelona #sheer heart attack tour #sheer heart attack album #freddie mercury #queen band #london #zanzibar #legend #queen #brian may #john deacon #freddiebulsara #roger taylor

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 9 months

Note

They know, but they can’t do anything about it. She needs to make money somehow and she wrecked all other money-making avenues.

If it won't be too much of a hassle, please can you explain why you say she has wrecked her money making avenues?

Let’s turn the clock back to 2018, when they were planning Megxit. She was a relatively youthful actress with a royal husband, a feminist reputation and a semi-successful blog. She had contributed essays to magazines and anthologies, organized a best-selling charity cookbook, and edited Vogue. She was a decent public speaker and had hosted several successful forum events. She also had a strong fashion viewpoint and reputation thanks to the Rachel Zane character and her royal wardrobe. Plus she had a charity capsule collection and a solid merching rep under her belt.

Yes, most of those achievement were exaggerated (the blog/public speaking), other people’s work (cookbook, essay collection), or thinly veiled disasters (Vogue, capsule collections), but it was still a good resume. A lot of Hollywood achievements are equally fake or exaggerated, so I don’t think that would put anyone off.

So she had something to build on when she left. But did she actually build on that resume after Megxit? Heck no.

The first obvious money-making avenue was fashion. That’s how she was making money before the engagement and she could have returned to that. She could have built on that in Hollywood, but she didn’t attend fashion shows or galas and she didn’t pursue relationships with any new designers. She didn’t even try. She wore yog pants, shorts, palazzo pants and her floppy Panama hat. The style she chose was very “basic beach bitch” which is definitely not fashion.

So scratch high fashion. She still had writing to pursue. She could have done another charity cookbook to build a wellness brand, or another feminist anthology (with freaking Gloria Steinman!) to build a writing brand. But what did she do instead? A children’s book about fathers. She also did a miscarriage essay. She could try to pitch a magazine idea (a la Drew Barrymore) but no one is going to bite because her Vogue issue was terrible.

So so much for writing. There was still her forum experience which seemed like a good match for podcasting. She could have done any podcast topic in the world, but she decided to interview celebrities and bitch about her press coverage. Okay, so much for podcasting. Archetypes wrecked not only her podcasting career but also any change she had at a talk show or View-style show because she was such a disaster at it.

How about acting? She’s not accepting any offers and her own attempt at voice work was not a success. Maybe a reality show? Not really because the candid segments of the Meghan and Harry documentary were frankly terrible.

That’s what I mean when I say she wrecked all her other options. This is why she’s now pitching for a game show or rom com production.

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just-another-josh · 6 months

Text

Romance

Kara had the best of intentions.

She really, really did.

But let’s be honest, she didn’t stand a chance. She was setup to fail since childhood. During her time on Krypton, she never saw an actual, honest-to-Rao wedding proposal; not anything resembling Earth standards, mind you. No, it was basically your parents marching you down to the local council building when you came of age and submitting your DNA to the Matricomp to find a genetically suitable partner. The nobler the house, the better. It was no different than an arranged marriage on Earth.

On the off chance you did meet someone you wanted to bond with, the process was the same, save for your DNA was only tested against your potential mate’s. When Kara reached adulthood and reflected on the matching process, ‘cringy’ was the best way she could describe it. She was honestly happy the ritual didn’t survive Krypton’s destruction and by extension was not practiced on Argo. She loved keeping her culture alive and all, but she had no interest in telling Alura and Zor-El to “piss off” if her parents ever had the audacity to suggest she of submit her name.

Her exposure to proposals on Earth were limited, at best. Sure, she’d seen her fair share of people popping the question in the multitude of rom coms she’d watched and books she’d read, but her sample of real-world proposals was…sketchy. Eliza never shared the story of how Jeremiah proposed to her simply because it brought up too many bad memories. Kal and Lois were always vague when sharing the story of their engagement. As for Alex and Sam, their proposal took place immediately after destroying Al’s bar fighting Lex and Nyxly for the Love totem; any guidance they had to offer lacked credibility.

Without any authentic, trustworthy examples available to her, Kara decided to forge ahead on her own when she made the decision to propose to Lena. She convinced herself she didn’t need any help; she’s the editor-in-chief of CatCo magazine, hell, she’s Supergirl for Rao’s sake. She could come up with the perfect proposal that would blow the CEO’s mind! Something that would ooze love, devotion, and romance.

Kara spent a month coming up with the perfect set-up. She’d already forged the bonding bracelet in the Fortress and, with a little help from Sara Lance and Iris West-Allen, had purchased the perfect engagement ring (she didn’t involve her sister in the process; Alex had a big mouth whenever she hung out with Lena). She had a special box created to house the bracelet and ring for an optimal presentation; lining it with blue felt on the exterior and red felt inside.

As for the location, she decided to keep it simple and propose at their penthouse. She would fill the living and dining areas with candles to set the mood; sparing a few for the bedroom in case they decided to celebrate their pending nuptials in a more intimate setting.

She wanted to look particularly radiant that night, and with Nia’s help, Kara found the perfect dress at an upscale boutique. Not wanting the Naltorian to know why she was getting the dress (much like Alex, Nia also had a big mouth), Kara told her that she and Lena were going to dinner at a fancy new restaurant. Kara was nervous and disappointed when she was told the color dress she wanted had to be fitted and altered and couldn’t take it home that day, but the sales clerk assured her it would be ready before their “special night”.

Kara planned the perfect meal for her zhao. It would be a magnificent dinner filled with her favorite Irish foods. The Kryptonian knew she wasn’t the best cook, but she felt confident she could prepare Irish stew, soda bread, Colcannon Mash, and traditional Irish apple cake with custard sauce after watching a few YouTube videos.

Last but not least, Kara spent weeks preparing the speech she would give Lena when she proposed to her. The first draft went through multiple edits before she scrapped the whole thing and rewrote it. After rewriting the speech from scratch four more times and dozens of edits, Kara was finally satisfied. The hero thought it was the greatest piece of writing she’d ever done; in her mind, eclipsing even her Pulitzer winning expose on Lex and Red Daughter.

The plan was simple: Kara would propose to Lena on a Friday night. The CEO always got off in time for dinner on Fridays; a compromise the CEO made with the hero when they moved in together. She would meet Lena at the door wearing her very expensive dress; dinner already platted and on the dining room table. They’d enjoy a candlelit dinner with her and Lena’s favorite sappy playlist playing softly in the background. Once dinner was finished, she’d ask Lena to dance with her and when the playlist hit their special song (Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift, of course), Kara would produce the box that she had strategically hidden under the coffee table, get down on one knee, and propose. If Lena said ‘yes’ (Kara was at least 90% sure she would), her and her new fiancé would enjoy dessert and later head off to their bedroom to make love the rest of the night.

“Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy” as Winn would say.

Right?

The first indication that things were not going to go smoothly was a delay with the alterations to her new dress. The clerk at the boutique called her three days before the big night saying that the seamstress had been ill and was behind on her orders, but before Kara could hyperventilate, the clerk assured her it would be ready Friday morning with plenty of time to spare before dinner. Kara spent the next fifteen minutes doing controlled breathing exercises Eliza had taught her when she first arrived on Earth, reassuring herself that everything was going to be okay.

The rest of the week passed without further complications; it wasn’t until Friday morning that everything started going sideways.

Kara received word from the clerk at the boutique that her dress had been destroyed in a sewing machine mishap. Kara tried to roll with the punches and asked if they still had the dress in the color that she initially tried on. Unfortunately, the clerk informed her that that style of dress had sold out. After receiving a half-assed apology from the clearly disingenuous clerk, Kara poked her finger through her phone as she ended the call. The Kryptonian rushed to her private bathroom and spent several minutes doing breathing exercises again. Kara quietly mumbled to herself between breaths, “Everything’s going to be okay. This is just a minor setback. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’ll just dig out that dress I wore when we crashed Morgan Edge’s party. Yeah, that’s it, that’ll work. Everything’s going to be great!” She got up, splashed some water on her face, and went back to work.

Fortunately, Kara was able to escape CatCo in the early afternoon. With her personal phone taking up residence in the trash can, Kara grabbed her seldom used work phone, shot a text off to Lena telling her that she’d be using it the rest of the day, and flew (literally) out of her office to pick up the ingredients for the night’s special meal. The hero hated that she had to wait until the last minute to hit the grocery store, but between EIC and Supergirl duties that week, she just hadn’t had the time. Luck seemed to be on Kara’s side as she had no issues finding the supplies she needed and getting out of the store swiftly.

She returned home around 4pm and began fixing dinner in earnest, super-speeding through prepping the ingredients. She boiled potatoes, sliced up beef, apples, and veggies, whipped together dough, and sauteed some of the chopped vegetables in olive oil. She had everything prepped and ready to cook within twenty minutes (the potatoes took forever to boil, and she didn’t trust speeding up the cook time with her heat vision).

Kara didn’t realize the stew would take three hours in the crock pot before it was ready, creating a slight problem; Lena was due home in two hours. Kara turned the heat up to its highest setting to speed up the process. The bread, Colcannon, and apple cake would only take a half hour in the oven, so she moved on to the next phase of her plan.

Placing the candles throughout the penthouse was simple enough, but she ran into a bit of an issue when she went to pair her phone with the built-in sound system. Her work phone did not have the playlist she wanted downloaded on it and she couldn’t download it from the Cloud. Lena refused to connect any phone that didn’t have her personal encryption software installed, hence the reason why Kara never used her work phone. The Kryptonian for a generic YouTube playlist to stream directly into the living room speakers.

After speed cleaning the penthouse, setting the dining room table, and checking the progress of the stew (it was lukewarm at best), she readied her other dishes for the oven. A slight hiccup with the remaining dishes: each had to be cooked at different temperatures for different lengths of time. Unfortunately, the penthouse only had one oven, but Kara had prepared for this. Her plan was to average out the cooking times of the three dishes and repeat the process for the cooking temperatures. Bubbling with pride at her ingenuity, the blonde put the remaining dishes in the oven.

Her tasks completed; Kara noted she had forty-five minutes before Lena was due to arrive home. She used the time to take a shower, get dressed, and do her hair and make-up. As per usual, she kept her make-up light, save for using a darker shade of red lipstick. She styled her hair in a pompadour-style updo reminiscent of the way she wore during her exposure to Red K. Although she would never admit it to another living soul, she actually liked her wardrobe and style choices while she was infected; her fondness for that awful experience ending there.

Twenty minutes later, Kara exited the bedroom looking (and more importantly) feeling sexy and confident. She spent the next five minutes lighting the candles spread about the penthouse. Sadly, she had to light each candle at human speed; the candles would be blown out if she went any faster.

With twenty minutes left before Lena walked through the door, Kara walked into the kitchen to inspect her still-cooking food. Everything in the oven looked like it was progressing as planned; nothing was burned, smoking, or on fire, a win in Kara’s book. Much to her chagrin, the stew was still undercooked. Starting to panic, the Kryptonian decided to take a risk and use her heat vision to heat the stew to the appropriate temperature. Focusing on the simmering meal, Kara released two narrow, blue beams of heat vision. She had to use the utmost control to ensure she didn’t incinerate the stew (or the crock pot for that matter). She was reminded of all the times Eliza had had her finish cooking the Thanksgiving turkey in a similar fashion. Heating up a turkey was easy in comparison to what was essentially a thick soup; the slightest slip up could result in a boiling cauldron of inedible slop. As she slowly brought the hearty meal to temperature, she could smell a delicious combination of meat, vegetables, and spices. She couldn’t help the beaming, congratulatory smile on her face.

As far as Kara was concerned, she was killing it.

As if the universe had decided that Kara’s cockiness needed to be tempered, the alarm from the smoke detector roared to life causing the hero to lose focus; an intense burst of heat vision blowing the crock pot and its contents throughout the kitchen. Kara screamed as she was covered in thick, viscous brown chunks. The startled hero backed away from the oven and collided with the food prep area; the force of the impact crushing the lip of the marble counter with a loud crunch. Kara spun around to inspect whatever damage she’d done to the counter and in the process smacked the bottle of olive oil she’d used earlier. The oil splashed in all directions; some ending up on the candlelit dining table. The highly flammable oil ignited when it made contact with the candle’s open flame which resulted in bright flames springing to life on the tabletop; increasing its intensity quickly when the cloth napkins turned to kindling.

Seeing the mini-inferno spreading across the tabletop, Kara released a panicked yelp. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” she cried. She swiftly positioned herself near the table and extinguished the flames using her freeze-breath. The force of the artic blast knocked several candles off their perches: some landing on the floor and some on the furniture. Luckily, the candles were extinguished by the same force that knocked them over, but hot, liquified wax splashed onto the carpet and furniture indiscriminately.

With the table fire quelled, Kara turned back towards the kitchen to identify what had set off the smoke detector. The blonde zeroed in on a plume of smoke billowing out of the oven and rushed back into the kitchen. In her panic-driven haste, the Kryptonian ripped the oven door clean off its hinges and carelessly flung it away. The freshly launched door smashed through the glass sliding door and landed with a loud clang when it landed on the balcony.

Kara peered into the now doorless oven. “No!” she bellowed when she saw the soda bread burned to a crisp; thick black smoke rising from its charred corpse. The apple cake was well on its way to becoming charcoal but had yet to transition into a gaseous mess. The Colcannon resembled a Jello mold.

Kara, a crushed look on her stew-stained face, stepped back from the oven and doused the still smoking dishes with a quick burst of freeze-breath. She slowly became aware of the obnoxious shriek continuing to be emitted from the smoke detector. The Kryptonian removed the glass dish containing the Colcannon from the oven and flung it at the detector, smashing both to pieces.

Mercifully, the penthouse fell silent.

“Miss Zor-El, there is an incoming call from building security.” Hope’s soothing but indifferent voice broke the silence.

“Okay,” Kara quietly responded, clearly in a haze.

“Miss Danvers, this is Chet at the security desk. We’re monitoring a smoke detector activation coming from your unit. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a little accident. Everything’s fine,” the hero flatly responded.

“Another issue with your toaster oven?” the guard said jokingly.

“Something like that.” She let out a shuddering breath at the guard’s playful ribbing, but the joke fell flat as it was just another reminder of her past cooking failures and compounded the gravity of her current situation.

“No worries, Miss Danvers. I’m glad everything’s okay. Please contact us if you need anything. Have a good night.” The guard hung up without a response; not that Kara really cared at this point.

Kara surveyed the penthouse; slowly taking in the scope of the damage. The kitchen counter and dining table both sported large scorch marks; the counter also showed a Kara-size indentation. Chunks of crushed, white marble littered the floor. The front of the oven sported black smoke residue that made a trail up to the ceiling. She turned towards the living room and saw that multiple candles were strewn about the carpet. Their white couch and loveseat bore splashes of now-cooled wax. The shattered sliding door and the severed oven door lying on the balcony floor added the finishing touches to the carnage.

Kara’s eyes filled with tears, but she refused to cry. She turned away from the damage and nonchalantly made her way to the bathroom. Once inside, she robotically wiped the brownish, caked-on stew residue off her face with a wet washcloth. Her face clean, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her once well-quaffed hair had wild strands hanging loose, her dress had crusty brown splotches running from top to bottom, and, turning to look at her backside, pieces of plaster and crushed marble covered her ass.

Kara squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head in disbelief. She exited the bathroom without making any other attempts to clean the remaining muck out of her hair or off her dress.

Kara returned to the living room and sat on their wax encrusted couch and the very edge of the cushion, her body ramrod straight. After a few minutes sitting quietly, the Kryptonian reached under the coffee table and retrieved the blue box containing the bonding bracelet and engagement ring. She set the box on top of the coffee table and longingly gazed at it. She closed her eyes and, as if finally giving permission to break free, a trickle of tears began to slide down her cheeks.

This is how Lena found her when she entered the penthouse.

The CEO mindlessly glimpsed at the mangled penthouse; mere seconds passed before her brain caught up to what she was seeing. “Kara!” She moved quickly to the couch, a look of panic in her eyes. “What happened? Did someone attack you?” Kara gave no indication that she was aware of Lena’s presence, let alone respond to her questions. Lena sat on the edge of the couch next to Kara, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning the seemingly catatonic Kryptonian’s body to face her. Lena closely examined her stunned girlfriend. She focused on the brown stains littering Kara’s dress, going so far as to scrape some of the crusted substance off with her fingernail.

After a brief examination of the unknown substance, a perplexed Lena gently cupped Kara’s cheek and ever so slowly turned the hero to face her. Lena saw a smattering of tears running down her cheeks. “Darling, what happened?” she asked with all the gentleness she could muster.

A look of pure anguish fell over Kara’s face and the floodgates opened. The hero pulled Lena into an almost too tight hug and buried her face in the CEO’s shoulder; uncontrollable sobs erupted from her. Rage, disappointment, embarrassment, and a litany of other emotions poured out of the blonde as her body was racked with an onslaught of tears. Muffled wails soon followed, the hero’s body quaking with each mournful cry.

On the verge of tears herself, Lena kept her composure as best she could. Her girlfriend needed her to keep her shit together and, although the CEO had no idea what was going on, she intended to support the hero in any way she could. She squeezed the blonde as tight as she could and ran her fingers through her hair, periodically planting chaste kisses on her forehead and softly whispering reassurances that everything would be okay.

After fifteen or so minutes, the Kryptonian’s cries were reduced to shuddered breaths and occasional sniffles. Taking this as a sign the blonde had finally calmed down, Lena decided it was a good time to get to the bottom of her girlfriend’s meltdown. “Are you feeling up to telling me what happened?” Kara’s body briefly stiffened, but the hero nodded into the brunette’s shoulder, nonetheless. She slowly extricated herself from Lena’s embrace and situated herself on the couch so she could properly face her.

Lena took one look at the bloodshot and puffy eyes on Kara’s tear-streaked face and her heart broke. “Oh, my giehrehv-divil, please tell me what happened.” Lena tucked a few strands of wet, matted hair behind the blonde’s ear.

Kara nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I…I tried to plan a…a special evening for us. I ordered a special dress from Matti D and…and…I…was going to make some authentic, Irish food…and…and…so we could have a nice candlelight dinner…and then I was going to put on our favorite playlist…so…so we could dance…and then…and then…I was gonna…gonna give you…” Kara glanced at the blue box on the table and let out a painful, hiccupped whimper. “But everything got ruined!” she said with an angry stutter. “The seamstress destroyed the dress…so I had to put on this…this old rag which I know you like…but it’s four-years-old…and then…and then I broke my phone when they called me, so I didn’t have access to our playlist…” The intensity in Kara’s voice began to increase, as did the intervals between stuttered breaths. “…and…and I tried to cook dinner…but everything burned…and then…the table caught on fire and…and…I broke the counter…and…I ripped the door off the oven and threw it through the sliding door…and the wax on the couch…” Kara choked on a sob. “I wrecked everything!” she howled before crumbling into heaping mess of tears.

Lena deftly pulled the hysterical Kryptonian into her arms and began rocking her. She rubbed small circles on her back and planted more soft kisses on her forehead. The hero didn’t take long to recover but Lena refused to release her. Instead, the CEO slowly moved herself and Kara into a lying position on the couch; Kara readjusting her body so Lena could spoon her. The brunette planted soft kisses behind the Kryptonian’s ear, Kara melting further in her embrace.

The couple stayed cuddled together for an indeterminant amount of time before Lena broke the silence. “Is that for me?” she asked, indicating the blue box.

Kara somberly sighed. “It was supposed to be.”

“Now I don’t get it?”

Kara scoffed, “I don’t think you’d want it.”

“And why is that?” Lena asked, eyebrow raised inquisitively.

Kara sat up and turned to face the CEO. “Why?” she said incredulously. “Look at me…look at all this.” Kara waved her hand indicating the living room and kitchen. “Lena, I’m a dumpster fire!” the Kryptonian pleaded.

Lena sat up and grabbed ahold of Kara’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Is that really what you think?”

Kara shrugged. “It’s how I see myself sometimes. Especially after I do shit like this,” she said as she motioned towards the kitchen again.

Lena thinned her lips as she carefully considered how to respond to Kara’s unfair assessment of herself. “So, because you see yourself as a dumpster fire, I should reject whatever’s in there.” Lena pointed at the box.

“You would if you knew what was in it,” Kara whispered defeatedly.

Lena chuckled. “Oh, my sweet, sweet, darling. I’m fairly certain I already know what’s in there.” The CEO confidently smiled, a glimmer of warmth in her eyes.

Kara gasped, her shoulders slumped, and she looked away; attempting to avoid the certainty in her girlfriend’s gaze.

Lena pulled at Kara’s hand. “Hey, don’t run away.” The Kryptonian turned towards the brunette but refused to make eye contact with her. Lena cupped her chin and gently guided Kara to face her. “I need you to look at me and listen,” Lena said with conviction. “You say you see yourself as a dumpster fire. Do you want to know what I see?” Lena asked rhetorically, not giving the blonde any time to reply. “When I look at you, I see a loving, considerate, romantic, and giving woman who…I don’t know…for the quadrillionth time since I met her, went out of her way to show me just how much she loves me…no one has ever gone to the lengths that you have to make me feel like I’m cherished. Honestly, you could accidently destroy our entire penthouse and I would still love you.”

Lena laid a soft kiss on Kara’s hand. “We’ve been through hell and back to get to where we are. I would be a damn fool if some broken appliances and a few scorched furniture made me question how what we’re trying to build here.”

“But I had this perfect plan…” Kara whispered.

“Darling, I can’t imagine how disappointed you must be, and I’m so sorry all this happened.” Lena squeezed her girlfriend’s hand tighter. “But please understand, I don’t need perfect, Kara. I just need you, imperfections and all…especially the imperfections…they’re what made me fall in love with you in the first place.”

Kara minutely nodded, still not looking convinced. “I just…I sometimes feel like I’m not good enough for you…like…somehow I’m not worthy of your love,” the hero said, averting her eyes.

Lena couldn’t help the astonished gasp escaping her lungs. “Kara. How could you say that? How could you ever think that?” she said with a hint of anger in her voice. The CEO lightly grasped the Kryptonian by the shoulders and made sure she had her attention. With a pained look on her face, Lena calmly said, “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I of all people understand how you can feel like that sometimes. When it came to you, I felt unworthy for years. I thought to myself ‘There’s no way I’m a good enough person to have Kara in my life’. And don’t even get me started on where my head was at when we started dating. I felt like a fraud. I convinced myself that I didn’t deserve your friendship, let alone your love.”

Lena’s eyes were filling with unshed tears. Kara noticed and mirrored her girlfriend’s painful expression. “But I don’t feel that way anymore, and do you want to know who finally got me out of that spiral?” Lena leaned in to rest her forehead on Kara’s. “You, my giehrehv-divil. You spent years showing me that I not only deserved to be loved by you but loved by our friends and family. You never gave up on me. I spent those same years doubting everything you tried to show me. Until one day, one day I started to believe it. There was no special event or earthshattering circumstance that opened my eyes. I just remember one day I was looking in the mirror and came to the realization that I was good enough, that I was deserving of your love, and that I was worthy of you.”

Both had tears cascading down their cheeks. Kara leaned in and gave Lena the gentlest of kisses, the blonde grinned into her girlfriend’s lips. The couple broke apart and Lena filled Kara’s hands with her own. “And let me tell you something, if that box has in it what I think it does, you, Kara Zor-El, are more than worthy enough to ask me the question that goes with it.”

A light dusting of pink appeared on Kara’s cheeks. “Promise?” she said bashfully.

Lena softly smiled. “Promise.”

Kara slammed the brunette into the arm of the couch with a bone crushing hug; almost knocking the wind out of the surprised billionaire. The Kryptonian ended up atop her girlfriend and buried her face in the crook of her neck. Lena could feel Kara’s smile tickling her skin, the blonde adding a hum of contentment once they were comfortably settled.

After enjoying a few minutes of happily snuggling with her girlfriend, Lena, staring contemplatively at the Kryptonian curled up on her side, brushed her lips against the blonde’s forehead and asked, “Kara, do you know what the odds are that, out of all time and space, the two of us would end up here, on this couch, in each other’s arms?”

Kara thought a moment before mumbling “no” into Lena’s neck.

“Well, in the interest of saving me the trouble of rattling off an obscenely long number, let’s just say a person would be more likely to be randomly struck by lightning...” Lena paused to let her words sink in.

Kara removed herself from Lena’s neck and leveled a raised eyebrow at her; clearly unimpressed. “That’s not a big…”

“…25 times,” Lena interrupted, sporting a mischievous grin. Kara’s eyebrows flew to her hairline, and she let out a low whistle. Lena nodded in agreement. For the first time since she arrived home, Lena was treated to her girlfriend’s trademark, radiant smile. The CEO cupped the Kryptonian’s face and slowly ran the pads of her fingers down the baby soft skin. The brunette’s features softened into a look of adoration and something akin to awe. “I don’t know if it was fate, a cosmic coincidence, or hell, even Rao that brought you to me, but I cherish every moment I get to be with you.”

Kara’s eyes began to well up again. She swiftly captured Lena’s lips with her own, her kiss desperate and hungry. They kissed until Lena had to come up for air. Kara leisurely moved off the brunette and sat up straight. She glanced over at the kitchen and frowned; a frustrated sigh followed. “Well, I guess I better get to cleaning up this mess.” Kara moved to get up but was quickly stopped by Lena’s hand grabbing her wrist.

Lena scoffed, “The hell you are. I didn’t triple the insurance coverage when you moved in for nothing. I’ll have a clean-up crew in here tomorrow to deal with this.” Kara reluctantly nodded in agreement. “No, you and I are going to order some take-out because I’m starving…as are you, I’m sure. While we’re waiting for dinner to be delivered, we’re going to get you out of that dress and into the shower, hopefully we can wash that goulash out of your hair.”

“It’s Irish stew…or it was supposed to be,” Kara said with a hint of embarrassment.

Lena’s face lit up. “Darling, that’s so sweet of you!” She sat up and gave Kara a quick peck on the cheek before continuing, “The food should be here by the time we get out of the shower, so we’ll eat, and then it’s straight to bed so I can show you how much I love you.” Lena seductively bit her bottom lip and wiggled her eyebrows. “Multiple times.”

Kara giggled excitedly and rose from the couch. “I’ll go get your phone out of your purse, I have no idea where my work phone ended up and I have no interest in finding it right now.” She had barely taken a step before she felt Lena’s hand grip her wrist again. She looked down at the seated CEO confused.

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Lena said, eyeing her girlfriend with an expectant look.

Kara scanned around the room; not finding anything that needed to be attended to immediately, she asked, “What am I forgetting?”

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask me?” Lena motioned towards the blue box on the coffee table.

The Kryptonian followed her girlfriend’s eyeline and when she realized what the brunette was alluding to, a deep blush and a look of shock overtook her features. “Oh…yes…right…okay!” She let out a long breath and shook her arms to loosen them up. Kara took several deep breaths and rolled her shoulders. “I can do this…I can do this,” she not-so-quietly told herself.

While Kara was having a mini-nervous breakdown, Lena sat silently trying her best not to laugh at the Kryptonian’s panic induced calisthenics. The brunette could not hide how much she was enjoying watching the blonde come unraveled.

Appearing to have psyched herself up sufficiently, Kara lifted the box up and cradled it in her hands. She opened her mouth as if to speak but stopped short. The Kryptonian set the box back on the table and began patting at her chest with both hands. Having not found what she was apparently searching for, she slid her hand into the top of her bra and, after digging under the cup for a few seconds, removed her still empty hand. She repeated the process with the other cup, once again coming up empty handed.

“Kara, what are you doing?” Lena said, leveling her girlfriend with a perplexed look.

The Kryptonian smiled sheepishly and held up her index finger. “Ummm, be right back.” She super-speeded out of the living room leaving a bewildered, windswept Lena without answers. Kara reappeared in front of the CEO within seconds, her face reddening and her jaw clenched. “I left my speech at the office,” Kara said through gritted teeth. “I worked on that speech for weeks.”

A small giggle escaped Lena’s lips, but she quickly slapped her hands over her mouth trying to quiet herself.

Kara threw her hands up in defeat, her body completely deflated. “Seems to be the theme this evening. Well, I guess I’m gonna have to wing it!” she said in exasperation. She aggressively swiped the box off the coffee table and unceremoniously plopped down on one knee.

Lena smiled, took Kara’s hand into her own, and lightly kissed it. “Relax, darling. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#supercorp #supercorptober2023 #kara danvers #lena luthor

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shuacore · 2 years

Text

no thorns, no roses.

reader (f) x jsh. summary: a modeling gig turns into a test of your patience (and your self-control) — 11.4K words — is enemies with benefits a thing?, basically pwp, semi-public hooking-up?? — warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings

additional warnings: degradation (lite), unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), probably like a billion red flags lol

"Good news, y/n!" your boss yells over the phone, and you wince as you pull the speaker away from your ear. Mingyu was a nice guy but, Christ, he was fucking loud. You slowly put the phone to your ear again. "You booked the Dior gig!"

Your jaw drops. "No fucking way. You're lying!" Silently you kick your feet in the air, a giddy dizzy feeling buzzing through your whole body. If Mingyu could see you on the other side of the phone he'd be laughing at you, but from the safety of your own apartment, you could act as ridiculous as you wanted. Your boss is yelling something into the phone, but you're not listening as you jump around your couch, pumping your fists in the air like the protagonist of some corny rom-com movie.

"...really liked your stuff. Their girl backed out after getting food poisoning and they need someone else. I know it's extremely short notice, but it's tomorrow afternoon— can you make that work?"

You nod vigorously before remembering you're on the phone and Mingyu can't actually see your face. "Yes!" you reply breathlessly. You can't feel your legs anymore, so you slump on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest.

"Awesome! I'll get in touch with their creative coordinator right now and forward you the details ASAP. Thanks, y/n," Mingyu says with a short goodbye, and the line dies.

For a moment, all you can do is sit in shock. Dior wanted you. And not only that, but it was for a shoot in Vogue?! You flop onto your back, still speechless. You had to be dreaming. It had been years since your last major shoot, and it had been such a disaster that you had refused to do any luxury shoots since then. Except that when Mingyu had told you that Dior had sent out a notice to all the major modeling agencies looking for new blood for their latest campaign, you knew you had to try.

So you had spent the last few weeks filming and editing your best walks together into a video, compiled with countless headshots, past work, and endless pose references. Your favorite brand was looking for new talent, and there was no way in hell you could pass up the opportunity.

You throw your arm over your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The sick thing was that it had actually worked. And now you were going to Vogue's studio tomorrow to work directly with some of the most renowned designers in the world. God, it made you want to pee yourself a little bit.

Somewhere across the room, there's a small ding! from your phone from where you had thrown it and you hastily push yourself off the couch to grab it. A small notification reads "Congrats!" and in your dazed state you clumsily click on it, opening the email from your boss.

Hey, y/n! Here's the information from Kelly, the creative coordinator at Vogue. Let me know if you have any questions.

Congrats again!

Kim Mingyu | Talent Coordinator

AGC Modeling Agency

—--- Forwarded message ------

From: Kelly G. <[email protected]>

Sent: Monday, July 29, 2021 8:56 AM

To: Kim Mingyu <[email protected]>

Subject: VOGUE x Dior 2021 Shoot Replacement

Hey Mingyu!

We've run into an issue with one of our girls and we need a replacement. We really liked the work of y/n and would love to work with them! Here are the details from Dior's creative director, and I've included a few images of the sample pieces they've asked us to shoot. Let me know what you think!

Thanks!

Kelly G. | Creative Coordinator

VOGUE Magazine

Your eyes skim the rest of the email, reading over the shoot info as fast as possible. Well, the clothing is more revealing than you were used to doing, and the colors were, honestly, underwhelming, but your excitement outweighed your trepidation.

If it was just another solo shoot, and it sounded like it was, you were ready to give them your best material. The creative director wouldn’t even know what hit them.

As you climb into bed that night, you can't fight the smile that threatens to take over your whole face, and you slowly drift off to sleep, dreaming of camera flashes and a world painted with unimaginable color.

----

The next morning, however, as you stand outside the Vogue studio door and your stomach threatens to push itself out of your mouth, you wonder if you've truly chosen the right career path.

"Mingyu, I don't know if I can do this," you say, turning to look at your manager. His dark hair is effortlessly tousled, and in the bright morning light, he looks as if he's glowing. You often wonder why Mingyu had never become a model himself, but whenever you asked, he just brushed off the question in the infuriatingly cool way that he did everything. As you watch a few strands of his perfect hair wave in the cool New York morning breeze, dimly, you also wonder why you’ve never asked him out.

"Your stuff was great, y/n," he says, with a goofy little pat on your shoulder. "If anyone can 'serve face' it's you!"

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. It was horrendous how he tried to keep up with the youth, but there was no hope with Mingyu. So you simply nod and let him lead you through the door, trying your best not to vomit all over yourself.

The door shuts behind you with a horrible clunk, and as you follow your manager through the catacombs of Vogue's creative spaces, you try your very best to feel excited.

No! You tell yourself. You are excited! Except you're also impossibly worried about making a fool of yourself in front of the top fashion magazine in the world, and possibly affecting the rest of your career forever.

"Ok," you say nervously, "Snap out of it!" Miles of beige drywall seem to pass by you. Why the hell is this hallway so long? You swear you’ve been walking for eons now, and the longer the hallway stretches on, the smaller you shrink.

By the time you reach the end of the hallway, you can't be more than a few centimeters tall. Mingyu chooses an unassuming beige door and allows you to enter the room before him. Some of the photographers are already in the room, and they wave politely as you enter. The backdrops are set up and ready, with a few more options draped across support beams and tables. There's a chair centered under a few lights and you see your clothing rack, already adorned with a few of the flimsy, delicate pieces you'd be wearing. Being in the space has an immediate effect, and you can't help but feel a jolt of excitement in your stomach.

After setting your bag on a chair in the back, you catch sight of a bed tucked behind one of the backdrops. Had you read anything about a bed being used on set? You couldn't quite remember, and you were about to ask Mingyu about it, but he had already disappeared into the growing throng of designers, off doing his managerial thing. You take a quick look around. No one seems to be watching you, and besides, it’s your set so why not get used to it?

You approach the bed, curiosity and confusion battling in your brain. It didn’t seem to really fit with the strange and spunky summer theme, but maybe it was for some kind of boudoir moment the art directors had in mind? There had definitely been some gauzy things mixed in with Dior’s array of pieces.

Honestly, the longer you look at it, the more delightful the bed looks. The pillows are squishy and adorned in soft, shiny silk, and there are a few blankets strewn artfully across the comforters. Man, you really wanted to jump onto it like a little kid, but you also wanted to appear professional— so that meant no jumping. For now at least.

You turn to walk back to your seat, barely looking where you’re going when you crash headfirst into someone else. Papers go flying, coffee splatters everywhere, and in the sudden flurry of motion, there’s a cacophony of swearing.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I totally wasn’t looking where I was going. I can pay for your dry cleaning, or run and grab you a new shirt. God, I am so, so sorry,” you babble, suddenly sweating profusely. In a panic, you kneel down to gather the papers as fast as possible, shoving them into a haphazard pile and offering them to the other person with as apologetic of a face as you could possibly make.

And then you make eye contact with them.

Fuck. Your heart drops into your stomach.

The man you just ran into wrinkles his nose. “Oh. It’s you.” His dark eyes are flat with disdain.

You fight the urge to throw a punch (and also throw up). It’s been years since you last saw him, and yet, you seem to be having some sort of Pavlovian response to his voice.

“Joshua Hong,” you say through gritted teeth. The other creatives are watching the two of you with poorly disguised interest, so you attempt to actively suppress the rage gurgling uncomfortably in your stomach by forcing a smile onto your lips. It doesn't work, but they don't need to know that.

Joshua takes the forgotten papers from your hands, offering you a dry smile before stalking away without another word.

Wow. He really has not changed at all. Still just as insufferable and impossible as the last time you worked with him.

Vague memories of getting drunk and hooking up with Joshua swim to the front of your mind. You hadn’t known you were going to be working with him the next day. He had just been some hot guy at a bar who you had chatted with briefly. All you can really recall is singing (extremely drunk) karaoke with him, making out with him in his car after a particularly raunchy song, and waking up in his bed the next morning. You wonder if he remembers how he held you like you were glass, whispered empty promises in your ear, and made you feel like a princess. He had made you feel like you were unforgettable. And then he hadn’t even acknowledged your damn presence at the shoot later the same day.

After all these years, even after all the effort it had taken you to forget the heartbreak you had felt, one glimpse of him was all it took to send you back to the very beginning of it all. With a particularly large jolt in your chest, you’re horrified that your body still craves him so badly.

“Y/N?” Mingyu’s voice calls out to you, breaking you out of your reverie. “Are you okay?”

You realize your nails had been biting into your palms and you release your fists, trying to relax the tension in your shoulders and your jaw. You plant the most reassuring smile you can on your face and nod.

"Perfect, actually," you say, doing your best to ignore your roiling stomach. The smile on your face feels more like a grimace the longer you hold it.

"Do you... do you need to go to the bathroom?" your manager asks, quirking an eyebrow and throwing a thumb over his shoulder. He looks a little afraid of you and you can only imagine how insane you look to Mingyu. You brush him off.

"No, I'll be fine." Yes, go now! Get out of here! Run! You smile again before shuffling quickly back to your bag amid the whispers that continue to follow you across the studio.

You hadn't seen Joshua Hong in years, and somehow you still couldn't look at him without feeling an explosion of confusing emotions. He had completely humiliated you, belittling you until you had run out of the room and cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes. He made you look like a fool. He had made you feel like shit. Mingyu knew your history with him, but Vogue must have not told him that Joshua was working on this shoot, because you know your sweet, but dense, manager surely would not have booked you for this if they had.

Professionalism be damned. You wanted to throw (another) cup of hot coffee in Joshua Hong's perfectly chiseled face.

You look up from your shaking hands for a moment to see that the bastard has already disappeared. You're not sure if that fills you with dread or relief. Ok, you can't ignore this.

"Mingyu!" you whisper loudly, pulling your manager aside. "You didn't tell me Joshua Hong was going to be here!"

Mingyu looks defensive. "They never told me he would be here!" He wrings his hands for a moment. "Y/n, I swear, I never knew he was working this shoot or I would've never booked this gig for you."

You take a deep breath, forcing your erratic heartbeat to slow until you think you're capable of speaking rationally. "I'm sorry, but I can’t do this."

Mingyu looks even more apologetic, and he runs a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, but at this point, you have to. We don't have any backups nearly as good as you, and backing out would be a huge hit to your career."

You were expecting the bad news, but hearing it directly from Mingyu felt like a huge blow. Suddenly your stomach feels like it's going to eject from your body.

"I lied," you say, clapping a hand to your belly, "Where's the bathroom?"

"Turn to the left and it'll be at the end of the hall," Mingyu replies, concern in his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep! Perfect!" you mumble hastily before walking as quickly out of the room as you could without running. The nervous energy in your body was building until you felt you could climb walls. Clinging to the ceiling surely would be less strenuous than the rest of today.

In your state of mild hysteria, you shove the door to the bathroom open without knocking, only to see Joshua standing over the sink, holding his soiled shirt in his hands. He whips his head around in surprise. And you only just barely see the muscles of his shoulders rippling under his honeyed skin before your eyes are the size of dinner plates.

You might now hold the record for reddest face in two seconds.

"I'm so sorry!" you squeak, yanking the door shut. Your heart is racing a million miles a second. You had just seen Joshua Hong shirtless. (Sober.) And even though you had before, something about this felt worse. Fuck. Fuck! Your luck was unbelievable, and there's absolutely no way you could get through this shoot amiably with this man. Not after you ruined his shirt and certainly not after you invaded his privacy in the span of fifteen minutes.

You lean your back on the wall for a moment, holding your head in your hands, heart pounding so heavily you think you might faint. The darkness of the back of your eyelids is somewhat soothing and you stay like that for a while, wallowing in your despair. But then you hear what sounds like the doorknob turning, and walk back towards the studio as quickly as you possibly can.

"Two minutes!" you hear someone call, and the feeling in your stomach only gets worse. Somehow you were going to have to wear skimpy lingerie next to the man that had made you feel ridiculous and sell the illusion of sex! Luxury! Your stomach gives a particularly robust gurgle.

"Y/N!" one of the stylists calls as you enter the room again. "Let's do wardrobe!" She takes you over to the racks, pulling out a few pieces rapidly, scanning them and your body before settling on a silky black slip dress, which is far more sheer than you had hoped. In any other situation you would have fallen head over heels, but knowing the man closest to being your arch-enemy was going to see you in it suddenly made it extremely unappetizing. The stylist hands you the hanger, showing you to a row of make-shift dressing rooms.

Behind the curtain you slip into the dress, and the silk is smooth and cool against your burning skin. It really is quite pretty, and here by yourself you enjoy the way it clings to your body in all the right places. Unprompted, your brain floods with the image of Joshua's back— broad and tan and toned with muscle.

Imagine him seeing you in this dress...imagine his hands on your body—

"Ok! That's enough!" you interject, crushing the thoughts before they can fully form and liquefy your brain. You take a breath, staring at yourself in the tiny mirror taped to a support beam.

"You got this. It's just another job. Do it for the check." You flash yourself a quick thumbs up.

After opening the curtain, you're whisked away to makeup and hair, where you're accosted by a few more stylists who fuss over your appearance even more. They end up deciding on a bold smoky eye and some simple lip gloss and fluff your hair until it looks effortlessly tousled.

But all too soon you're done with prep, and the only thing left is to start the shoot. Awkwardly you stand off to the side of the studio, waiting for the director to give you instructions. You still haven't seen Joshua, which just sets you on edge even more.

"Y/N!" the director says, appearing by your side. "We're going to start with your solo shots, just for some variety." You smile, allowing your shoulders to relax. Solo shots you could do. A stylist leads you over to the chair and instructs you to sit.

And it goes flawlessly. It's like once you're in front of a camera your body takes over and you know exactly what to do with your arms, what facial expressions to make. The space becomes your own. The director takes your photos, pausing every few minutes or so to instruct you on a new pose or to fix your hair, but the first half of your shoot goes by without a hitch. You feel alive, happy even, as you work, as Joshua fades to the background. When it's just you, you can focus.

"Fantastic work, Y/N!" the director says, as she flicks through a few shots on her camera. You do look great. "The editors have a bunch of really great material to work with." Ok, so maybe this wouldn't be completely terrible. As long as you focused on yourself and on giving your best material, everything would be fine.

As if on cue... he appears and all your resolve crumbles.

Except— he's still not wearing a shirt. Well, he's kind of wearing a shirt, except that it's completely unbuttoned and exposing his entire chest. He's also wearing a pair of simple black dress pants, but to be honest, you're a little distracted by his perfect abs to really notice. Ok, you didn't know this was part of the plan. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and wrench your gaze away, trying to discreetly fan your face as Joshua walks over. Desperately, you hope that he won't mention your little mishap.

Oh my god, he was still hot. Did this change anything? No... you still hated him. Except now you just felt even more conflicted internally. Your body was telling you one thing, but your head was telling you another and you hoped your awful shoot partner being hot didn't suddenly alter your entire perception of him, but you couldn't even—

"Y/N?" Joshua's voice cuts across your inner monologue like a knife, dry and without humor. "The director is speaking." You shoot a panicked glance at him, withering slightly when you see the same unfaltering gaze looking back. He looks so unamused, it's incredible. You wrench your head back towards the director, hoping you look apologetic enough.

She gives you a nonchalant smile and continues on without issue. "You know Dior. Everyone knows Dior. I want you to look sexy, suave, effortless. I know you're both seasoned professionals so I'm not worried, but try and make it as electric as possible."

Sexy. Suave. Electric. Yeah, no worries. You shove your heart back down your throat, trying your damn best not to let your trepidation show. Electricity between you and Joshua. Well, there'd certainly be something.

You try to catch Joshua's eye, to gauge his temperament, but he seems content with ignoring your presence like always. As he sits in the chair, one of the panels of his shirt falls open, flashing the slight curve of his waist again. Despite gritting your teeth in annoyance, your heart does a very confusing loop-de-loop in your chest that makes you feel mildly ill.

After Joshua has settled in the chair, the director motions for a camera. "Ok, for this first shot, Y/N, I want you to place your left foot on his knee so you're facing him. Joshua, let's have you put your hand on Y/N's calf— yeah, exactly like that."

You've forced yourself to look away from Joshua, acutely aware of how short your dress is and how much it's riding up your thigh. Seriously, this is your first shoot and you're already sweating. Joshua places his hand on your leg like it's nothing, but it's taking everything in you not to cringe away. He smells good, too. Fuck! You're trying to remember that you hate him and yet his presence has shaken you to the bone.

"Lean in a little more, Y/N," the photographer says, "You're a little stiff." You nod, and shift so you're even closer to Joshua that you'd like, your chest uncomfortably close to his face.

Jesus. And this was only the first set. You breathe deeply through your nose, trying to ignore your pulse racing heavily through your body. Joshua seems unfazed as always, perfect and unruffled.

Right, because you're supposed to be professionals. Heat flushes up your neck in shame. He hadn't said much and yet you were the one acting childish. You try to distance yourself from the man next to you, telling yourself he's just another model doing his job. And for a while it works. You take a few different shots from different positions— you in front of him, then behind the chair, then next to him, somehow managing to incorporate your leg every time. The director has Joshua inching his hand farther and farther up your thigh until his fingers are practically playing with the hem of your dress, and you are desperately trying to keep your cool. Joshua has a tendency to dig his fingers into your skin every time he moves his hand, and it is doing confusing things to your brain. Then—

"You want him to what?" you say incredulously, eyes wide. You know you shouldn't be reacting like this if you want to keep your job, but Joshua is throwing you off your game.

The director smiles. "I'm going to have you sitting in the chair this time, and I want Joshua on the floor."

You slowly sit in the chair, back stiff as Joshua crouches on the floor next to you.

He briefly looks at you and mutters, "Is it okay if I touch you?" but it's more of a formality than a courtesy. You stare at him, mouth agape and swallow thickly.

"Uh— yeah. No, yeah, that's fine."

He places his hand on your thigh again, fingers gripping the soft flesh ever so slightly, and you desperately hope he doesn't notice the slight shiver that runs through your body. If he does, at least he's civil enough not to mention it.

The photographer is frowning. Oh no. "The energy is still dead. Joshua can you sit in between Y/N's legs?"

You freeze. Even Joshua seems slightly put out. But the look in his eyes fades as quickly as it appeared and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Then he turns to you.

God, you've never wanted to fade out of existence more than you did right now. Having his head right next to your— you-know-where?! Your legs seem to be glued together with the effort it takes to pry them apart. Joshua awkwardly climbs in between your knees, trying to pose as nonchalantly as possible. It's as if your spine is glued to the backrest of the chair; you're completely immobilized. You don't want Joshua there. In fact, you don't want him anywhere near you.

The director frowns. "Lean back! Relax! Loop your arm under her leg, too. You could even lean your face against her thigh if you feel so inclined."

Your eyes have to be so wide right now. Joshua, even though he's clearly uncomfortable, wraps his hand around your thigh again, and leans his head towards your skin. His mouth ever-so-slightly brushes against the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your burning skin. Goosebumps erupt across your body, and you feel the ghost of a smile on the corner of his lips.

You, however, cannot relax. You can't make this look natural no matter how hard you try, and Joshua being so close to your womanhood is certainly not helping. The camera clicks echo through the room as the photographers take a few shots of the two of you.

But after a few minutes, the director still looks unhappy, and you have a sinking feeling it's your fault.

"No... this still isn't right. I like the vision, but this still feels a little forced. Let's try something else."

Isn't it all forced? you think, disgruntled. Joshua shifts his grip on your thigh ever slightly.

The director turns the chair to the side, telling Joshua to sit on it again. She squints for a moment, walking around him a few times and muttering quietly to herself. After a few more minutes, she steps back. Then she looks at you.

"Sit in his lap."

Excuse me?

You don't move. Every bone in your body seems to be made of lead, every muscle completely froze. Joshua stares at you, an unreadable expression in his eyes. You swear he discreetly raises an eyebrow, as if in challenge, but you blink and it's gone. Even your throat feels like it's closing up. But who are you to challenge the director?

Awkwardly, you throw one leg over Joshua's lap, settling yourself as casually as you possibly can. Your heartbeat is screaming in your ears, and you're terrified he'll feel it against his chest. The silky fabric of your dress is offering absolutely no comfort as it shifts over your skin. Joshua's shirt is gaping, your own skin dangerously close to his.

Joshua places his large hands on your back, and the heat from his palms seeps through the delicate silk as if there was no dress at all. You can't even look him in the eyes. You know you're supposed to be acting like you're in lust, but right now you're simply immobile. His cologne wafts tantalizingly off of his skin, and you bite your lip, trying your best to ignore the way his breath washes over your collarbones, the way the heat in your core seems to be intensifying every second you spend flush against him.

"That's a little better," the director says, before whispering something to her colleague. They start to take pictures as they flit around you.

Unconsciously, you've been squirming around on Joshua's lap to get comfortable, and you start when you feel his fingers press into your skin, his breath hot against your throat.

"Stop doing that," he hisses under his breath, and then you realize... the thing underneath you that you thought was maybe his phone... is definitely something else. Heat rushes to your face and you freeze as best as you can. His chest is heaving just imperceptibly. There's definitely arousal slowly pooling in your barely-there underwear, and you are quite literally praying to God that Joshua won't say anything.

"Sorry," you squeak, turning your head so you don't have to look at him. He's probably embarrassed, so you'll do your best to be as professional as possible. It happens to everyone.

Except Joshua seems less mortified than you. He slides his hands down your spine until they're just barely resting on your ass. You swear he squeezes.

"Are you though?" he murmurs, pulling you centimeters forward on his lap, so for a hint of a second there is a moment of delicious friction and a rush of pleasure, and your eyes widen. But then you clear your throat, looking to the director for more instruction. There's an unreachable itch building under your skin, making you feel antsy.

She still looks unsatisfied, shaking her head.

"Ok, I don't know what the issue is here, so let's take a break." She frowns at the two of you as you hurriedly clamber off of Joshua's lap, pulling your dress down as far as it can possibly go. He looks unbothered, cooly crossing his legs and sitting back. The flush in your cheeks won't go away and you fan your face, knowing you look ridiculous in the frigid studio.

"I need you two to figure out what the deal is," the director says, fixing the two of you under a firm stare. "You're two of the best I've worked with, but you're not giving me what you promised. I don't know what happened between you two or if anything did at all, but don't bring this tension into the studio. Use lunch to figure it out." She looks disappointed and you feel your heart sink. They were never going to hire you again!

The director points at Joshua. "We'll take your solo shots after lunch." She turns away to make the same announcement to the crew, and they start to file out of the room, hardly sparing the two of you a second glance.

You're frozen in place, not trusting yourself to walk to your chair in the corner. The last of the crew leave the room, and the door closes with an air of finality.

The silence is suffocating, and you are, to put it in so many words, insanely turned on now. You turn to Joshua, looking everywhere but him. You wonder if he's equally as on edge.

You open your mouth to speak when his voice cuts through the tension.

"Ok, why don't we just deal with this like adults?"

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, I wasn't going to scream and cry, if that's what you thought," you retort, frowning. There he is again with his irritating know-it-all behavior.

The hint of a smirk flits across his face as he toys with one of the thick silver rings on his fingers. "Maybe not." Joshua looks amused by something, but if there is something humorous he gives no hint as to what it is. Frustration flares in your stomach.

Your frown only deepens. "Spit it out, then." Your patience is wearing thin.

Joshua suddenly fixes his dark eyes on you and you're taken aback by the shift in the room. "Do you want me to say it? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?"

"I—I have no idea what you're talking about," you say helplessly, pulling on the hem of your dress. There is not enough fucking fabric in the world that would make you feel covered under his stare.

Joshua looks unconvinced. "Are you sure? There's nothing you... need help with?" He's taunting you.

Heat rushes to your face. "If I needed help with something, it certainly would not be from you." You wrench your eyes from his face, suddenly feeling rather small. You're thankful he's far enough away right now— if he came any closer, you certainly would not be able to hold up as well.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. God, you are so tired of this man and his mind games. A sudden burst of irritation replaces the timidity in your voice.

“What is your fucking deal?” you spit, hands balling into fists in frustration. Joshua's little comments have you riled up far more than you care to admit. How could he say that to you? In the middle of working?

To your surprise, Joshua doesn’t snap back like you thought he would. Instead, a cocky smile slides across his lips, and he pins you under his gaze, dark eyes shining with vicious gloating.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he says, sitting casually on the chair. His easy demeanor has you on edge.

"I—" You falter, put out. “Notice what?”

Joshua pauses for a moment to examine his nails. “The heat quite literally radiating from you.” His eyes slide back to you, lingering on the strap of your dress fallen off your shoulder (and suddenly said heat in your core increases tenfold). Fuck.

This is actually the worst possible thing that could be happening to you right now. Like, literally ever. You seem to be trying to make up for all the confessional you missed over the last couple decades because you shoot a couple more prayers God’s way, hoping for a miracle.

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say again. You know exactly what he's talking about. All moisture in your mouth vanishes.

Joshua stands, slowly walking towards you. Instinctively, you back away, eyes glued to his face as he approaches. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely turned on right now, and you know Joshua can tell. As your back hits the wall, you let out a small gasp.

Joshua is impossibly close— somehow even closer than when you were posing, and you know you’re supposed to hate him, and you know there’s supposed to be some kind of thought process repelling him from you, but the same deep, woody scent of his cologne is clogging your senses and you're finding it extremely difficult to remember exactly what it was that you loathed about his stupidly handsome face.

“What are you doing?” you choke out.

“Don’t play stupid,” Joshua murmurs, eyes roaming unabashedly over your body. The silk dress is pointless as if he could simply see right through the flimsy fabric. "They put you in this. How was I supposed to concentrate?"

“You’re the one being stupid right now,” you shoot back, hoping and praying that you can control the tremor in your voice. Joshua is close enough that you can count the faint blemishes across his skin and see his eyes sizing you up. “Do ever think with anything other than your dick?”

Joshua cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow. He looks bored. “Sometimes yes.” Suddenly he’s all up on you, boxing you in against the wall in between his arms. Hot breath fans across your face, but you’re frozen. You can’t look away as your heart hammers in your chest. Shit, you can’t stop looking at his chest.

He flashes that same infuriating shit-eating grin. “Other times... no.”

Joshua's sudden change in demeanor is making your head swim, but there's no point in pretending you don't want him anymore.

There's no going back now.

“Fuck, Joshua,” you breathe before crashing your mouth to his, pulling him into a heated embrace. As soon as he looked at you with those ridiculous eyes of his, any and all of your restraint flew out the window.

His hands are on your body, hot and heavy, as they roam your skin, giving away his poorly concealed restraint. By the way he holds you so fiercely, he had clearly been waiting to ravish you. Fingers catch on the hem of your dress but you can't even get yourself to stop him. The thin silky fabric is doing nothing to keep the heat from his body out. It's like you're already naked.

Joshua, ever the show-off, catches your bottom lip in his teeth, coaxing a soft moan from your mouth. He looks smug as he pulls away, delighted at finding one of your weaknesses. You don't have half the mind to play games with him. Your mind is in shambles, and your body might be, too, as he plants his mouth on your neck, nipping at the delicate skin with poorly disguised enjoyment. He clearly likes seeing you squirm. His fingers tangle in your hair. Your knees are weak. Air is already so sparse.

Joshua's fingers dig into your hips. "You're moving too much," he says lowly, the sound vibrating against your jaw. God, when was the last time someone kissed you like this? Your last hook-up had been (quite literally) so dry and so unimaginative that you had sworn off casual sex for a while.

But kissing Joshua... the way he moaned softly into your mouth, tightened his grip on your body, pulled you towards him. Even though you knew how he was romantically, he kissed you like he needed you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You fought to keep your eyes open, to see the dark hair brushing against your cheekbones, to map the spots dusting his skin hidden ever so slightly under his makeup, to see how the flush on his skin burned and deepened with every single second you two stayed locked together. But it's taking every ounce of self-control in you not to crumple to the ground that you let your eyes fall closed. You know when to pick and choose your battles.

Except that then he pushes a knee between your legs and there's already so little fabric between you and this man that you freeze. Your eyes fly back open. Joshua boldly presses his thigh up against your body, right against the ache building in your core. You bite down on your lip to stifle the pitiful little sounds trying to escape from your mouth, refusing to give in to Joshua that easily. He shifts his knee, the fabric of your panties catching on his pantleg. You swallow a quiet moan.

You are suddenly very aware of how... hot you actually are. Joshua breaks away from the kiss, a lewd string of spit connecting your mouths together. Your arousal has spread to your chest, and you think you might faint.

"Oh dear," Joshua murmurs, as one hand trails down your waist and over your thigh. His eyes seem to dismantle the last of your composure the longer they rake across your bare skin. You let out a shaky breath as he wraps a hand around your thigh, drawing it up near his hip with startling swiftness. Your heart is thumping so wildly that you're amazed you can even hear him over it at all.

"You doing okay?" He smiles wickedly.

It’s all you can do to gape stupidly at him, the words dying in your throat before they're even fully formed. It's infuriating how Joshua is able to so easily render you speechless. Every word that falls from his cruel mouth is just another reason not to sleep with him, but the taunts just sound so damn pretty that there's little stopping you from fucking him right here, right now.

Except that you're at work. On a lunch break. Hooking up with your enemy. His nails bite into your skin.

Joshua smirks with some sort of sick amusement. "You were so talkative... what happened?" He asks, leaning in until his lips are mere centimeters from yours. You want to kick yourself for how badly you want him. How badly your body needs him.

You open your mouth to retort when he catches your lips in another searing kiss, this time with more tongue than teeth. You spineless sucker! The last of your dignity is just barely hanging on by a thread. Joshua kisses you fiercely, even groaning slightly as he kneads your thigh with his fingers. You’re about to completely lose your head.

"Joshua," you moan quietly, hands clumsily tugging his shirt off his shoulders. (Thankfully half the work had already been done for you.) He hardly breaks the kiss before tossing the shirt somewhere in the room with impatience. "They're gonna come back s-soon." Oh, but you can't even get yourself to care.

Not with the way his hands grip your ass, not with the way his mouth keeps leaving dirty little surprises across your skin. God, you're going to hell.

“Let them find us,” he pants before lifting you into the air, arms holding you up by your thighs. You barely even register where he’s taking you until you roughly hit the mattress with a loud huff! of air. The pillows are just as soft as you had imagined.

Joshua stands over you, shamelessly drinking in your body. You feel a little silly, like a doll splayed across the bed.

Joshua licks his lips. “You are simply wearing too many layers, my dear.” You’re pleased to hear a rasp in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you ask him, tipping your chin back in challenge. The heat is positively radiating through your body, pulsing so strongly you’re amazed he hasn’t made another comment. The tension is so palpable that it’s become a game of who’s going to snap first.

And lucky for you, Joshua takes the bait without a second thought.

He mashes his mouth back to yours, roughly pushing the straps of your silly little dress off your shoulders and down your hips, fully exposing your décolletage. Joshua plants his mouth on your throat, sucking less-than-delicate hickies along the line of your collarbones; barely waiting for the contusions to bloom before he’s nipping at them again. The carelessness of his teeth, the crude sensuality of his touches— it’s enough to strip you down into a writhing mess beneath him.

Barely a second passes after Joshua decides he’s done marking your neck that he suddenly licks a messy line up your chest, attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and slurping with obscene moans. Oh my God, was he trying to kill you?! Your mouth falls open in surprise, fingers gripping the sheets as you writhe underneath him.

“Joshua—“ you start to say but he just laughs, cutting you off. It's not a sound of comfort, but derision.

“We’ve barely done anything, and already my name seems to be stuck on your tongue,” he remarks, sitting back to admire his handiwork. This man truly is shameless with the way he looks at your body with pride. Covering up the clusterfuck of bites across your chest is going to be no easy feat.

Your tongue seems to be stuck in your mouth. Truly you can’t even form words. And what’s even worse is that he’s right, because the most you’ve done is make out for a while. Oh God, he’s going to absolutely ruin you.

His tongue trails down your stomach, leaving a few kisses here and there, stopping right above the waistband of your underwear. Joshua smirks, as his fingers brush over your panties. They're completely soaked and the embarrassment has you hiding your face in your hands.

"All for me?" he asks, before pressing a few kisses along the inside of your thigh. His hair tickles your skin as his fingers playfully pull aside your panties.

"Don't flatter yourself," you say, breathlessly. Joshua simply hums in response, his fingers dangerously close to your crotch.

He draws himself up, leaning over you. A few dark strands of hair fall in his eyes.

"Can I?" he whispers, just above your mouth. You simply nod, afraid of the things that will come out of your mouth if you speak.

And then he's pressing two long fingers into you, watching with rapt attention as you toss your head back in pleasure, stuffing your hand in your mouth to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. His fingers curl in that wicked "come here" motion that has you winded, clutching the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut. The longer you clench down on your jaw, the more difficult Joshua seems to be making it, scissoring and twisting his fingers until you think you might just scream. You're in a fucking studio for God's sake, but Joshua seems hellbent on breaking you as he pushes his fingers even deeper, to the knuckle, inside you. The icy cold metal of his rings presses against your skin, boiling hot.

Joshua smirks as he toys with you, even leaning over to recapture one of your nipples in his teeth.

"Joshua—mmph," you moan, and Joshua actually places a hand over your mouth, smiling condescendingly.

"If you're too loud I won't keep going," he says, as you roll your eyes. Didn't he know you were doing your best? It's not your fault his fingers are stuffed in your pussy and he expects you to stay silent. Plus there's something kind of thrilling about hooking up in such a public space. But when you don't respond, he stills his hand, leaving you clenching around his fingers desperately.

So you nod, eyes fluttering shut as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you again, each time a little bit faster. Joshua's hand explores all parts of you while his mouth explores your neck, never leaving you a moment to breathe. There's something about the way he moves his fingers that has you curving your back into him, fingers weaving into the hair on the nape of his neck as if to pull him into a desperate embrace. But Joshua turns his head before you can kiss him, instead paralyzing you under a disapproving glare.

"I told you to stop moving, didn't I?" he says with mock sympathy, pressing a large hand against your pelvis to pin you to the bed. The pressure on your stomach only further increases your arousal, and you hold back a groan as Joshua attaches his mouth to the pulse point in your neck.

It only takes a few more measly minutes before you're falling apart, fingers digging into Joshua's arms as he brings you over the edge. Warmth pulses through your body and you flop back onto the bed, completely speechless.

Joshua looks satisfied at your dazed expression as he slowly drags his fingers out of you. You watch as he places them on his tongue, messily licking your arousal from his hand, never once taking his eyes off of you. Fuck.

"Turn around and get on your knees," Joshua then orders, sitting back to watch you scramble to kneel, feeling a little stupid. You're not sure what he's going to do when you feel his large hand on the back of your head, shoving you facedown onto the mattress. You let out a choked whine as Joshua lands a firm smack against your ass, and then another, and then another. Each one leaves your skin red and stinging and a little tender, and by the time he's done your eyes are watering. You refuse to look at Joshua—you don't want him to see you crying.

But still, he says nothing, and for a stupid moment, you wonder if he’s done with you. You're a little disappointed until you hear the sound of a belt buckle clinking and clothing being tossed. You turn to look, but Joshua forces your head against the mattress again, yanking a little on your hair as he pulls away.

"Do you still wanna to do this?" is all Joshua asks.

Well, you're currently laying ass-up in the middle of a prop bed, waiting for him to shove his fat cock into you until you scream like a worthless slut.

Truly, there was no recovery from this.

So you breathe out a strangled "Yes," before Joshua is pushing his cock into you without hesitation, and the work of his fingers certainly helped a little bit, but you weren't expecting him to be so...well-endowed.

You shove your face into the pillow, smothering the loud moan that falls from your lips as Joshua slowly, slowly thrusts into you. His hold on your waist is bruising, and with your face hidden from view, you miss the way his head tips back in ecstasy.

Not that Joshua would ever let you know the effect you had on him— the sight of your needy body giving in to his every move, the cloying scent of your perfume just as intoxicating as your dripping cunt. You drive him absolutely wild.

Joshua’s voice is strained. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, bending forward to grab one of your shoulders as he thrusts his cock in a few more inches. Joshua has a way of melting you with every touch, like he knows your body better than you ever could. You let out another weak sob, your face buried into the silk of the sheets. He can not see how irrevocably aroused you are by him and his words and his vicious tongue.

“There’s no shame in crying,” Joshua chides the longer you hide your face, but you feel the smugness in every word suffocating you until you could cry from your pent-up sexual frustration.

"I'm not crying," you spit back, screwing up your face as he pushes even deeper into you. “I don’t— I don’t cry.”

You imagine he’s smiling with that same fake sympathy as he watches your body shake, and the image of Joshua taking you from behind is enough for you let out another particularly strangled cry. But before the mortification even has time to settle in your chest, Joshua sinks the rest of his cock into you, bottoming out in one smooth motion. He lets out a string of expletives under his breath, fingers digging into your hips like he’s holding onto his last thread of reality. Secretly you’re pleased you have such an effect on him.

“Jesus, would you relax?” Joshua mutters with exasperation, as your cunt clenches around him tightly. You try to tell him it’s not really your fault, but before you can answer, he deals a particularly harsh spank to your ass that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Thankfully he gives you a brief moment, even if it’s just a breadth of a second to adjust before he’s drawing his hips back and thrusting forward with brutal efficiency. You smother your face into the covers, muffling your sounds of deep satisfaction with the comforter.

Clearly, Joshua has done this before, because he fishes for one of the pillows, lifting your hips to shove it under your pelvis before snapping his hips back again, slowly building speed until he’s just shy of pounding you into oblivion. Every so often Joshua’s cock brushes against that spot, leaving your cunt clenching involuntarily, and you have to bite down to keep your pitiful whines from escaping. Just to tease you even more, he leans forward to leave harsh bites across your shoulders, all the while murmuring how good you look from behind. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the sound of Joshua’s shallow breath is erotic, and it makes your head positively swim.

“Fuck!” you whimper as Joshua continues to rail you without mercy, the brutal steady pace of each stroke bringing you closer and closer to your release. The pleasure is reaching white-hot status, pulsing in your stomach and slowly spilling into the rest of your body. It takes everything in you not to cry out in frustration as Joshua suddenly slows, just shy of stopping completely. He wraps an arm around your waist, hand flush against your stomach as he leans his weight against your back.

“Now, you know that’s not my name,” Joshua simpers, breath hot against your ear. He shallowly rocks his hips, coaxing a few more weak babbles from your lips. “Try again.” He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, and the motion would be tender if he wasn’t oozing sordid satisfaction at seeing you all hot and bothered by him.

“J-Joshua,” you beg, clawing at the sheets. And then humiliation blooms in your chest at how quickly you act to please him, but there’s something so sadistically fulfilling about being abused by this man that you can’t even get yourself to care. You’re fucking your enemy in broad daylight in a studio of Vogue. Really, there's little left for you at this point.

"That's right," he whispers.

You let out a particularly drawn-out groan of pleasure as he snaps his hips quickly, bringing the pace back to the same mind-blowing rhythm as before, arching your spine until you feel like you might snap. Joshua’s fingers in your hair tug your head back as he whispers vile sweet nothings into your ear. The messy symphony of sounds echoing throughout the room is just shy of pornographic. You clutch the sheets tightly in your fingers as your head tips forward in pleasure. Every muscle in your body is taut as your orgasm builds every second.

As your eyes flutter shut in anticipation, you start to say, “I’m gonna—!”

Except, of course, Joshua won't let you off that easy.

Just as you think you're about to reach your climax, he stills his hips for an agonizing second, rocking them slowly, slowly, slowly into you. Your release fades just as quickly as it appeared, and now your whole body is uncomfortably sensitive. This time you do groan in frustration, stuffing your face in one of the pillows again.

"Fuck you," you curse, but it's weak and hardly venomous. Your head is cloudy and full of fluff and in your pitiful state, it's the best you can manage. Joshua merely seems amused by your distress, fingers petting your head again as if to comfort you. You take a moment, breathing through the burn of arousal through your entire body.

Then Joshua snakes an arm around your throat, yanking you against his chest in one smooth motion. Your moans come out as choked whines, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his forearm in deep ecstasy. You feel Joshua smile against your ear, before his free hand creeps down to finally touch your aching clit, his fingers just barely grazing your skin. This bastard.

"Aren't you?" he mutters in your ear, landing a firm smack on your cunt and you gasp, jerking forward as much as you can while being restrained. The ache in your body is unbearable; you don't know how much more you can take.

Joshua presses a few digits against your lips, coaxing your mouth open, and unceremoniously forces his fingers in without a second thought. He presses down roughly on your tongue, massaging a few circles with the pads of his fingers. You whimper again, but the words won’t come out.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, and you can practically feel the arrogance dripping from his voice. “I can’t do anything unless you tell me.”

Evil, evil, evil man. You can’t even form syllables with his fingers shoved so far down your throat, and you’re half tempted to bite them off. But then Joshua ruts into you again, drawing a low groan from your throat as you fight to keep your composure. His chest is scalding hot against your back, electricity zipping up and down your spine every time you feel your bodies move and shift against each other.

God, you feel as if you could unravel right here. You’re half-tempted to plead to Joshua (once he finally takes his fingers out of your mouth) that he could do what he wanted with you, but the half-cognizant portion of your brain quietly reminds you that you need to be able to walk later.

Plus, you have a sneaking suspicion he'll do just that anyway.

Joshua withdraws his fingers from your mouth and you choke for air, drool dribbling from your lips. He hardly lets you catch your breath before brazenly spitting on his already-soaked fingers, lowering his hand to rub cruel circles against your painfully tender clit. He’s barely touched you before you feel your climax re-building. Your body acts before you do, succumbing to Joshua like a wretched woman starved.

“So touchy…,” he muses, as he continues to play with your clit, even tweaking occasionally to watch you writhe under him. Your stomach spasms as you gasp, digging your nails into Joshua’s thighs. You snake a hand up his neck, twisting your fingers in his thick, dark locks.

The words never even make it out of your mouth before Joshua draws his fingers away, jerking you roughly up by your hair.

“Flip over,” Joshua says tersely, watching with amusement as you ungracefully slide off of his cock to lay on your back. You’re embarrassed by how needy and clumsy you’ve become. Joshua is criminally good as what he does, and your body is craving that final release; if he so much as looked at you a certain way you swear you might come untouched.

Joshua spits on his hand again and pumps his cock a few times, eyes roaming over your body again, mapping the contusions blooming across your skin. His ego truly is through the roof, and if you weren't such a pathetic, wanton beast right now, you might even make fun of him for it. Dimly, you hope he’s going to shove his cock back in you and pound you into the mattress until you both come and that’d be the end of it. Problem solved! We can all go home now.

Well… you were half right.

You weren't prepared for Joshua to press on the backs of your thighs until your knees were by your ears, crudely spreading your legs wider for him. He smiles up at you, smacking his cock against your cunt a few times and you choke, each lewd slap driving you nearer to the edge of madness. Joshua leans up against you until his face is inches away and presses a languid kiss to your lips. If you weren’t fearing for your sanity, it might’ve been a tender moment.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you scream,” Joshua says, without decorum, calmly watching as your face falls. "And you're going to take it."

And he’s nothing if not a man of his word.

Joshua fucks you into the mattress until you’re a snotty, disgusting mess, moaning his name like some kind of fucked-up mantra. You know you’re supposed to hate his guts, but when he’s so deep in your guts, you can’t seem to think about anything except the way his cock slams into you, brutal and unrelenting, bringing you the closest you think you’ve ever come to seeing Heaven.

In the time after you leave, you’ll faintly remember being fucked in one way, coming, being contorted into another degrading position, and promptly being fucked again. For more times than you can count, Joshua has you pleading, crying, begging like some insatiable harlot to let you come, and you don’t even have enough dignity left intact to care.

“Please,” you practically sob, “Joshua, please.” You’re a complete trainwreck under him, uttering his name over and over like some kind of filthy disciple. True to his word, he has you close to tears, practically pleading for his cock to ruin you— and it has.

Joshua braces himself on your thighs until his fingers leave marks, each stroke of his cock feeling even deeper than the last. After what feels like the umpteenth time, you don’t know if you can take any more denial, and he must sense it in the way you're scrabbling for his hand because Joshua finally relents.

You let out the loudest, most unbridled cry yet as pleasure rushes through your body, tingling in your toes, your fingers, your stomach. It scrubs your brain of all thought, wiping the last of your hatred from your consciousness. The intensity of your release leaves you heaving, clenching around his cock until you can't breathe. Caught in the throes of pleasure, you don't see the way Joshua's brow knits together the more you whimper his name, the tighter you grip his forearm. As the very last of your orgasm ebbs, you collapse in relief, feeling woozy and deeply satisfied.

Joshua continues to languidly pump his cock in and out of you while you ride out your high, a few residual whimpers falling from your lips. But with a simple touch from your fingers, he stills, the beginning pangs of overstimulation setting in. Your head feels like it's filled with cotton.

Then you realize Joshua is still painfully hard, struggling to stay present. His hips stutter as he gives a half-hearted thrust, his mouth falling open lazily. Now it’s your turn to smile— little does he know, he’s put himself completely at your mercy. You clench around him a few times, watching with poorly disguised glee as his eyes flutter closed, his breath coming in short, shallow pants.

“Should we deal with this like adults?” you ask as innocently as possible, smiling as Joshua nods desperately, the words lodged in his throat. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly. Oh, how quickly the tables have turned.

You pull yourself off of his cock slowly, hissing at the tenderness of your cunt. Instead of kneeling, however, you push Joshua onto his back, scarcely giving him a moment before taking him in your mouth.

His cock is still rock hard, and Joshua tilts his head back with a throaty sigh as you moan around his length. His fingers curl into your hair and he pushes on your head, pressing your mouth down until you’re gagging around the base of his cock. Now he’s the one letting out breathy moans as you swirl your tongue around the head, cheeks hollowed, hand twisting up and down in tandem with your tongue. After everything the two of you had done, you know it won’t take long to tip him over the edge.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans, and as his abdomen tightens in anticipation, you know he’s close. With one last vulgar slurp, Joshua comes hot in your mouth, cursing under his breath as his fingers tense in your hair. You freeze, letting Joshua come down from his high, and as he raises his head to look at you, you smile coyly.

With a soft “pop!” you pull your mouth off his cock, swallowing as you do, letting the self-satisfied smirk spread on your lips. You can't even imagine how indecent you look, with your eyeshadow and mascara smeared ungracefully around your eyes, lips shiny with spit and cum, but there's something in the way Joshua looks at you that has you reeling with delight.

“Christ,” is all Joshua manages to say before pulling you by the back of the head into a searing kiss. It’s a strangely intimate embrace considering all of the filthy words and insults he had hurled at you a few brief moments before, but considering he had also given you the best orgasm of your life, you choose not to dwell too much on it.

When you break away, you feel a little light-headed. Joshua gives your ass a light smack, but it lacks the same aggression as before. He notices a stray dribble of cum on your chin, and collects it on his pointer finger, pushing it between your lips. You swirl your tongue around it, watching as his eyes burn. He pulls his finger from your mouth, resting his hand on your thigh instead.

"You look… crazy," Joshua says, fighting a smile. You catch sight of yourself in a mirror on the make-up table and let out a bark of laughter.

“Crazy” is the understatement of the year. You look fucked out of your mind. Your hair is knotted beyond belief, there's a jumble of bruises all across your chest, and there's no convincing excuse as to why your makeup would be completely streaked across your face. You hide your face in one of the pillows again, letting out a feeble groan.

"I'm gonna get fired, and it's all your fault," you moan, hiccuping into the soft silk of the pillowcase. Joshua presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, surprisingly kind, and chuckles.

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about make-up.” He slides easily off the bed, pulling his pants back on before padding softly over to the make-up table. Joshua grabs a few brushes and bottles, joining you again on the bed, tugging you gently into a sitting position.

As he covers your ruined eye shadow, you wince a little, a dull twinge reminding you of the ache in your ass cheeks. To be honest, most of your body was a little sore, all thanks to Joshua. You laugh softly.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I got a little carried away."

“Was that ‘dealing with it like adults?’” you ask mockingly, shutting your eye as Joshua lifts the eyeshadow brush. The soft hairs dance across your eyelid as he works. Joshua's skin still smells like it did all those years ago. Warm and citrusy.

You can’t see him, but you hear the smirk in his voice. “I guess so.”

“Well, for the record, you definitely were the one being childish.” You make a sound of surprise as you feel a pair of lips against your own, fierce and hot. His teeth drag at your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you are unsuccessful at stifling the soft hiccup that escapes your throat.

“Who was the one crying just a little bit ago?” Joshua challenges you, and when you open your eyes, he’s sitting in front of you, nose just inches from your own. “Didn’t you say you don’t usually cry?”

You open your mouth, ready to shoot back a bitchy little return when you see the smirk playing on Joshua’s lips. He’s goading you on.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” you respond instead, hoping you seem nonchalant enough. (Or, at least, as much as you can be while you’re still butt-ass naked.)

Joshua laughs, and the sound is surprisingly stunning. “Since when have I ever been fair?” He hands you your little silk dress and your thong from the floor, and it almost feels silly to be putting it back on, the delicate fabric still hardly covering anything at all.

But he pouts, toying with one of the straps in between his fingers. “I’m almost sad to see you put this back on. You look so pretty all fucked up underneath me.” He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, eyes sparkling mischievously, and you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t jump into your throat.

You scoff, eyebrows rising on your forehead. “You’ll be lucky if you see me like that again after last time.”

He frowns, his smile sinking. “Yeah…,” Joshua scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I— I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what I was thinking—"

“It was horrible,” you interrupt. "And this," you say, gesturing to the bed, "doesn't erase that."

But Joshua does look apologetic and it was long enough ago that you’re not that mad anymore. At least, in your post-coital bliss you certainly aren’t.

Joshua sits on the bed again, grabbing your hand in his. “Come home with me. I’ll make it up to you.” He presses a tentative kiss to your cheek for extra measure.

You fight a smile, forcing yourself to frown instead. “Only if I don’t lose my job, and only if you help me cover these fucking hickies you gave me.”

Joshua smiles, and he looks so different from the Joshua you met a couple hours ago that you can’t help but smile, too.

When the crew comes back in the room, you try desperately to act as if nothing had happened, but every time Joshua looks at you, you have to suppress the girlish smile playing on your lips. The marks across your chest had been haphazardly covered with foundation, and the hair team looks bewildered as they assess the birds' nest on your head.

"What the hell did you do on your lunch break?" the stylist asks as she attacks the knots with a comb.

It takes everything in you to avoid Joshua's eye. You clap a hand to your mouth a second too late as an ugly snort bursts past your lips, and you freeze, eyes wide. Joshua grins broadly, and you turn your head, fanning your bright red face.

Later that night, as you watch Joshua’s sleeping figure in the soft moonlight, you wonder how you managed to find yourself in his bed again, and when he kisses you good morning the next day, you’re sure it won’t be the last time.

----

a/n: i have never publically shared any smut before so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!! :,) thank u for reading bae can't wait to share my next one <333

check out my other stuff! :)

#kpop #kpop imagines #seventeen #svt #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines #joshua hong #joshua smut #hong jisoo

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