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hwaightme · 1 year

Text

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down, speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.

#k-labels #ateezlovenet #seonghwa x y/n #wooyoung x y/n #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #park seonghwa #jung wooyoung #seonghwa smut #wooyoung smut #park seonghwa smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez smut

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folklorcore · 8 months

Note

how about a little scenario where the reader wrote call it what you want for robert and him reacting to it

call it what you want ─ r. pattinson

Thank u so much for your request. <3

Pairing: Robert Pattinson x Singer!Fem!Reader

TW/Tags: Established relationship, pure fluff.

Summary: Everyone believes that fame is happiness and perfection, but on the other side of the coin is that at any moment they can destroy you. And that's what happened to you, but during that you met Robert, who you wrote a song for and he reacts to it for the first time.

Words count: 0.83 k.

Robert's Masterlist.

As is known, fame is not always rosy. Much less perfect.

You learned this as soon as a rumor that nearly destroyed your entire reputation caused you to disappear from the public eye for almost half a year.

If it hadn't been for Robert, you honestly wouldn't have pursued that career.

The two first met in person a month after the whole mess went off. When you first started dating, dubious about everything that was going on, you tried to break up with him a couple of times. You didn't think it was good for his career that when both went public with your relationship, they linked him to you.

Most of the discussions were about that. And they always brought you to tears.

So he took you by the cheeks, caressed them gently and looked directly into your eyes.

"Listen to me, if I'm with you knowing everything that happened it's because I really love you for the great person that you are. I know that the y/n they talk about out there is not my y/n. I'm here to stay, honey ."

And that's when you started planning your comeback, preparing your next studio album.

In which there was a song, or more, for Robert.

"All the liars are calling me one,

nobody's heard from me for months,

I'm doing better than I ever was."

You started humming while writing the lyrics.

As the days passed you had more than half the song done.

Everything was inspired by the situation you were going through, how you went from feeling so low but Robert helped get you out of the hole you were in when everyone turned their backs on you.

There was one time where they almost saw you on the streets of Hollywood when you and he went to buy breakfast, only you stayed inside the black armored van and they only got photos of the actor. But they were photos of him smiling at the van as he got into it.

Magazine articles and Internet pages began to speculate about Robert's new conquest, but they never imagined that it would be you.

"'Cause my baby's fit like a daydream,

walking with his head down,

I'm the one he's walking to."

You recorded little clips of moments with him for a possible video for the song.

Moments when it was you and him in a cabin you had in Canada. You spent much of the time there.

You playing the guitar by the fireplace with him in front of you while recording the video.

Walks in the woods. You smiling as he took your hand to kiss the back of it. You composing. You looking at the snowy landscape through the window with a cup of hot chocolate in it. Making forts under the covers in the living room.

"Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night."

It was almost completely finished, only the bridge was missing.

As you tried to figure out what you could write on that part, you brought your hand up to your clavicle, playing with the thin chain that hung from your neck with Robert's initial.

And just like in the cartoons, it was like a light bulb went on over your head.

"I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck." you murmured singing, writing everything before the idea left.

And at least a couple of days later the song was completely finished. A week later you went to record it in a studio and a couple of months later the album was completely ready.

That had been three months ago. All your fans received you in a good way along with your new album.

And some time later the rumor that had caused your disappearance was denied.

You started a tour and that was the first night of it. And it would be the first time Robert would hear the song, because you wanted it to be special, when the album came out you didn't let him hear it.

"This song was inspired by a person who stayed with me all the time when I disappeared," the screams of the fans filled the stadium, making you smile. You looked in the audience for your boyfriend, who was already looking at you with happiness shining on his face. "Robert, this is for you."

You started to sing the song, watching at all times Robert's reaction, which did not stop smiling with love.

"So call it what you want, yeah,

call it what you want to."

You finished, your chest heavy with joy and adrenaline, facing the entire audience with a genuine smile.

Backstage you looked for Robert, and when you saw him you ran to him to hug him, so he welcomed you with open arms, hugging you tightly.

"I loved the song."

"Yeah?" You looked at him affectionately and he nodded caressing your cheek.

"Yeah." He tilted his face a little so he could kiss you softly.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

#val's version #missamercana #robert pattinson #robert pattinson fanfic #robert pattinson imagines #robert pattinson imagine #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson fluff

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teddypickerry · 1 year

Note

here me out! how about like a reader x tommy (the real one, not megan fox’s rat looking bf), but like reader is butterflies and rainbows, and like the band will not stop mocking how soft tommy is for reader. like ofc take your time.

𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 !

pairings! tommy lee x soft reader <3

word count! 1.9k

warnings! cursing, mentions of sex, it’s a fucking mötley crüe fic babe what do you expect?

a/n! okay i had to write this like five fucking seconds after i got it bc 1) calling mgk megan’s rat looking bf made me fall in love w you 2) THIS REMINDS ME SO MUCH OF MY BEST FRIEND AND HER LOVE FOR TOMMY. so i used her favvvvorite photo of t-bone and am dedicating this to her <3 muah. the tommy to my nikki. ALSO THIS IS UNEDITED SO IF IT SUCKS THEN FUCK YOU ;)

tommy lee bass was never good with girlfriends. with the mötley timeline, he had bullwinkle and honey. and if you know anything about either of them... you know he doesn't have the best track record. he was with both of them for all the wrong reasons. bullwinkle came like a track star which purely excited him. and honey had the body of a pornstar. but their relationship had its ups and downs... a butter knife in his back, an engagement, her cheating with his best friend, and ending with him slapping her. so... maybe he wasn't the best with relationships.

tommy loved for all the wrong reasons. it wasn't because of the rockstar persona or the fortune or the fame. it was simply how tommy was made and how he existed. he opened himself up to love and he loved so fucking hard with all of the t-bone's in his body. tommy's a lover, he's a romantic — even if it's in a fucked up way. so when he found y/n, a girl who set his world ablaze. the moment he saw her, he didn't just look at her boobs. he noticed the two braids in her hair. he noticed the shimmer eyeshadow that just made her eyes glimmer. she was beautiful and not just for her body or for specific talents. she was beautiful for her outlook on life that tommy learned to love, one quite positive formed with a smile.

it'd been two months since tommy'd met his new and improved lover girl. he'd not once had the urge to cheat on the girl or even have the thought. he was indulged with her choice of books over parties or her excessive bright wardrobe. she was unconditionally herself. and he was fucking head over heels for that. y/n had yet to meet the band, despite the long relationship (in tommy's book). it was safe to say she was stressing about it. they were a bunch of dickwads according to all the magazines and tommy. but he loved them and they were his best fucking friends.

so she tugged on her pink sweater that tucked into her jeans. her white tennis shoes pacing back and forth while she waited for tommy in the foyer of his new apartment. decked floor to ceiling in animal prints of all sorts and records hes never bothered to play. she was anxious and it showed. it was a lot meeting her boyfriend's best friends who were also his band mates. he spoke about them with the goofiest grin and had the dumbest stories. just yesterday he'd told her about last year when he and nikki were so high they jumped on a train and then had to jump off a mile or so later. resulting in a very long walk back to the hotel.

his band wasn't just his band mates they were practically family and we've all heard the girlfriend meeting the family horror stories. the sound of his mismatched red and black converse hitting the floor was unheard as y/n messed with her hair in the mirror next to the door. tommy swung the keys to his new ferrari on his finger as he watched her for a moment. before bursting into a brief smile. "dude, you look fucking great. stop worrying."

"babe, stop 'dude'ing me." y/n giggled as she turned to him with her smile that made her dimples pop. he pressed his lips together as he made his way past her, brushing her head with a kiss as he opened the door with one hand. it wasn't long before the couple was out the door and in the seats of the ferrari.

the car ride was short to vince's place. the singer was throwing a little day party — hardly a party, rather a band meeting, but anything with mötley turned into a party. the little party was also a reason for the boys to meet y/n which they all looked forward to. it was rare any of them were not so focused on themselves to care about the other's love life. but this time was different, or at least so it seemed to them. tommy had a new "love of his life" every week. you could say it was the same ol' situation. but they - specifically mick, had a feeling about this one. one that was solidified the moment the couple made their way to the front door.

hands intertwined between the rockstar and the angel as they approached the entry way. tommy glanced down at his girlfriend with a smile when he noticed the look on her face. the one she had just a few weeks ago when she was preparing for an interview at a bookstore she's been eyeing for awhile. y/n aced the interview and she would ace this. "don't be so nervous, you're too pretty for that." the drummer winked making his girlfriend give him a look. "will you shut up, please?"

"i agree with the chick," a voice sounded from the doorway making the young couple turn their heads. stood in all his glory was the singer himself, vince neil. he had a bandana tied around his neck which covered his slightly sunburn chest. he was in leather pants despite the mere 80s of LA. "dude, we didn't even knock."

"yeah but i saw a pretty girl out my window so y'know." vince shrugged it off with a smirk at the girl. tommy furrowed his eyebrows as he held up the two intertwined hands. "yeah, we'll, she's taken."

"ne'vah stupd anee id us befu." a voice mumbled as another rocker made his way to the doorway. one presumably known as nikki sixx. a toothbrush was in his mouth, white toothpaste spilling out the corners. the couple gave the man confused glances as he rolled his eyes and spat in the grass. "never stopped any of us before — hi, darling, i'm nikki." he put his hand forward with the cock of his eyebrow. y/n shook his hand and smiled, "i'm y/n. it's nice to meet you guys."

"the infamous y/n," vince purred as he glanced back at tommy as if complimenting his 'women' skills. "yeah well don't get any fucking ideas — im talking to you, fiancée fucker!" tommy announced towards the bassist who simply raised his hands in defense before passing out on the couch next to mick mars. vince stepped aside as the couple entered. tommy refused to let go of his girlfriend which the band was quick to notice. "y/n/n, this is the guys i guess. nikki — y'know, vince, and this old tombstone is mick."

"hi," the two greeted to another simultaneously. tommy sat on the couch with y/n following, her thigh pressed against his as she sat anxiously. she'd yet to see drugs or naked women like she'd anticipated. so far just dudes in a room with a far too expensive sound system. the silence was echoing in the large LA home. nikki stretched out as he watched y/n with daring eyes, tommy not even wanting to know what was trapped in this thoughts. mick too was watching the girl but rather in confusion. she seemed normal, so why was she with the dumbest motherfucker he knew? vince sat down last, a glass of something in his hand as he sat at the edge of the couch. he eyed tommy who was mouthing something at him.

"so y/n," mick started as he blinked behind his sunglasses. "why this one?" the guitarist asked with such simplicity that made nikki burst into a deep laughter, resulting in a glare from tommy. "will you guys shut the fuck up for once?" he shrugged when he glanced back at the toothbrush nikki had on his chest. "wait- why are you brushing your teeth at like four?"

"went down on this girl, she was on her period, man." nikki shrugged as if it was the most normal thing ever. no one seemed phased minus y/n, who genuinly had never heard someone shrug something that criminal off that way. it wasn't long before the questions got dumber and dumber — which seemed impossible with the ones they asked, but they did. and y/n lasted no more than ten minutes with the band before she ventured off into the kitchen where the other girls were sat around. all arguing over who was better in bed — mötley boys or guns and roses boys. she drowned out the conversation after a short blonde asked her how many rockstars she'd slept with. when she answered with one, they went ballistic.

"slash is too full of himself, tommy knows what he's doing." one of the girls giggled before taking a bite of a pretzel and spitting it out as if she'd die. "tommy's great," another one added, a redhead. a few giggled as one of them uncomfortably sat there with a fucked up smile. "guys, tommy's dating this one." y/n froze as she sipped on her water. they all looked at her and giggled as if it were impossible, because tommy would never settle in their eyes. he's tommy lee.

"excuse me," she mumbled as she stood up and made her way out of the kitchen, nearly falling into the arms of her boyfriend in the process. he stood in the hallway with an empty glass on his way for a refill. he placed it on vince's table when he noticed his girlfriend's face. "what's going on?"

"tommy you've fucked like every girl in that room." she mustered up, her smile gone. it was a rare sight to see her without her big and beautiful grin. the world was sunshine and rainbows in her eyes but it was like thunder in a rainstorm right now. "they're all talking about if you or slash are better in bed. it's just... look i know you have a past and you're done with all the sleeping around now. but, i just couldn't listen to it anymore. they laughed when one of them said i was your girl. like it was insane."

the drummer's face softened as he placed his finger under her chin, lifting it up to be directly in his eyesight. "those groupies are wild, y/n. they'll fuck anyone to tour with us so they think they know all. but no one knows how i feel 'bout you, because i'm fucking wild for you baby." he pressed his lips against hers as her eyes shut on demand. his kiss was soft and genuine and he threw in a little tongue — the tommy way of course. it wasn't long before she pulled away, not wanting to have a full on makeout session in his friend's house. her smile was back on an instant as she glanced up at the man with her pink lips. tommy mirrored the expression as he wrapped his arms around her. "baby, let go. i'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"'m 'kay. don't leave me for too long," he blew her a kiss as she walked off into the bathroom and shut the door. the moment he heard voices he cursed to himself. "oh baby, i'd never leave you for too long." vince mimicked in a sexy voice as nikki threw a heart with his fingers and shot it at his best friend. mick pursed his lips and blew a kiss at the drummer. "oh, baby."

"you're fucking dead." the drummer groaned before chasing the three men out of the house, like fucking mötley crüe man.

#teddypickerry #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #nikki sixx x reader #mötley crue fic #mick mars #vince neil

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bl4cktourmaline · 3 months

Note

haiiii may i request tsumugi with a chubby insecure gf and he reassures her how he finds her beautiful and loves her and stuff hehehehe thank u :3

🎋 . 鳥居 — aoba tsumugi

✿ — ♬ ⌨️ᶻᶻᶻ : yue is typing... ✉!

✿ — ↻ SYNOPSIS : aoba tsumugi with a chubby girlfriend who is insecure...

✿ — ♯ GENRE : fluff, female reader.

✿ — ↠ NOTE : pyon-yahoo~ first time writing for tsumugi and not gonna lie, I have so much fun with this one?! Chubby people are so cute like they would give the best hugs 🥺👉👈 I hope I did tsumugi's characteristics justice though!!

✿ — ♪ REMINDER : reblogs & likes are appreciated, in doing so will motivate us to continue delivering stories to you, thank you for all of your supports ~ !

✿ — ► ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : happiness featuring aoba tsumugi...

ᝰ The day you started dating Tsumugi was when he accidentally confessed his feelings towards you. It wasn't planned, his heart just couldn't bear to see you looking so down...

ᝰ Ever since that fateful day, your entire world change. Whenever you look at his kind eyes, all you could see in them was pure adoration...it is sweet, dark gold in colour as honey.

ᝰ He was exactly that. Throughout your relationship with him, he was so sweet to you... he always put you as his top priority such as when you get sick? He would go to work and take the rest of the day off so he could take care of you.

ᝰ But despite all that, dark thoughts would still cross the back of your mind and it's become more noticeable when you are alone...

Under the dark sky, the room was pitch black with the moonlight shining through the window.

Standing in front of you was a full body mirror, checking yourself out as a simple (colour) dress, reaching your knees with lace decorating its pleated skirt and sleeves.

You bought the dress a few days ago on your way home from work and now you're just trying it out. You really like how you look but in the privacy of your home where there is no one, no light and no sound...

You stared at the mirror with a puzzled expression on your face staring back at you. It is a cute dress and you really like it when you buy it on a whim but...

There was nothing that could stop the voices of doubt from making their way into the back of your mind, repeating over and over again, making you feel more self-conscious of your body type.

Is it too tight around the waist and chest?

The dress is ruined now from how much you're stretching it.

Nobody wants to see you in that thing.

You frowned, grabbed a blanket and completely covered the mirror with it. You take a few steps back, bumping into the dresser in the process as a few items fall onto the ground near your feets.

One of them was an idol magazine with its pages wide open, featuring multiple beautiful people. Thin and petite...you know that is the standard beauty no matter what others said otherwise.

BEEP!

A notification...

You grabbed your phone from the bed, switching it on as a text message pop out on the screen;

Mugi ♡ :

(name), I got some of your favourite desserts.

I thought you would like them after a long day at work.

"He is too sweet..." You faintly smiled at your boyfriend's kindness.

Tsumugi is your first boyfriend and he is one of the few people who always gives you confidence but he is also a popular idol meaning he will meet other celebrities...

Beautiful celebrities...more beautiful than you.

He might dump you for someone better than you.

You have no place standing next to him.

"..."

CREAK...!

"(name), are you there-?" He stopped, caught by surprise at the sight of your reddish face.

"M-Mugi...?" Your voice cracked.

Tsumugi looked at you with worried eyes, dropping what he was holding and immediately walked up to you as he placed a hand on your right cheek.

"What's wrong?" He asked in a soft tone, gently wiping a single teardrop that fell from your (colour) eyes.

"..."

You didn't even realize that you were crying...

Feeling ashamed, you turned your face away "I'm fine..."

"(name)..."

Tsumugi is stunned, he didn't know what to do at first but then he caught sight of the magazine a few feets away from where you were and that single glance at it was enough to tell him what was going on.

He turned to look at his girlfriend and took a hold of your hand which made you look up at him.

The look he was giving you almost made your heart stop.

Golden dilated pupils staring deep into your eyes as if he was looking at something precious...

The thought makes you blush.

"(name), you are worthy of love and respect...you are beautiful, kind and considerate so please don't think badly of yourself..." Tsumugi smiled gently, faint pink spread across his cheeks.

"... because you are my happiness"

32 notes · View notes

sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

Text

DADDY ISSUES - Part Four: Vegas

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Your new life is amazing, without Elvis. Well, at least until you get a mysterious package in the mail that's about to change your life. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: a friend fight with some harsh words that were painful to write but i don't think anything else!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 5058

A/N: ahhh it's been AGES i know but i've been working hard so expect lots of updates!! i have several parts already queued. i'll be posting a chapter every tuesday + thursday until the fic is completed!

also just a reminder that there's a playlist if you're interested and i've put the link to the taglist below!

Song Rec: vegas - doja cat

This is Part 4 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

A year later, you find yourself living in a brand new apartment with Trixie, the girl whom you stood next to during the chaotic filming of the 68 Comeback Special. Apparently, her family is extremely well-off and has absolutely no issue sending her money without question. Although you’ve tried to assure Trixie about a thousand times that you don’t want nor need the money she continues to shovel into your pocket, she insists on supporting you. At first, it was easier to give in because you actually really did need the money, since you were unemployed with no prospects and a scant resume. But now, you’re just starting to feel selfish.

Fortunately, with Steve’s help you’ve managed to secure a job working at KNBC, California’s NBC television station. You might still just be a secretarial worker, but a job is a job. Surprisingly, you find yourself with an unprecedented amount of free time compared to what you had when you were constantly picking up night and weekend shifts every other week at the diner. Not to mention that you make a lot more, too. It’s nothing to brag about by any means, but far more than enough to get you back on your feet. Slowly but surely, your debts dwindle little by little every day.

So far, living with Trixie has been pure bliss. She’s incredibly sweet and very neat and tidy. She doesn’t leave her laundry on the floor, always takes the trash out, and is usually cheerful in the morning. Some days, she even meets you in the kitchen with a carafe of steaming hot coffee already brewed. She never brings home creepy guys who hang around past their welcome and she’s nothing but respectful of your space. She works similar hours to you as a designer at a fashion magazine conveniently located only a couple of blocks down the road from KNBC.

You honestly couldn’t have asked for a better situation and, for the first time in a very long time, you feel safe, happy, and healthy. Little do you know what’s to come when a surprise package shows up on your doorstep.

You’re in the bathroom, elbows deep in water and soap as you wash your face first thing in the morning. Trixie, the early morning bird she is, has been awake for several hours already and is in the kitchen making breakfast. With the bathroom door closed, you can hardly hear anything going on down the hall so it takes you a moment to process Trixie’s shout that you’ve received a delivery. Squinting your eyes to protect them from the soap sliding down your face, you turn toward the door and yell back.

“Who’s it from?”

A few seconds of silence pass before Trixie replies.

“Uh…Y/N, why are you getting a package from E…ley?”

You shake your head. You can barely hear her over the sound of the water and the closed door. Your fingers quickly scramble to turn off the faucet and you grasp for a towel to hurriedly dry your face before rushing out of the bathroom. Sticking your head around the corner, you glance at Trixie with furrowed eyebrows.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“The package,” she responds, holding it up, “it’s from Elvis Presley.”

“I…from who?”

“Can you hear me, honey? Elvis. Elvis Presley? Famous musician and actor? We're both huge fans? We were in the audience while he filmed his comeback special on NBC? Ringing any bells here?” Trixie gestures wildly, her eyes big and wide.

You shake your head and approach her, holding out your hands so she can pass the package along to you. As soon as it touches your fingers, you snatch it up and sit down on the couch in the living room. Sure enough, as you look at the address label on the package, there it is. Elvis Presley.

To be perfectly honest, you’ve all but forgotten about him. With everything going on in your life, you’ve been too busy to pay attention to celebrity gossip or keep track of the music charts. You also have to admit that you might have been more inclined to forget him after suffering the embarrassment of turning down his…offer.

Glancing up at Trixie, you see her biting the nail of her thumb anxiously, a big grin breaking through her face. You shake your head again and sigh a deep breath before your fingers start digging into the wrapping of the package. Once you’ve torn through the wrapping paper and flipped open the cardboard box, your fingers catch onto something soft and silky. Shooting a confused expression at Trixie, you pull out the object and stand to let it unfold. Your breath catches in your throat as it drops down into its full form. Trixie shares the expression, her gasp accompanying yours.

“Oh my god…” she says in awe.

You hold it up to your body and wander over to the floor-length mirror hanging in the entryway. As you press the fabric against your figure, your eyebrows raise. It’s almost the same blue color as your horrible dress from Chadney’s Restaurant, the one you’d been wearing when you officially met Elvis for the first time. Although the color is comparable, the quality is nowhere near the same. This dress is made of silk, softer than any fabric you’ve ever felt before, and definitely a major upgrade from the scratchy cotton of your old work uniform. The dress has a sweetheart neckline with a cut out of the side and a leg slit that rides higher than you’d normally be comfortable with. As you run your fingers over the seams, you feel a few hand-cut jewels. They look like diamonds, although your brain is incapable of believing that.

“Hey, there’s a note with it,” Trixie’s voice knocks you out of your disbelief and you turn toward her.

She hands it over to you and, as you unfold it, two long green strips of paper fall out. Trixie bends to pick them up and examines them as you read the handwritten script of the letter out loud, although the handwriting is atrociously difficult to decipher.

“Cinderella,” you pause and gulp as your brain flashes back to the moment when Elvis had first called you that. When he’d invited you into his dressing room after the special. When he’d pulled your panties from his robe pocket…

“Cinderella,” you clear your throat and continue, “I figured I oughta replace that blue dress you ruined on account of me. I hope you like this one better and that you find the rest of the contents of this package to your taste.”

You pause, your eyes wandering over toward the package which, apparently, has more to give. You reach for it, digging underneath the wrapping paper until your fingers curl onto something lacy. You pull it out and heat immediately floods your face and neck. Trixie’s hand flies onto her mouth as you both stare in silence at an expensive-looking lingerie set hanging from your fingertip. You immediately drop it back into the package and shiver.

“What does the rest of the letter say?” Trixie asks, leaning forward to glance at the note over your shoulder.

“Uh…replace that blue dress, blah, blah, blah…contents of this package…Don’t make me wait until midnight. And don’t forget who-”

You stop abruptly as your brain circles around the last few words of the letter.

“What?” Trixie asks, peering more intensely over your shoulder. “What does it say, Foxie? I can barely read his chicken scratch.”

Foxie is the nickname Trixie had started calling you. Until this point, you’ve never understood why. But as your eyes roam over the contents of the package Elvis sent you, you start to understand that maybe you’re more of a fox than you realized.

“Don’t forget who owns you, princess.”

Trixie’s mouth pops open and she stares at you with wide eyes. You collapse further onto the couch and cover your eyes with your palms. Your heart pounds in your chest as you run through everything you just discovered.

“Wait, I’m sorry…did I miss something?” Trixie asks. “What the hell is all of this, Y/N?”

“It’s nothing,” you reply a little too quickly. “It must be some kind of a joke or something. I don’t know.”

“Some joke! Some expensive joke. These fell out of the letter,” she says, handing over the two green strips of paper.

Your eyes widen as you scan the printed text on the paper. Two tickets to one of Elvis’ concerts at the International Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada. You run a hand over your face and toss the tickets back into the cardboard box they came in. With a building rage, you grab onto the other contents of the package and shove them back in, tucking the wrapping paper back over them like a blanket.

“No, no this is insane. I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is. But no,” you mutter to yourself.

“Y/N, honey…I really don’t think this is a joke. I mean, two front row tickets to an Elvis Presley concert in Las Vegas? Do you know how expensive these are? Who would blow that much money just to get a laugh? I can’t even think of anyone else you know and I certainly didn’t pull this stunt.”

“Look, I don’t know, but I can’t believe that…well, he wouldn’t have any reason to send this to me. I mean, I told him no the last time he offered, so he should-”

“What? What do you mean you ‘told him no?’ Y/N what is going on here that I don’t know about? I’m completely lost.”

Shit. You slipped.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing,” you stutter, waving your hands frantically. “It was…nothing.”

“Well, it was obviously something?” Trixie gestures to the package. You sigh and she places a hand on your shoulder. “Foxie, I’m your best friend in the world. You can tell me anything.”

Your gaze drops down to her brightly painted purple nails and you heave a deep breath before lifting your gaze to hers. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern and you know that she genuinely does care about your well-being.

“You’re technically my only friend in the world, Trix. But yes, I guess something did happen that I never told you about.”

“Well, what is honey? Now, I really have to know,” she gestures to the package again and you chuckle.

“Well, to start off, the 68 special wasn’t the first time I saw Elvis. I saw him in 1956 at Russwood Park, too.”

“Right. I remember. We’ve talked about it plenty of times. What does that concert have to do with this?”

“Well, I maybe…kind of, sort of…did an embarrassing thing.”

“Like…what?” she quirks an eyebrow and you squeeze your eyes shut to counter the embarrassment you feel rising in your chest.

“I slid my underwear across the stage at that concert,” you blurt, wincing at the memory of your own actions. “And apparently I made an impression because he, Elvis I mean, sent his producer to bring me to the dressing room after we filmed the special. It was several hours after, so you were probably long gone by then. I was staying with my cousin, Steve, you remember him. Anyway, so I wound up in Elvis’ dressing room and it was just the two of us and he just…he just pulled my panties out of his pocket! The ones I’d given him, you know, years and years ago. I mean, I never in my wildest dreams would have expected…do you think he washed them? I mean, ew!”

“Calm, Foxie! Calm and focus. Slow words.”

“Right, sorry,” you laugh painfully and gulp before continuing. “Uh, after he pulled my panties out he sort of asked me if I…like, if I wanted to be his…sugar baby?”

Trixie’s eyes close and reopen wider and she leans forward as if she hasn’t heard you correctly. She blinks in shock.

“Well, what did you say? Did you tell him no?”

“Yeah, I said it was wrong. That I’m not the kind of person who sleeps with married men. Apparently, he didn’t take the hint because…” you gesture again to the infamous package.

“Yeah, I’d say not. What did he offer you? That’s how it works, right? You take care of him and he does something for you?”

“He offered to pay my debts and buy me gifts and stuff. The usual things, I imagine?”

“And he hasn’t contacted you since then until now?”

“Not one time.”

A few moments of silence pass. Trixie settles back into the couch, tapping her finger on her leg, obviously deep in thought. Your eyes just lazily drag around the scattered contents of the package as you contemplate what to do.

“Maybe…” Trixie starts, “you should go see what he wants?”

Your head snaps toward her.

“What?”

“I don’t know, maybe…maybe he has a different offer for you. Or maybe you can finagle your way into an even better arrangement.”

You throw your hands up, motioning for her to stop.

“Trixie, what are you talking about? I can’t do this. It’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I know, but you could use the extra cash and, after all, it is Elvis Presley.”

You just stare at her for a moment, your eyes flicking around her face to see whether she’s joking. Based on what you gather from her expression, she’s being completely serious. You scoff and stand up, grabbing harshly onto the box to take it right to the trash can.

“I can’t believe you would even say that, Trix. I expected better from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Trixie asks, standing and propping her hands on her hips.

“For God’s sake, Trixie! The man is married with a baby. What would I do to all of that if I said yes? I’m not a homewrecker. All he wants to do is use me anyway. He’ll probably drop me in three days for another woman. No thanks, not gonna happen. I’m not doing this.”

“Well, give it all to me, then,” Trixie shouts back, stalking over toward you and grabbing ahold of the package. You pull back firmly, preventing her from snatching it out of your fingers.

“Excuse me? What are you gonna do? You’re gonna go see him?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but he doesn’t want you. He wants me!” you shout, ripping the package away from her.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you. If you’re not gonna take him up on it, someone should!” she yells back, reaching for the package again.

“If you didn’t want to support me financially any more you could have just said it!”

“Don’t even!” she holds up her pointer finger. “You know very well that’s not what this is about. I have no problem helping you. You’re the one who’s always complaining about how pathetic it is that you have to mooch off me.”

“And not everyone has the luxury to just leave their lives, you know!” you yell. “I have to work, Trixie. To pay my bills, to keep my car, to avoid going to prison. Not everyone’s mommy and daddy are around to bail them out when they make stupid decisions!”

Right after the words escape your lips, your eyebrows unfurl and grief settles quickly in the depths of your stomach. When you notice a few glinting tears gathering in Trixie’s eyes, the reality of what you’ve said and its consequences are all too clear. Trixie huffs and stares at you for a moment before spinning on her heel and stalking down the hallway to her room. You drop the box on the counter and thrust your face into your hands, jumping at the rigid sound of her bedroom door slamming shut.

“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” you whisper to Elvis’ nonexistent frame as you toy with a piece of the wrapping paper.

You’d lied to Trixie, which you now feel increasingly bad about. You had heard from Elvis. Just a few letters here and there for the first couple of months after you rejected him the first time. You threw them all away without opening a single one. After a while, they just stopped coming and you thought you were in the clear. You were obviously wrong.

You glance around the apartment, thinking about how lucky you are to even be living here in the first place. Guilt racks through your body painfully and you sniff back a couple of tears before reaching across the table to grab the two tickets. As your eyes circle around the words, you sigh and then shuffle down the hall toward Trixie’s room. With a deep breath, you knock quietly on the door and lean against it.

“Trixie? I’m so sorry, Trix. I’m just overwhelmed and frustrated. I didn’t mean to call you stupid or…shame you for your upbringing. And I really shouldn’t dare considering how much you’ve done for me,” you say quietly, resting your forehead against the door. “It just feels so…unreal. This whole Elvis situation. Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m interested but it just…feels so wrong. He’s married with a kid and I…I’m scared.”

You wait a few seconds but hear nothing on the other side of the door. You turn with a dejected sigh and retreat to hide in your room. But as soon as you turn your back, the door clicks open. You whirl back around to see Trixie peeking her head out.

“I’m sorry,” you say but she holds up a hand.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be doing that. I have no right telling you what to do with your life. I certainly shouldn’t be mad at you for not accepting. This situation is very…unusual. I guess I just got jealous at the idea that the Elvis Presley wants you so badly that he went to all this trouble. And I hate to see you struggling. I know the money would reduce a lot of stress so I just think you should…I don’t know, consider it.”

“I know, Trix. I could use the money, of course. But I’m scared and embarrassed. What’ll happen if I eventually get old or uninteresting? If he gets bored of me and drops me for someone else? I barely know the man but he feels dangerous to me. Steve said something about him being unfaithful to his wife and…it’s just all so much.”

Trixie nods, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest. You sigh loudly.

“At the same time, though…” you offer a small smile and pull the two tickets from your back pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take him up on this? It’d be a shame to waste two front row tickets, especially with how expensive they are nowadays. And it would give me the opportunity to tell him off once and for all. What do you think? Another roomie adventure?”

You wiggle the tickets in the air with a suggestive shrug. Trixie laughs and nudges the door open with her hip. She throws her arms around your shoulders and you lean into her touch, closing your eyes and squeezing tightly. When she releases you, you’re greeted by a massive smile on her beautiful face.

“I guess we should get packing, then,” you say, gesturing at the tickets which have tomorrow’s date printed all over them.

“I’ll call the hotel and make reservations!” Trixie shouts, clapping her hands together.

With that, she disappears into her room to start packing. You trudge back into the kitchen to retrieve the package and then disappear into your own room. A few minutes later, you hear Trixie’s favorite Elvis record playing from her room.

You spend most of the day packing and preparing to leave since you’ll need to depart first thing in the morning to make the concert on time. At least one full hour is spent on the phone with your boss at KNBC as you try to explain why you can’t come in tomorrow. Another hour is wasted when you spend it calling everyone you know at the office to see if they’ll fill in for you. Luckily, the last person on your contact list agrees to take your shift. You thank them endlessly and accidentally promise an autograph from Elvis, although you aren’t sure if you plan on being that close to him.

You pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow that night and, even though you’ve both slept in, you and Trixie are groggy as ever in the morning.

As you lift your suitcase from the bed, your eyes land on the package from Elvis, half-unopened and not packed in your case. You pause in the doorway for a moment, staring at it. Last night, it was all too clear why you shouldn’t bring it. The answer to his proposal was and always would be a firm no. But this morning, as your gaze falls frozen on the beautiful things he’d sent you and the haunting words he’d written, your heart thumps with anticipation. Sighing frustratedly, you click open the suitcase and shove both the dress and the lingerie inside.

You and Trixie leave LA around 11 a.m., piled into her blue Jeep Wagoneer. Two hours into the four hour trip, you switch off and take the wheel so Trixie can get some extra rest. She was awake until two in the morning pairing up the perfect outfits. To your surprise, the drive is over in a flash and, the next thing you know, you’re inching through the Vegas Strip, stuck in horrific traffic.

You check your wristwatch as you get caught by yet another red light. You have roughly four hours to get ready for the show. After parking and checking in at the front desk, you take your bags upstairs to get unpacked. Even with exploring the hotel, grabbing dinner, and getting changed for the concert (which includes the forty minutes you spent debating whether or not you should wear the blue dress Elvis sent you), you find yourselves with time to spare. You decide to head down early and see if you can get seated before the rush.

When you arrive outside of the showroom, you’re shocked to see the area relatively deserted. You check the ticket twice to make sure before approaching the security guard standing in front of the doors.

“Hi,” you say cheerily. “We’re here for the Elvis show and were just wondering if it’d be possible for us to be seated a little early? If not, that’s alright, but we figured we’d check.”

“Well,” the guard starts, his eyes tracking not-so-sneakily up and down yours and Trixie’s figures. “We normally don’t allow people in before the scheduled time, but I might be able to make an exception for two ladies as lovely as yourselves.”

He winks and you press your lips together to keep from laughing. You glance at Trixie out of the corner of your eye and see her holding a finger to her mouth to mask her amusement.

“Oh, that’d be awfully sweet of you…Henry,” Trixie says, flashing him her most charming smile.

Your eyes drop down to see his nametag which reads Henry. You bite your tongue as you watch Henry flash Trixie a smile. He glances around the surrounding casino floor to see if anyone else is watching before pushing open the big black door behind him. He gestures with his hand.

“Please come on in, ladies. Will you need help finding your seats today?”

“Oh, you’re too generous, Henry,” you say as you both glide past him into the showroom. “But I think we’ll be alright. If we get lost, we’ll be sure to find you.”

You throw in a wink for good measure and spin on your heel, dragging Trixie into the room. Only a few steps inside and you’re both laughing so hard that you can barely breathe. Your laughs dry up in a couple of seconds, however, when you start to take in the space. You mutter in awe and point around the room, admiring details like the golden curtains pulled over the stage and the ornate statues adorning each column. You pull out the tickets and use them to direct you both toward your seats in the front row.

“Damn, we’re literally right here,” you muse, glancing straight ahead of you onto the front of the stage.

You’re seated at a round table that’s clad with a very fanciful tablecloth, dishes, and wine glasses. A candle, unlit, rests in the middle of the table and there’s a note propped up against the glass. You tilt your head as you reach out to grab it.

“Oh my god,” you mutter as you read the writing on the outside. Princess.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Trixie asks, plopping into one of the chairs next to you. You open the note as you join her.

“Princess, I’m so glad you made it. When you get here, come see me backstage. I have a present for you,” you read, your eyebrows furrowing.

You glance at Trixie but she just raises her eyebrows and shrugs. With a deep breath, you grab onto your purse, still clutching the note in your fingers.

“Alright, well I guess now’s as good a time as any to break the hard news. I’ll be back, I hope. If anything happens to me back there, you get everything in the apartment,” you say with a goofy smile.

Trixie laughs and shoos you away just in time for the showroom doors to open and release a line of audience members into the area. You hurry toward a door on the left side of the stage which you assume leads to the backstage area, considering the security guard who stands in front of it. You clear your throat before announcing yourself.

“Uh, hi! I’m here to see Elvis. Well, everyone is here to do that, I guess, but I have this note and uh…well, here,” you say nervously and hand over the letter. He examines it as you wait and anxiously wring out your fingers.

“Y/N?”

Your head spins as a vaguely familiar voice sounds from behind you. A smile immediately spreads across your face as you recognize Elvis’ producer, Jerry. You give him a wave and a shrug as heat creeps into your face.

“Hi…” you greet him quietly.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, approaching you. He waves off the guard dismissively. “She’s good to go. He’s been expecting her for a long time. Here, I’ll show you back.”

The guard shimmies out of the way so Jerry can open the door. He gestures for you to enter with a smile and you thank him as you step through.

“Changed your mind, huh?” Jerry asks as you follow him through the backstage area.

“Uh, no actually. Not really. I’m just here to tell him to save his postage,” you say, feeling the need to justify yourself although you can’t explain why.

“Can’t blame you. These kinds of situations don’t work for everyone, although this will be a first for him.”

“Do you think he’ll be disappointed?” you ask jokingly.

“Oh I’d bet on it.” Apparently Jerry didn’t take your question as a joke. “Like I said before he’s been waiting for you, specifically, for a long time. I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed, but don’t let that stop you. It is your decision, after all. Good luck.”

Jerry points toward a dressing room door with big black letters which read ELVIS. You clear your throat and thank Jerry. He nods curtly and then spins on his heel to return to the work he probably needs to get done before the show starts. You straighten the hem of the blue dress he’d sent you and clutch firmly onto the strap of your purse, into which you’d also stuffed the lingerie at the last minute. It suddenly occurs to you that perhaps you were supposed to wear the lingerie under the dress…

Oh well, you think to yourself. Too late now.

You take a few deep breaths and smile awkwardly at the cast and crew who pass through the area on their way to get ready for the show. You know it’s ridiculous to think that everyone knows why you’re here but, despite the sheer unlikeliness of it all, you still feel embarrassed and shameful that you actually came. A few times, you debate backing away and returning to your table with Trixie to just enjoy the show. But something stops you every time. Eventually, your desire and curiosity move you forward and your knuckles knock on the door three times.

Ignoring the fight or flight mechanism that triggers in your chest, you wait for the door to open. In a matter of seconds, your wish is granted and he stands before you. He’s wearing an incredibly detailed white jumpsuit with flared pants and a popped collar. It’s unbuttoned all the way down to his waist and you gulp as your eyes immediately fly to the bare skin of his chest. As your gaze flicks back up to his face, you find him smirking down at you, his eyes already hungrily digesting your figure which stands in front of him. His body is elongated and pulled taut as he leans against the doorframe. He still looks good, as healthy and as sexy as ever, although his sideburns and hair are much longer than they had been almost a year ago.

“Princess,” he says in a voice even deeper than you remember. You begin to notice the painful thudding of your heart against your chest as his eyes take you in. “I figured you weren’t comin.”

This is it, the perfect opportunity for you to reject him and explain why you can’t take him up on his offer. But your brain stalls. It’s completely blank as you stare up at him with helpless doe eyes. He examines your figure once more before pushing the door open to create a space underneath his armpit for you to enter. You glance up at him, waiting for further instructions as if you need a translation. He flips his head toward the room.

“Inside.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

taglist: @mrsjna @floralcyanide @austinbutler17 @slutforsomegoodlettuce @datsavageavenger @misspygmypie @yourfriendhenrywinter @queenslandlover-93 @kittenlittle24 @slutforblueeyes @theliterarybeldam @guns-n-queen @x-earthangel @adoreyouusugar @butler-trouble @kaycinema @mamaspresley @dontbesussis @littledanette @yagirlalexx @hangmanswhore @dark-as-love @adoreyouusugar @gemstone9 @austin-butlers-gf @dollfaceyourfear @tis-the-season-of-the-witch @coldonexx @austin-butlers-gf @sagesolsticewrites @mommy-maia @atombombbibunny @lexlexl3x @solo-pitstop-vibes @hopefulinlove @lordandmistress @domaniquessidehoe @elvismylove-blog @amiets2 @itsametaphorbriansblog @powerofelvis @beautyofelvis @austinstyles

#elvis #elvis 2022 #austin butler #milasfics #milaselvisfics #milasthings #milaselviscontent #sugar daddy elvis #daddy issues

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coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 1 year

Text

A Rather Magical Super Sexy Secret

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 711

Summary: Dieter surprises you with a magazine photoshoot, except he forgot to tell you about it

Warnings: a sexy photoshoot and the consequences when that happens

Check out masterlist here

While waiting at the supermarket checkout, you were aimlessly checking over your shopping list. Everything was checked off, but your brain just had to check again. And they had Dieter’s favourite snacks on special, so you decided to get extra. He’d been working really hard the past few weeks, mostly coming home late, only able to kiss you goodnight before completely zonking out. Tonight, you decided to treat him to a nice hearty dinner as you rightly assumed he hasn’t been able to eat properly. Your double-checking reverie was interrupted by a bunch of girls twittering like harpies.

“Oh my god, look how hot he is!”

“I want to be his controversial young girlfriend!”

You rolled your eyes and looked over to the offending culprits, but you stopped when your eyes caught the object of their desire: starring back at you from a magazine was the face of your boyfriend. It felt like you were suddenly hit in the face with a shovel. Before you got buried in six feet of confusion, your attention was called by the checkout in front of you becoming free. Again, Dieter’s face was staring at you from the magazine rack in front of you, so you decided to add one to your conveyor belt of purchases.

The checkout lady looked at the cover of the magazine while she scanned it. She had that look like one would to an indulgent bar of chocolate.

“Mmm, that is a man right there,” she said, “I’d like to cover him in whipped feta, feed him pomegranates and use him like a fine charcuterie board!”

Well that was a new, certainly interesting one.

You thanked her as you grabbed your grocery bags. As soon as you got in your car, you opened the pages of the magazine. You were greeted with arms. Very well-defined arms. You saw Dieter’s arms every day and you knew he’d been working out a bit more lately, but this felt like you were looking at your boyfriend with newly replaced eyeballs.

You quickly shut the magazine and threw it in your tote bag before it burst into flames, sending you into the fiery lusty hell you were currently feeling.

Dieter greeted you when you pulled up your car in the driveway. He seemed more well rested, and he just had to be wearing one of his Henley shirts. You hated those shirts purely because they made every muscle of his fine body stand out which you certainly did not need right now.

And now he was helping you carry in the groceries, making his arm muscles stand out even more. You could not stop staring at them. You would walk into a pole if there was one for how much you kept staring at his arms.

You followed him into the house, and he lifted the bags onto the kitchen counter, making his shirt ride up a little, giving a peek at his cute tummy.

“Actually, could you put the bags over there?” you asked him.

He replied with a nonchalant shrug and moved them over to the other side of the kitchen. You followed his arms, mesmerised at the material of the sleeves stretching and straining out.

“Sorry, I meant over there,” you said, almost hypnotised.

Dieter put the bags back onto the other counter and swooped in to pick you up, breaking you out of your state. “What is up with you honey cakes? You’ve been staring at my arms since you got in.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me about the photoshoot?”

The realisation slowly spread over his face. “Oh shit, that’s out already? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

He slowly placed you back to the earth, apology written all over him.

“It was a surprise, a nice surprise,” you pulled the magazine out of your tote bag and showed him. “I mean damn, I see you naked all the time, but this…” you started to fan yourself with it.

“Wow, you really are swooning” he moved, ready to pick you up again, “Have I made you weak in the knees?”

“Not yet. Did they let you keep the boots?”

“Oh, I got to keep everything.”

“Okay, now I’m weak in the knees.”

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter fanfic #dieter x reader #dieter x f!reader #dieter x honey cakes #dieter bravo #love of horror fanfic #love of horror #the bubble netflix #the bubble

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irithnova · 11 months

Note

it’s my headcanon that mongolia may have once conquered china, but china knows that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

so china begins cooking (let him cook)

and mongolia becomes addicted to chinese cuisine lmaooo (and mb even the cook himself)

Hahah interesting headcanon, I quite like it myself.

Historically, Yuan Dynasty court food was still mainly Mongol/Mongol influenced! Contrary to what some may believe, the Mongols of the Yuan were not sinicized, and this is seen even through the food they ate.

When the Mongols conquered China, they established their own court cuisine as a demonstration of power and authority. This aligns with the long-standing tradition across Chinese and other court societies of using food as a symbol of respect, dominance, hierarchy, and power.

It is reasonable to assume that the Mongols cuisine their pre-imperial ventures were similar to other central Asian trends .

Historical records mention feasts among Central Asian "barbarians" and their use of food in state ceremonies and hospitality. Rather than adopting China's classic cuisine, the Mongols built upon their own traditions, incorporating diverse international influences while also maintaining their steppe eating customs and foods.

This display of cultural preservation, despite the availability of Chinese alternatives, is seen as a testament to their determination!

Further, the Mongols established their capital in North China, which had already been under non-Chinese rule for over a century and had its own distinct cuisine. The Chinese food in the north was already influenced by Central and West Asia since the Han Dynasty.

Even before occupying China, the Mongols had vast imperial ventures and so they had opportunity to absorb culinary traditions from various regions.

Because or this, they didn't feel the need to adopt Chinese cuisine of the time, which was based on ingredients not readily available in the north. The Mongols were influenced by their Turkic officials and the cuisine they encountered in Beijing had already been influenced by previous dynasties.

Mongol feasts became increasingly diverse with the foods as the Mongols conquered more land, thus gaining access to more typed of foods.

The historian George Lane shares what a meal at the Mongol imperial court might have included:

"Appetizers might have included momo shapale with sipen mardur sauce, delicate steamed Tibetan mushroom ravioli smothered in a creamy, spicy yoghurt sauce. A salad of Bhutanese chilli and cheese might have followed. The main course, shabril with dresil, comprised Tibetan meatball curry with nutted saffron rice, honey, and currants. Himalayan steamed bread with turmeric and barley beer with honey would have accompanied the main food, and also as a dessert, Chinese chestnut mound with cream and glazed fruit would have found favour. "

The Yinshan Zhengyao is a 1330 CE book written by Hu Sihui, which served as a guide for the Mongol imperial court. It contains various recipes and cooking techniques. Some of the dishes include:

1) Roast Wolf Soup

2) Mountain oysters

3) Detoxifying Dried Orange Peel Puree (for hangovers)

While the Mongols definitely retained their cuisine (and culture), I do think Mongolia definitely did try traditional Chinese cuisine! There's no way he stayed there for (almost) a century and didn't try it.

He most likely then tried Song Dynasty food! The last Chinese dynasty to the South before the Yuan completely took over.

During the Song dynasty, Chinese cuisine reached new heights in terms of variety and nutritional value.

In fact, in 1998, the American "Life Magazine" listed the top 100 influential events of the past 1,000 years. One of them was the rise of restaurants and snacks during the Song Dynasty, which came at 56!

During the Song, people started eating three meals a day instead of two. This change gave them more time to explore and experiment with different cooking methods and flavours.

In Hangzhou, the capital of the Song Dynasty, cooks tried out a variety of herbs and spices brought from different parts of Asia. The noblemen hosted banquets that would last for days, serving dishes named "Dragon Meets Phoenix" and "Seven Stars Encircle the Moon." Hangzhou impressed Marco Polo so much that he described it as a place of abundant pleasures, akin to paradise!

Some song dynasty foods that China might have prepared for Mongolia (to prove this his cuisine is ~superior~)

1) Orange stuffed with fried crab

2) Plum blossom soup

Here's a website I found which talks more about Song Dynasty food:

The Song popularised foods that are even loved to this day like ham, braised pork, hotpot, fried bread stick, rice dumpling, and popcorn. It was a truly revolutionary period for food.

So I speculate that Mongolia tried Song Dynasty food, and yes, he was very impressed by it!

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loveisonaroll · 2 years

Text

Things That Are Worth It

Jake x reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: little angsty; fluffy; talks of abortion; pregnancy (both forced and intentional); adoption; struggling teen moms

Summary: You and Jake tell your oldest child the story of their welcoming.

A/N: I wrote this before the SCOTUS Roe v. Wade reversal. Although this decision was on my radar and we knew it was coming, I like many others still felt a little blindsided. If you need a safe person to confide in, please reach out to me, and if you need help finding abortion resources, please let me know. I can help research and connect you to the right people.

Also, a quick disclaimer – I may have graduated law school and will (hopefully) be a practicing attorney in a few months, but I do not know how adoption/CPS/child custody cases work. Those are niche practice areas that have different rules in every jurisdiction, and so the “legal” pieces of this fic are purely fictional.

------

You knew this moment would eventually come, and you had truthfully thought it would have come years before now. However, neither you nor Jake had imagined that she would have read it in a magazine.

“How could you not tell me?!” your fourteen-year-old daughter exclaimed loudly, throwing her hands in the air. “All this time and you’re not even my real parents. I knew I didn’t look like either of you.”

“Baby, we are your parents. Just because Momma didn’t carry you for nine months doesn’t mean you aren’t ours,” Jake reasoned, grasping your shaking hand in one hand and fisting the magazine in his other.

“I feel like my entire life is a lie!” Vivy stormed out of the dining room, slamming her bedroom door at the top of the staircase.

You looked over at Jake whose eyes looked almost as watery as your own. “We’ve talked about how we were going to do this so many times, but it’s so much more difficult than I thought.”

“I know, honey. I just wish we had been able to have control of it.” Jake looked away from you towards the rolled-up magazine. He had been voted Guitarist of the Year for the umpteenth time, and the new author jumped at the opportunity to write about your family at the smallest mention of Jake’s inspiration. “I mean, seriously. ‘Jake’s family is a heavy inspiration for his and Greta Van Fleet’s music. His wife, Y/N, and their three children, Genevieve, June, and Wiley, are his biggest muses.’ That’s where they should have stopped, but no. God, I wish I knew who this ‘source’ is.”

You looked down at the rest of the article.

Jake’s family had quite the unusual start. Rumors started to swirl around Jake and his wife when a very pregnant Y/N was spotted with a very small baby towards the end of 2022. According to a source close to the pair, the couple adopted their oldest in 2022, and by June of 2023, the two had two children under 12 months old.

You leaned over and pressed your forehead into Jake’s shoulder, letting some tears flow. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go. What are we going to do, Jake?”

Jake’s hand came across his body to stroke your hair. “I’m not sure, baby. I think we should give her a couple minutes to cool off and then we go talk to her.”

“I guess you’re right,” you sighed.

Tonight was supposed to be a fun evening for you and Jake. The kids were to stay at Josh’s house for a sleepover, and you and Jake had plans to surprise your girls the next afternoon with their own separate bedrooms. At first, it was just easy to have the two babies in one room to avoid jumping from room to room throughout the night. Then, the girls grew to be the best of friends, and it broke your heart to even think about separating them. As soon as the girls became teenagers, however, they seemed to become slightly claustrophobic when it came to each other. You tried to ignore it, because watching your two baby girls grow into their own persons independent of each other was difficult to bear, but Jake was a realist. He convinced you once night while getting ready for bed that this could be a good thing, to have the girls become more independent. Plus, he reasoned, they each deserved to have a space they could call their own. Over the last couple of months, the two of you ordered new queen beds and other bedroom furniture that fit each of their personalities better than the matching accessories they had grown up with. Tonight was supposed to be the night the two of you would share a bottle of wine—and maybe a kiss or two—and put all of your girls’ rooms together in anticipation of surprising them the next day.

You rubbed at your eyes as you stood from the breakfast nook and opened the dishwasher to put some dishes away. Junie and Wiley were already at Josh’s, but Vivy had had volleyball practice before she could be dropped off. When she rushed to Jake’s car afterwards with the magazine rolled up in her fist and a look of indignation across her face, you knew she wasn’t going to be making it to Josh’s for movie night. Her look of betrayal burned into your brain.

“Y/N, you can leave those for Wiley to put away tomorrow, it’s his day.” Jake pressed his front to your back, wrapping himself around you while you reach up to place a bowl on it assigned shelf.

You sighed and continued reaching into the dishwasher to put more dishes away. “I need something to do, and they will start to smell like mildew if we leave them in here. Plus, I think it’s safe to say chores won’t be high on the list of priorities tomorrow.”

Jake gently took the mug out of your hands and placed it on the counter while pulling you closer to his chest. He placed a soft kiss to the juncture of your neck and shoulder blade and intertwined both of your hands.

“Baby, we’re gonna get through this, you and me and our three,” he chuckled into your neck at his little rhyme. “Do you remember what you told me the morning after the night she came?”

You choked out a watery laugh and closed your eyes at the memory, nodding your head as you rested it backwards on his shoulder. Of course you remembered; ever since you had let the phrase leave your lips he had quoted them back to you and told all your friends and family the story of the snide remark you had made.

“I think it was something like ‘if you wanted easy you shouldn’t have married me.’”

“That has always been my favorite part to tell, I had never seen you so fiery. It was the first time I had a glimpse of what you are like in the courtroom,” Jake laughed again. “But that’s only the first part. You said ‘of course it’s not going to be easy, but things that are worth it never are.’”

You thought back fondly of that weekend. It wasn’t even when she became yours, but it was the weekend you and Jake had fallen in love with her. It had been a chaotic and difficult few days, but retrospect is always sweeter.

14 years earlier…

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you chanted as you struggled to place your files into your work bag while you exited the firm. A last-minute meeting with your firm’s top paying client had kept you an hour past the end of your usual Friday. Although this was not usually a big deal, your in-laws were set to have arrived two hours ago and you knew your house was already swarming with Kiszkas and close friends. You had promised Jake that you would make it home in time, and the meeting and your phone dying in the middle of it had you in a panic.

“Hey baby, are you leaving the office?” Jake answered your call as you exited the parking lot.

“Jake, I am so sorry. I know I promised I would be home an hour ago, but we had a last-minute meeting with our biggest client and my phone died halfway through so I couldn’t text you. Is everyone there already?”

“It’s okay. I checked your location when you hadn’t called and saw you were at the office still, so I figured something important had come up. Mom, Dad and Ronnie got in a little early, but the guys just showed up about thirty minutes ago. No need to rush, just get home safe,” he assured. “We’ve just been visiting and I’m about to fire up the grill. You’ll be just in time.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll be there soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

. . .

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you explain, walking through the sliding glass door onto the patio where your husband’s family and a few of your friends were situated. You planted a sweet kiss on Jake standing by the grill and made your way around the group to greet properly.

“It’s okay, dear, Jake told us you were called into a meeting. Where attorney duties call, boss babe attorneys answer!” You laughed at Karen’s words as you placed a kiss on her and Kelly’s cheeks. You had always loved the Kiszkas, and Karen had become like a second mother to you. You were sometimes amazed at the amount of pride and support they had left for you after how much they uplifted their hoard of children.

“Yeah, it was last minute. Hopefully it calmed some storms for the near future, at least. How was y’all’s trip?”

. . .

You caught up with the group briefly before it was time to eat, and your party moved indoors to the dining room for some more chatting over food. You were finally unwinding from your treacherous day, and Jake’s thumb rubbing patterns on the top of your thigh as his hand rested there helped soothe you even more.

“Then, we went to this vineyard in France and it’s very interesting how they grow their grapes…” Josh raved on charismatically, speaking with his hands as he recalled the band’s most recent tour in Europe. You smiled as you remembered the warm French breeze wisping through your hair as your mind buzzed slightly from the amount of wine you had “sampled.” You remember watching Jake, his lips and teeth tinged a slight purple, listening intently to your tour guide, and the way his skin shimmered in the golden sunset light against his white linen suit. You remember falling more in love with him in that instant

A chime coming from both your and Jake’s phones simultaneously pulled you out of your memory, your Ring doorbell signaling movement had been detected outside your front door. You both looked over at each other with furrowed brows, but when Jake shrugged and resumed listening to Josh’s recount of European life, you let it go, too. Sometimes, a stray dog would throw off the doorbell, and everyone who could show up unannounced was already in your home, so it seemed of little consequence. However, a short moment later, the chime came again. And then again.

“Did you order something?” Jake leaned over to ask you in a soft tone, not wanting to disrupt the flowing conversation between his family and friends.

“I ordered those shoes I showed you at lunch today, but there’s no way they would be here already. And it’s 7:30 on a Friday night—I don’t think there would be any deliveries being made at this time,” you whispered back, brows furrowed once again in confusion.

Jake pulled his phone out of his pocket and you watched as he clicked on the notification to open the Ring app. You expected to see a stray or two playing around the front of your home, but you did not expect what was transpiring on your front porch.

At the top of the stairs, was a pile of items seemingly purposed for babies. Boxes of diapers, cans of formula, what looked like a diaper bag, and a few other bags that you could not see the contents of were stacked neatly against the railing of the porch. The most shocking part of the scene, however, was that a young woman was again opening the iron gate at the front of your yard and weaving a car seat through.

Your heart raced as you shared a wide-eyed look with Jake, and you jumped up from your seat to make it through the house to the front door. Josh’s story cut off, and you could feel the eyes of your company on your back, watching you with Jake hot on your heels make your way to the front of your home. You knew what was happening, it wasn’t hard to deduce the decision the woman had made, and the advocate in you kicked right in.

You turned towards Jake with your hand on the door handle, jerking your head to the side to tell him to back off. You knew this was going to be a delicate situation, and despite your surprise and the questions you had, you wanted the woman to feel safe to tell you. You opened the door just as the woman had reached the halfway point of the walkway to the porch. She stilled immediately, and you could see the inner conflict she was having shift across her face. Should she run? Should she drop the baby here now that she had been caught? Should she continue on to the porch to leave the child where she had initially planned to?

You stepped out of the house, closing the door behind you and tried to give the woman the most reassuring smile you could muster. Now that you had a closer look at her, you could tell she was very young, maybe freshly eighteen. She looked at you quizzically and then back down to the sleeping baby she had in the car seat. It was clear she still hadn’t made up her mind of what to do.

“Hi,” you said simply, taking a seat on the porch swing facing the front lawn. You wanted to start gently, hoping to encourage the girl to speak with you. This one little word seemed to jump start her mind.

“Oh my god. Mrs. Kiszka, right? Y/N? I’m sorry I just—I don’t know what to—I saw you on your website and—” she blabbered on, taking rushed steps to the porch and settling the car seat at the top of the steps. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she roughly wiped them away as they came.

“Hey, slow down! It’s okay, just take a deep breath and have a seat if you’d like. I’m assuming you found me through my law firm?”

The girl nodded her head and wrung her hands together as she looked away from you. “I’m so sorry, I just can’t…your card fell out of someone’s pocket at the hospital, and I looked you up and I followed you here from your office.”

You looked towards the car seat to find what looked like a newborn who couldn’t have been more than a week old. “Okay. While you were at the hospital having baby…?” You looked up at the girl quizzically.

“Genevieve. Her name is Genevieve. Yes, on Monday.” She looked down at the sleeping baby, and more tears started to flow. “I just can’t,” she repeated, her breathing picking up again.

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly okay,” you tried to soothe. “Do you want to sit here with me for a moment? I can get you a bottle of water or something?”

She looked at you warily still, chewing on her bottom lip and pulling at the ends of her hair.

“You’re not in trouble, and I’m not going to report you for anything. I just want to help,” you offered, hoping she would trust you.

She sighed and sat on the top step with her back pushed against the pilar facing you slightly. She pulled her knees to her chest and pushed her face into them as she wrapped her arms around herself. You could see this situation was eating her up inside, and you held back tears yourself. As she sat, she also spoke. You learned that her name was Amelia, that she had just turned eighteen the week before, and that she had no one. She had gotten pregnant by some older guy who had only been in town a few weeks before the wind plucked him up again. She hadn’t known his real name, and any source of contact with him had led to dead ends. Abortion hadn’t been obtainable for her, and she had talked herself out of every attempt to speak with someone about adoption. She had gone through so many conflicting thoughts, thinking of keeping the baby and then realizing she couldn’t take care of her. The ultimate decision maker, she said, was when she got the acceptance letter to a university in the next state over with the opportunity to start her life over. She knew that she couldn’t go to school and raise the baby properly at the same time, and that if she stayed here she would just continue the cycle of abuse and desperation that would lead to her baby becoming just like her. When she saw your card, she looked you up and felt like you were the right person to leave her baby with. She had staked out your office since she had been released from the hospital, and today she finally drew up the courage to do what she had set out to do. She knew you would either love and cherish her daughter as your own or find someone who would.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is safe and in a loving home, thank you for trusting me with her. But can I ask you why you thought I would be a safe bet for her? I can tell you care,” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I do care, and it scares me that people will think I just abandoned her or threw her out like nothing,” she commented. “I just saw that you are really successful and you seem happy. And then I saw your husband bring you lunch the other day, and it made me think about all the times I wish I had grown up with two parents who loved each other and loved me. I don’t know, it just felt right. I want her to have the life that I never had.”

I nodded along with her. You heard the front door behind you open, and Amelia jumped. Jake emerged from your home with two bottles of water and a plate of cheese, fruit and crackers. He immediately paused as he noticed Amelia’s apprehension, but you just nodded.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wondered if you were hungry or thirsty or anything,” he trailed off softly, taking a small step forward and holding out the water bottle. Amelia gave him a tight-lipped smile and took the bottle of water, opening it to take a small sip.

“Amelia, this is my husband Jake,” you spoke out, accepting your own bottle of water he extended to you. “And Jake, this is Amelia.”

“Nice to meet you, Amelia. And who have we got here?” Jake questioned as the baby started to fuss. Amelia looked at the baby with wide eyes and then up to you quickly. It was obvious that even though she had spent a good three days with the baby, she was not prepared to be its caretaker. Jake noticed this, too, and you watched as he gestured towards the fussy baby to ask Amelia for permission to pick her up. When she nodded, he placed the plate of food on the porch next to her, gently unbuckled the infant and scooped her up.

The baby started to actually cry, and Jake’s face showed you he realized he had miscalculated. You chuckled and took the baby from his hands, rocking her gently in your arms. “Amelia, when was the last time she ate? Maybe she’s hungry,” you pondered out loud.

Amelia retrieved a bottle from one of the bags on the porch and Jake went inside to warm up some water. You spoke some more, letting Amelia eat what Jake had brought out and encouraging her to let you help her figure everything out before she left for school in a month. Eventually, she conceded, and you exchanged phone numbers and addresses before she left, giving one last kiss to the sleeping baby in your arms.

Jake helped you carry the baby and her things into the house, meeting the bewildered faces of the people closest to you. You smiled warily and shifted the sleeping baby in your arms to give them a better look.

“What is even going on here? I am so confused,” Sam piped up first.

“Well, I think we have another temporary guest tonight,” Jake airily chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His parents and siblings flocked to the baby,

You handed Jake the baby and excused yourself to your bedroom to call your friend Natalie at Child Protective Services. As vaguely as you could, you explained the situation and that you were advocating for the birth mother so that Amelia could get through the process smoothly and make it to school the next month. Natalie was familiar with this kind of situation, but she let you know that there were currently no foster homes equipped to take newborns on a Friday evening. She would have to come retrieve the baby to either take back to the hospital for the interim or to the CPS office until a foster home could be found on Monday. Something just didn’t feel right to you about that, so you suggested keeping the baby over the weekend. After some convincing, paperwork, and copies of drivers licenses of everyone in your home that weekend, Natalie agreed. As you were saying your goodbyes to Natalie, Jake walked into your shared bedroom.

“Y/N, what are you doing? Why did you ask for everyone’s IDs?” He crossed his arms while standing in front of you at the foot of the bed.

“Well, I uh…so here’s the thing,” you started, giving him a sheepish smile. “They don’t have a foster home available right now and the only other option is for her to go back to the hospital or to be stuck in a CPS office with some random CPS officer until they can look for a home on Monday. It just didn’t sit right with me, Jake, so I said she could stay here with us for the weekend.”

Jake looked at you incredulously for a moment, sighing and running a hand through his locks dramatically. “Baby, you can’t just make that decision without asking me! She’s not just a baby, she’s like 5 days old!”

“But Jake, I promised Amelia I would make sure she was loved and cherished and taken care of! If they took her to the hospital, she would just be another baby among a sea of babies, and if she went to the CPS office, she would get the most minimum care she needs. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you first, but I couldn’t hang up the phone!” you tried to explain. You knew you should have spoken with Jake before suggesting it, and you knew you could have called Natalie back after doing so, but something about the situation felt emergent.

Jake sighed and sat down next to you, placing his elbows on his knees and hanging his head between his shoulders. He put his chin in one hand and tilted his head to look at you. “We have no idea what to do with a baby, Y/N. This is going to be really hard.”

“If you wanted easy, you shouldn’t have married me!” you snapped, eyes wide and slightly glossy. “Of course it’s not going to be easy, but things that are worth it never are.”

His mouth opened and closed as he looked at you, and a smile slowly crept across his features. “You’re right. I guess I wouldn’t have said no, anyways. She’s kind of cute.” You smiled at each other and shared a quick kiss before heading back out into the living room to mingle with your family and your newest house guest.

The weekend seemed to drag on, you and Jake hardly getting any sleep. You had decided to place the pack-n-play Amelia had left in yours and Jake’s room, as it had been your decision to have her stay and it felt unfair to put your other house guests through her cries. You even felt bad for Jake, since it was your decision to host her, but he waived you off, reminding you consistently that he was your husband and that anything you chose to do you would do it together. So the two of you worked together to calm her nightly cries, change her diaper, cuddle her until she felt safe enough to sleep. Still, there was a lot the two of you did not know, and Karen and Kelly helped teach you and Jake how to take care of Genevieve. Ronnie kept her company long enough for both of you to shower and clean up around the house, and the guys came around throughout the weekend to keep everyone company.

Jake started calling her Vivy Sunday evening after she spit up on Sam’s new sweater. His laughter and “Atta girl, Vivy!” melted your heart, and your perspective started to shift. You and Karen watched from the kitchen as you prepared dinner, and she took note of your smile and slightly watery eyes. She knew you too well.

“She’s a real cutie, you know. You sure we have to give her back tomorrow?” Karen laughed, bumping your arm with hers. You laughed along with her, but her words stuck in the back of your mind.

“Babe, watch this!” Jake’s excited voice garnered your interest as he strutted into the kitchen with the baby in his arms. When he got close enough, he placed a couple kisses to the Genevieve’s cheek and in response she opened her eyes slightly and seemed to give a small smile. “She smiled!” He repeated the motion a couple times and smiled again.

“Oh, sweet girl,” you cooed, gently rubbing your thumb across her forehead. When you looked up at Jake, you saw a look of complete awe as he stared back at the baby. You wondered if he had the same voice in the back of his head.

. . .

Later that night, you and Jake sat in your bed watching a movie with a sleeping baby held close to your chest. It was way past 3 AM, but Genevieve had just fallen asleep after a couple of hours of being fussy, and your mind was still racing.

“What time is Natalie supposed to come get her?” Jake quietly questioned, turning on his side to face you and place a hand atop the one you held to the baby’s back.

“She didn’t say, she only said she would have to go to the office and make a few phone calls to find a foster home willing to take her first. I texted the partners and let them know the situation, so they can reach me on my cell tomorrow if they need to. Or today, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, and you looked down fondly at the sleeping baby once more.

“Do you think—”

“I have an ide—”

You both started at the same time. You chuckled and Jake motioned for you to start first.

“I just…okay, I know we talked about trying for a baby in like a year,” you trailed off, trying to find the words. “But do you think that maybe now is a good time? I mean, you guys are taking a break to work on the new album for a few months, and when you go back on tour maybe we could just come with you—”

“We?” Jake questioned, and you could swear you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes when you looked back at him.

“I mean, I don’t know, Jake. The past couple of days have been some of the hardest days of my life, but they were also so fulfilling. And then you came in the kitchen tonight and she smiled when you kissed her little cheek, and I just…I don’t know if I’m ready to let her go tomorrow.” You sighed and sat up enough to pull the baby from your chest and rest her gently on the bed between your outstretched legs.

Jake was silent for a minute, and you were honestly afraid to look up at him to search his face for the words he hadn’t yet spoken. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way and this has just been a fun little experiment for him. Maybe he would rather you stick to the original plan of starting your family in a year. But when you finally built enough courage to look up at him, your worries dissipated. Jake had moved up to sit against the headboard, his knees bent as he looked over at you. His eyes were watery with joy and he smiled behind a bit lip.

“Y-yeah, yeah I think she should maybe stay here,” Jake responded with a cough, ever trying to hold on to his tough-guy demeanor. “And I think maybe we should make her ours.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” you nodded. Jake stood up from the bed and took Genevieve to the pack-n-play to lay her down. You followed along behind him, and the two of you stood watching over her as she slept, hand in hand.

You called Natalie first thing the next morning after confirming once again with Jake that this was something you were sure you both wanted. Your families were delighted, and everyone helped the best they could over the next couple weeks getting your new daughter settled into her rightful place in your home. Amelia was ecstatic when you asked her if she would allow you and Jake to adopt the baby, saying that she had hoped you would say so. The three of you worked through the process together, and soon Amelia was off to college with the biggest weight lifted off of her shoulders. You didn’t hear much from her again, save for the graduation announcements from undergrad and –surprisingly—law school with little notes of appreciation and inspiration to you. You tried keeping in touch with her, but she kindly asked you to allow the both of you to live your lives separately. And you were proud to let her live out her dreams without you.

Two months after welcoming Vivy as your daughter, you found out you were pregnant. Terrified was a severe understatement, but when you showed Jake the test, he belted out the most elated belly laugh you thought you would ever hear from him. You remember him setting Vivy down in her bouncer and smashing your cheeks between his palms to kiss you deeply. He made sure to tell you all night how much he loved you, how much he loved your family already, and how much he was going to love adding a new little one to love. When you worried about handling two babies so close together, he would say he had two arms for a reason. He did so much to assure you that this was an exciting thing, and that he would be happy to have a busload more if you wanted them. When June came, and a 10-month-old Vivy smiled and clapped when she met her little sister for the first time, you felt like your heart would actually burst. Unadulterated happiness is the only way you could describe it.

Present time…

You sniffled as you remembered that weekend. It wasn’t easy, but it really had been worth it.

“Yeah, it was worth it. Even the terrible twos,” you laughed. You could feel Jake’s smile on your neck.

“It was and still is. Do you remember when she cried the first time I put her in time out? Broke my heart. Her big round eyes and her puckered lip still haunt me to this day.”

“Oh, my favorite is when she cried at the hospital when she found out Wiley was a boy and not another baby sister for her,” you laughed.

“Oh my gosh! Yeah, when I went out to go get them and tell everyone he was a boy she was not happy. But you should have seen Junie, she kept hugging and patting Vivy on the head and saying ‘its okay sissy, you still got me!’ and Vivy would just cry louder. It was the funniest thing, and I had to try so hard not to laugh at them.”

The two of you laughed some more, and you eventually turned in Jakes arms to lean your head against his chest. “Do you think we’ve given her enough time yet?”

“Yeah, do you want to lead the way or me?”

The rest of that night was spent telling Vivy the entire story and showing her the graduation announcements Amelia had sent. The three of you cried together, laughed together, and Jake reminded her that families are made up of all kinds of people and that blood relation was not a requirement. He reminded her that Uncle Danny was not his blood brother, but that he would always be in their lives. He reminded her that she may not have the same physical features as you or Jake, but that she had your heart and his amazing style (to which she fell over laughing). He reminded her that sometimes people have babies that aren’t meant to have them, and that the best thing her birth mother did for her was giving her the life she had never had. He reminded her to be grateful to Amelia, and that if she ever wanted to meet her, he would hold one hand and you would hold her other. He reminded her that she was loved, and that she would always be your first baby girl.

And he reminded you that your little family was worth everything and more.

-----

Thanks for reading!

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #jake kiszka fic #jake gvf #greta van fleet fic #gvf #jake kiszka x you #dad!Jake #jake kiszka x y/n #jake kiszka x reader #Jake kiszka angst #Jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka fanfic #TTAWI

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slasher-male-wife · 2 years

Text

Slashers reactions to you giving them a love poem part 2

I’m gonna be doing Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Brahms and Jason. Reader is gn. No warnings just pure fluff.

Billy Loomis

He’s not much for writing. He likes to keep a reputation that he’s a cool guy and he doesn’t wanna be very lovey in public. When he gets it he’s gonna tell you not to tell anyone about his reaction.

He’s gonna hug you and fall back on your bed, kissing your face all over. He’s gonna talk about how lovely it is and how much he wishes he could express his love for you like that

You two are sitting on your shared bed. Billy reading over what you wrote for him. A nervous smile is on your face. Billy is blunt, in a loving way. It’s honestly helpful sometimes. Like if you’re wearing a ridiculous outfit or if you planed on buying some ugly shoes. He’s read your writing before and gave great notes. You tried your hardest on this poem for him. He sets it down and looks at you. “Promise you won’t tell anyone what I do next?” You nod as you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your hands and neck. Billy opens his arms and wraps you up in a hug. You laugh and he falls back on the bed. “I loved it.” He says kissing the top of your head.

“You really like it?” You ask smiling.

“Of course sweetheart. It’s the perfect poem.”

Stu

He’s believes that it’s the best thing you’ve ever wrote. Talks about how you should write a book and he’ll swing you around.

He’ll be overjoyed that you wrote him something in the first place. He’s gonna go nuts.

Stu is wearing a stupid grin on his face as he reads your poem. He asks what you mean by something a few times but he reads it happily. He sets it down and grabs you in a hug. He pulls you into his lap and buries his face in your neck. “You should write a book babe. Just wow honey.” He says. You smile and hug him back.

“Stu it’s average poetry. I just wanted to show how much I love you.”

“Well you did Y/N. You’re the best partner ever.”

Brahms

Brahms grew up reading high quality books from the best authors from around the world. He’s had attachments to writing before but never like this. This is the most meaningful thing anyone did for him. Someone loved him enough to write a poem about him for him.

Our wall man would lift up his mask for this and kiss you so much. He’d kiss you before he’s even says a word. Needless to say he loves it.

Brahms had been reading this poem for awhile. You’re bouncing your leg biting your nails. He sets down the poem and stares at it for a bit. “Is it good Brahms?” You ask. He doesn’t reply he just takes off his mask. He only takes it off for serious events so this could go great or horrible. Brahms bends down and plants a big kiss on your lips. He pulls away and your face is beet red.

“I love it Y/N. The best poem I ever read .”

Jason

Jason is a man of no words. He learned to read when he was young and continued to read what he found in the woods. Magazines, news papers, books, whatever he could find.

Jason never knew much about poetry. He knew it should rhyme but you explained it’s not a rule. He had a hard time with the expressions used so you read it back to him and explained what you meant by it. But in the end he loved it.

You finish explaining what you meant by the last line to Jason. “And when I say ‘I thought I found a heart made of stone but really something priceless was inside’ I meant that when we first met you were aggressive and didn’t want much to do with me. But over time you grew to love me and you’re so valuable to me Jason. He nods and you set down the paper. The two of you are sitting on the couch in your cabin. He pats his lap and you go sit on it. He hugs you tight and you hug him right back.

“I love you Jason. I hope you know that.” He pulls away for a second and signs something

Mother would have loved you

You smile and hug him again. Kissing his masked forehead. The two of you sit there for awhile. In each others arms. Kept warm by your love.

#slashers #horror #billy loomis #stu macher #jason vorhees #brahms my beloved #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu x reader #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees #slasher comfort #slasher community #slasher x reader #slashers x reader

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smallraindrops-blog · 4 months

Text

I Know A Place

(just for you and me)

WMFTD: Drabbles

WMFTD!Y/N X Hypnos

Warnings: Fluff, kissing, AUs out of the wazoo, no beta.

Notes:

More vibes that wouldn’t leave me alone. Something to hold over while I work on the poly fic that is quickly growing out of my control. Pyrrhus fic should be out soonish.

Enjoy the randomness.

Part one

Model (Sapphic AU)

The first time you saw her, it was on the cover of a glossy magazine in the grocery store.

She didn’t look like a real person. The girl was all soft, tousled curls, so white they looked like clouds and a teasing glimpse of an elegant collarbone. Her expression was thoughtful, almost pouty with those full lips.

In a moment of pure teenage fantasy, you wondered how her mouth would feel against yours. She was far too pretty for some awkward high school jock in basketball shorts who felt far too bulky and too tall in her own body.

But you could pretend.

With a flush clawing up your neck, you allowed yourself to look again. She was a dream girl, one that not even your imagination could have created.

The only obvious photoshopped part was her eyes. They looked like sun warmed honey.

Surely, no human had eyes that golden.

Under her beautiful face, the words caught your attention.

‘Hypnos, daughter of the famous model Nyx, follows her mother’s footsteps!’

Without a single thought to stop yourself,you grabbed the magazine and held it close to your chest like a prize. One that you didn’t want to share.

Carefully avoiding looking anyone in the eyes, you hurried to find your dad.

Achilles was murmuring to himself as he tried to remember which low-fat girl scout cookie that Patroclus had told him to get. You placed the magazine in the cart, trying to look completely normal.

Your dad blinked at you behind his glasses and he glanced down at the cart. There was a single beat of silence then he lifted an eyebrow at you.

“There is good skincare advice in there.” You murmured, staring far too hard at the store brand cookies. Your cheeks flushed hotly as you shoved your hands into your pockets.

“Skincare, huh?” Achilles said but didn’t tell you to put the magazine back.

(Years later)

As a bodyguard for the rich and stupid, you had seen plenty of shit.

From a drugged up housewife that tried her damndest to kill off her husband’s affairs to a washed up movie star who tried to steal his dad’s private plane as he yelled about flying it into the sun, you had gotten truly skilled with keeping a cool head and putting out fires.

Zagreus - a former pop-star client and a sort of friend- had informed you of the fact that you were the world's best babysitter as you helped him clean up the puke off his Father’s prized Tesla.

This might be too much for you however.

Hypnos was almost completely bare, saved for a single red blanket pooled over her breasts and lap, her slender legs pressed together to give a false sense of modesty. She was utterly gorgeous.

It was both the worst and best thing to ever happen to you.

“Tilt your head up, really give me that pouty look.” The photographer ordered Hypnos, who obeyed, her infamous white curls brushing against her chin.

“I wish she didn’t cut her hair into a damn bob.” Her agent bitched at you. “I told her that we were trying to get a contract for Aphrodite’s maidens and she required her models to have a specific look.”

You ignored him, eyes locked on the photographer and Hypnos.

The blunt cut of the bob suited Hypnos’ messy curls and willowy figure far as you were concerned. Aphrodite’s models all looked like clones of Aphrodite with long, flowing hair and the exact lush build and the same plastic smile, and it kinda freaked you out a little.

The idea of the unique beauty of Hypnos getting diluted into something boring and repetitive made your stomach hurt.

Crossing your arms, you kept a careful eye toward the door. It was a well kept secret but Hypnos had a stalker. Not an uncommon occurrence with famous people but this one had managed to break into her house before you were hired on.

If Thanatos hadn’t been there to scare them off…

It had only gotten worse since then. The stalker had managed to get every place that Hypnos ever been. Her childhood home, Thanatos’ high rise loft even into Nyx’s gated mansion in the mountains. Her agent’s office, her friends’ home or place of work.

Nowhere was safe. Hypnos always had adorable, sleepy eyes but there were deep shadows in them now.

That stalker was in for a world of hurt if you ever get your hands on him.

Later, you went through the safe house, checking each room and windows. The address was unlisted, no one would find it. The cameras were connected to your phone, ready to alert you the moment something moved outside.

“You don’t have to do this every time.” Hypnos told you, bare face and wearing an old shirt that went almost to her knees. One side slipped down as she came in, revealing a bare shoulder. Her socks were a ridiculous print of dogs riding French fries. It was adorable.

You had seen her in little black dresses, formal wear that cost more that you made in a year with perfect hair and makeup but somehow like this, she was far more lovelier now than she was all dolled up.

It was far too easy to imagine taking her to bed and lifting that too big shirt off her delicate body.

You killed the thought like a bug and after double checking the window’s lock, you turned to face her.

Honey warm eyes met yours.

For the longest time, you had thought her eyes were photoshopped or that she wore contact lenses. Only you have seen how the morning rays hit it, you have seen the way her eyes lit up when she gets home to her beloved dog or how they dulled when on a phone call with her mother.

Pure and golden like the sun and undeniable real.

“Better safe than sorry, Ms. Hypnos.” You told her, keeping your tone cool.

Hypnos tucked her hair behind her ear, blinking at you slowly. There was a moment of silence and you resisted the urge to shift on your feet like a guilty child.

Then finally, she gave you a shy smile, her slim fingers resting on her collarbone and nodded toward the living room.

“I can’t sleep. Wanna watch a movie with me?”

You should say no. You always kept a professional wall between yourself and clients. It was easy. Hypnos had been able to slip past those walls with an unnerving ease

Just say no.

“Sure.” You replied. “Popcorn?”

Illness (modern au)

At first, Hypnos just thought he was exhausted from running around for all the holidays and the last days of work. By the time he got home, he had collapsed into bed, asleep before he could kiss you goodnight.

The next morning, he woke up to a stuffy nose. His whole face felt like it was burning up, the back of his throat hot and itchy. He moaned quietly, closing his somehow dry eyes. Everything hurts.

“Hypnos?” You croaked. It wasn’t the usual rough voice you woke up with, it was too reedy. Hypnos tried to respond but all that came out was a nasty cough. He covered his mouth as his fit continued.

He heard you murmuring a low swear, then your hands brushed against his too sensitive skin. You helped him sit up, rubbing his back until his fit stopped.

“I think we caught something, love.” You told him, your voice fading the more you spoke.

“Yay.” Hypnos muttered bitterly, leaning against you. He was lazy, sure but he hated being sick. It wasn’t a nice restful day but a horrible one.

At some point, you had managed to get him and you up enough to take some disgusting medicine then Hypnos collapsed into the pile of blankets on the pullout sofa.

He listened to you moving around, somehow you also had just enough energy to make warm herbal tea for both you and him

Hypno blinked awake when you joined him, accepting the tea with a muttered ‘thanks’.

“Gonna order some groceries and more medicine.” You told him in a faded voice. Hypnos nodded, sipping on his tea. He didn’t know if Patroclus taught you but somehow you always made tea taste just perfect.

The day passed slowly in a haze of soup, coughing, more gross medicine - for real, do none of those people who make the medicine have any taste buns?- trashy tv shows, balled up tissues and delicious tea.

Hypnos mocked the people and everything about the shows. his voice cracked and pathetic sounding. You would chuckle along, smiling faintly. Your large hand rested on his back, rubbing in gentle, smoothing circles as he ranted.

At some point, you dozed off, snoring quietly. Hypnos reached over, and tucked the blanket up higher to your chin. He snuggled in close, his head on your shoulder and took one of your hands in his.

With a contented sigh, Hypnos closed his tired eyes. If he had to be sick, he would want it to be with you.

Kidnapped (Viking AU, dark tw for slavery)

The hearth casted a warm glow in the home, chasing away the nip of the chilly air. Snow will be arriving before the next sunrise.

The day had been long, filled with duties that must be tended to along with plans for the future sails. Typically, you would mull over everything with a pint of ale and some dried meat before going to your bed alone, lingering awake for hours sometimes.

But that had changed. Now you lay awake for an entirely new reason.

Your thrall paused over the pot, his slender fingers tightened on the wooden ladle.

His golden eyes locked onto your form, his mouth tight with distrust. Then as if realized his disrespectful attitude, his eyes darted away as he bowed his head.

Then he spoke. His voice was sweet as bells even if you couldn’t understand a single word of it. He hesitated then clumsily, “Welcome home, Master.”

You winced at the title.

It wasn’t planned. You had never taken any slaves before and never wanted to. You meant to take a wife. One that wouldn’t mind a loveless and sexless marriage.

But in some little settlement in a place of eternal summer, you found him during a night time raid. He had been alone and terrified yet you were captivated by him.

High cheekbones and a graceful build with hair so fair it looked like fresh snow. His eyes reminded you of the rare summer days, golden and filled with life. A child of winter and summer brought to form.

Far too lovely for a mere moral. The goddess, Glorious Freyja, must have blessed him at birth.

He was so beautiful that you broke your own code. And you felt like a worthless bastard for it.

“You are improving.” You told him, each word enunciated. His brow furrowed until you offered up a slight smile. A moment later, he returned it before he returned to stirring the stew.

Your thrall had already placed most of the dinner on the table, warm bread and cheese awaited for you. There were even colorful berries but you didn’t touch any of the food as you sat down.

He placed a full bowl in front of you but none for himself.

“Thrall.” You waited until he looked at you. Then you pointed at another bowl then at him. “You eat as well. This winter won’t be a kind one.”

He obeyed.

You didn’t want to admit it, used to being alone in your own home but there was something peaceful about sharing a meal with him. There was the great hall but often you needed time away from everyone. And their questions.

Once dinner was finished, your thrall cleaned up between loud yawns, moving with a slow ease. You began tending to your blades with an eye toward your bow and arrows.

You had already hunted enough but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to make sure there was more meat available. Especially for your thrall. He wasn’t built for the harsh land like you were.

You glanced at him, watching the fine line of his back. He reminded you of wildflowers, pretty but easily crushed if not picked correctly. Before you could stop yourself, you called to him.

He blinked at you, placing the lid on the stew.

You gestured to him to come to you as you stood up. Quietly, he did. His amber eyes narrowed at you like a distrustful cat. Truely, he must belong to Glorious Freyja.

You grabbed his chin, making him meet your stare. He swallowed but didn’t pull away. His lips were full, stained red by the berries, like he had been kissed over and over by a lover. He was temptation itself.

Heat pooled low in your stomach, the same dark need to conquer, to claim returned like fire in your blood before battle. It was the feeling you had the night you stole him away.

“Will you tell me your name tonight?” You asked him, low and rough. It was the same question you asked every night. “You already know mine.”

You tapped on your chest with a free hand and repeated your name. Just like you had every night before. You knew he understood from the sharp glint in his eyes.

There was a moment of silence from him then he shook his head. With a quiet huff, you pressed your thumb on his lips.

It would be easy. By law, he belonged to you. No one would stop you, hell most of them already thought you had already used him to warm your bed.

He was yours to use as you pleased.

But you weren’t a complete monster. Not yet.

You let him go. He stumbled back, as if he was surprised you did.

“Finish your duties.” You ordered, your tone harsh. You turned your back to him, dismissing him.

You listened to his footsteps as he crossed the room to return to his work. You glanced down at your hands.

There was a slight tremble in your fingers, but you tightened it into a fist.

Not yet.

Spectrum (reincarnation au)

You choose the loukomades - or at least it was close enough, it was in a ball shape but heavy with honey coated layers inside. - without hesitation. The honey shone on the fried dough in the ship’s artificial sunlight. Somehow you knew Hypnos would like it.

The corgi-like alien with five eyes nodded up at you, their gloved hands wrapping up the pastries with neat and quick movements. The other one behind them worked on the coffee orders, rushing between stations with their stubby legs.

Out of everything humans had to offer, it was coffee, alcohol, grains, cane sugar along with honey and other sweeteners that blew up in popularity among the other races. It was always in high demand and good for trading.

It was so popular that many aliens had trained for years just to make humans’ cuisine, running their own shops with unique twists on the food.

Many humans were still unused to aliens, but you had gotten used to it. They all were another creature trying to make a living. And you never minded anyone who could make a mean cup of joe.

You bent down to accept your order, dropping a heavy tip in the jar.

Hypnos beamed at you when you joined him at the park bench. His wings fluttered, causing his curls to bounce, when he saw the food and coffee in your hands. You hated that your heart swelled just a bit at the sight.

“Here.” You told him gruffly, sitting down next to him. Hypnos ignored your tone, digging to the pastry bag with glee.

“My favorite!” Hypnos gasped, popping a ball into his mouth with a joyful hum. His eyes closed in bliss.

You took a sip of your coffee, heavy and smooth with extra caffeine, as Hypnos devoured the sweets. And firmly ignored the soft, pleased moans as he ate.

Then a loukoumade appeared before your eyes, caught between Hypnos’ slender fingers. He waved it at you.

“Here, go on and have one, it is delicious. I think those guys added something else in there.” Hypnos remarked, narrowing his eyes at the innocent looking pastry. You scoffed.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hypnos, get that thing away-“ your warning was cut short as Hypnos shoved the food in your mouth. Thick, heavenly honey and warm bread exploded in your mouth but that wasn’t caught made you stilled.

Hypnos’ fingers were pressed against your lips. The touch was light, impossibly so but you swore that it carried the weight of Venus stardust. Hypnos shifted, closer to you now.

Gorgeous sunlit eyes watched you.

“Tell me you remember this.” It was shaped like a question but something about his tone changed it into a statement.

You swallowed.

For a moment you were no longer an overworked captain on a spaceship built from your parents’ dreams.

The sea and skies were everblue twins, summer was a warm breeze with cries of seagulls and there was a beautiful Greek boy with pale curls and a big smile leading you through the endless backstreets. There was a real possibility of getting mugged but as he took your hand, you knew you would follow him off a cliff.

You didn’t even know his name.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a bakery, his fingers locked with yours as he brought you in.

Then…

Other memories came in a blur. One with golden armor and a heavy spear in your hand. The smell of the sea, a worn map in your hand. Burning cities and screams. Another life with charcoal stained nails, a smoke dangling between your lips. Another place and time, you were hiding the mud in a green uniform and a hard helmet as warplanes flew overhead.

Hypnos were in all of them.

You jerked back, grabbing his wrist. Panting like you ran a marathon, you glared down at him.

Hypnos didn’t flinch as you tightened your hold, almost bruising his delicate flesh. You were torn between pushing him off the bench or yanking him closer, to know the feel of his honeyed lips against yours.

Because everytime he touched you, it felt like coming home. And that terrified you.

“Explain yourself.” You snarled in a whisper, shaking his wrist. “I brought you the goods. I saved your life. Now explain.”

Hypnos sighed, like he was disappointed but a fond smile grew anyway.

“Fine. Always so stubborn.” He teased, like you and him were some old married couple. “Let's start at the beginning once more.”

#wake me from this dreaming

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