#Eight Angle Pose

[elliewiltarwyn]

Send 🧞‍♂️for a screenshot associated with wishes or hopes.

"Hope, is it...? Futile. Utterly futile. Such feeble light is powerless before darkest despair."

"What is this defiance? No! The hatred, the pain, the loss... We cannot suffer it again..."

"We will stand against fate... no matter the cost! We've been here before, many a time..."

"Thus do we know to never give up... for hope will shine again!"

i knew i would eventually run through Endwalker Part 2 on NG+ just for the gpose opportunities in these arenas that are very difficult to get back to. wasn't too crazy. :') thanks for the prompt, @mimble-sparklepudding!!

bonus, one epic final boss battle and one duel later:

I wish he could have experienced what I have.

I wish I could go back to that.

I want to go home...

"...Mia...Lily... I'm... sorry..."

[lifetimeyogi]

Top 7 Benefits of Astavakrasana | 12 Step-by-Step Instructions of Eight-Angle Pose  

#asana #yoga #yogapractice #yogainspiration #yogalife #yogaeveryday #yogateacher #yogalove #yogapose #yogaeverydamnday #yogi #yogaeverywhere #namaste #yogachallenge #meditation #yogagirl #yogini #yogajourney #hathayoga #instayoga #igyoga #yogaposes #yoga

Top 7 Benefits of Astavakrasana | 12 Steps to Perform Astavakrasana Astavakrasana: Discovering Balance and Strength Within In the world of yoga, there are countless postures that challenge both the body and mind. One such pose is Astavakrasana, also known as Eight-Angle Pose. This advanced arm balance may seem intimidating at first, but with patience, practice, and proper guidance, it can…

[starshipsofstarlord]

“I don’ have the patience ter remove yer clothes righ’ now.”

pairing. daryl dixon x fem!reader

summary. daryl returns from a hunt, but he doesn’t care for what he caught; he’d rather catch you beneath him

warnings. smut, unprotected sex, creampie, kitchen sex, horny!daryl

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Although Daryl had been out hunting god knows what creatures that lurked outside the walls, he still looked at you as though you were his prey. His muddy boots left footprints in their walk as he stalked with an animalistic purpose towards you, a hungry glare encapsulating his eyes.

“Need ya righ’ now sweetness.” It wasn’t necessary for him to speak twice, an excited warmth circulated within your body, and from the famished desperation which he displayed as he posed a strong grip around your waist and littered rushed and open mouth kisses across the curve of your shoulder, it was obvious that no foreplay would be involved in your sensual activity.

Your hands drifted to the bottom seam of your ratty shirt that laid a small distance below your abdomen, however Daryl swatted them away from the fabric, blindly walking your bodies backwards until you were trapped between hun and the clear dining table.

“I don’ have the patience ter remove yer clothes righ’ now.” He muttered across your mouth, which left you enthralled. It felt almost scandalous despite being in your own home, endorphins were swimming in your bloodstream as you felt your centre become slick with the arousal that your archer had caused.

A gasp was quick to slip from your lips as Daryl pressed down on your sternum with his large palm, forcing your back to lay across the table, he licked at his lips as he cherished the sight of you in front of him, before he began sliding your faded jeans down your legs until they were balled up in a bunch at your calves.

“Need you inside of me D.” The words escaped you in the form of a whine, and that seemed to spur Daryl back into action. He fumbled in a messy fight against his belt, until the buckle was finally free, and then he proceeded to release his throbbing cock that was leaking with precum at the thought of being sheathed deep inside of you.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day.” He huskily confessed, grasping his hard length with his dominant hand, standing between your legs as he rolled his flush red tip around your clit for a few seconds which had you wantonly yearning for more, before he angled his cock at your entrance.

He wasted no more time as he slowly pushed into your pulsating walls, the echo of various curses filling the room until your bodies were close together. One of his hands supported his weight atop of you beside your head on the table, as the other pivoted your right leg loosely over his hip.

He rolled his hips, which had your hands pressing into the blades of his scarred shoulders, but he cared not for their placement as he pulled back and plunged eight back into your heat. The archer built up a rhythm as your eyes crossed paths of contact his brunette locks fell around his face like a halo.

Your breaths intermingled, causing a dew to dawn on both of your faces, the grips you had on each others skin growing rougher. “Daryl…” His name came out as a whisper from the tip of your tongue, and the reply that you got was a few grunts and groans of endearing acknowledgment.

Your brows furrowed together as you felt the pit of your stomach broaden, warning your mind of an impending orgasm. “D-dar, I-I’m c-close.” Each syllable was drawled out and the pitch of your voice became higher and Daryl kept going strong with his erotic administrations, pressing his cock into you in a way that hit the sweet hidden spot that caused your high to prevail and snap.

He felt your release surround his cock, and with a few more ravenous plunges, he emptied his cum into your contracting walls, painting you from the inside out. Daryl remained in the same position that he had abjured atop of you for a few loving moments, placing a supple kiss upon your lips before removing himself.

A breathy laugh mindlessly fluttered from your mouth which caused Daryl to squint questionably at you and your amused, post orgasm haze. “It would’ve only taken a few seconds for us to get completely naked.” To prove your point, you kicked your boots off your feet, and allowed your jeans to peel all the way off your legs. Daryl rolled his eyes, silently finding amusement in your retort.

“Shuddup woman, needed ya.” He had been craving you, and as he allowed his eyes to run up your body, he felt the desire creep up on him again. It was a cruel world, but at least he had you; the woman he had survived through it all with. He’d never let you go anywhere, however the bedroom was sounding pretty exciting now.

[handdrawnverathin]

Hi. So, uh... it's been a while. And after all this time, I think it's time to be honest with myself and admit that this animatic is probably never going to be finished. I started it when I'd only watched a couple POVs of Third Life and it really shows in the designs. Some of them aren't bad - I still like how I drew Tango - but enough of them have details wrong or just weird vibes that continuing to draw them is kinda dissatisfying. That being said, I put a lot of work into it and didn't want to let it just die without saying anything, so here's a collection of GIFs from the few scenes I managed to get edited.

For the record, I am still on the Hermitcraft/Life Series brainrot train and I have some drawings that I've been working on that I genuinely like. So hopefully those will be done soon! Just as soon as I finish that one project that I started eight years ago. But it's getting there! I swear!

Also: for anyone interested, I've included the original frame-by-frame plan below the cut

SONG: Willow Tree March, The Paper Kites

Intro

Feet swinging over sandstone cliff face (0:00 - 0:05)

Lower half of Grian’s face visible, whistling (0:05 - 0:12)

The cool bit

Fade to front face view of Grian, looking up slightly (0:12 - 0:16)

Real quick zoom out to all players standing in a row looking dramatic (0:16 - 0:28)

Title card fades in as overlay (0:20 - 0:28)

Player introductions

(0:28 - 0:30)

(0:30 - 0:32)

(0:32 - 0:34)

(0:34 - 0:36)

Peaceful times

Grian walking through a forest, early morning. First frame is a footstep, then a side view of him looking around (0:36 - 0:44)

Flower Husbands meeting, afternoon. First frame is Scott peaking into the hole from outside, then Jimmy looking up at him sheepishly (0:44 - 0:52)

Renchanting looking up at the sky, sunset. First frame is a hand raised to block the sun, then a rear-view shot of them from the waist up (0:52 - 1:00)

Phantom shelter, night. First frame is a wide view of the group either hiding or fending off phantoms, then a close up of a few of them laughing with each other(1:00 - 1:08)

FIRST DEATH

Wide shot of Scar burning the tree (1:08 - 1:12)

Close-up of Grian’s face as he looks to the side. Creeper visible in the reflection of his eyes. (1:12 - 1:16)

Scar doing some smooth talking. A wisp of smoke fades in behind him.(1:16 - 1:20)

Close up of Scar’s face turning around, eyes widening (1:20 - 1:22)

Yellow heart (1:22 - 1:26)

The promise

Wide shot of Monopoly Mountain, cut to close-up of Grian swearing loyalty with a hand over his heart (1:26 - 1:34)

Close-up of Grian’s face, mostly the eyes, looking a little unhappy with the whole situation (1:34 - 1:42)

Tensions rising

Skizz looks at an enderman: over-the-shoulder shot of him looking back, then a close up on his eyes widening (1:42 - 1:50)

Cleo threatening Pizza - animated? Initial/final poses plus two in-betweens (1:50 - 1:58)

Tango’s lava game: first a close up of his smiling face, then a wide shot with his arms outstretched in front of the challenge (1:58 - 2:06)

Scar threatening Ren for the enchanter: first an over-the-shoulder shot of Scar, then one of Ren (2:06 - 2:14)

Uh-oh

Wide shot of ceremony (2:14 - 2:18)

Ren, kneeling, waist down and cloak on (2:18 - 2:22)

Low-angle shot of Martyn looking very uncomfortable. Winces a bit, axe raised and…  (2:22 - 2:28)

Swings down. We get a flash of Ren's face, grinning, before fading out. The red eyes linger just a bit longer. (2:28 - 2:32)

O_o

Flower wall burns down (2:32 - 2:40)

Rear view wide shot in silhouette

Front view, sad and also a little horrified

Desert battle (2:40 - 2:48)

Profile view of Grian with a slightly manic smile on his face as explosions go off. The camera is pretty close to him, so we can’t actually see the explosions, but add in some effects and it’ll get the point across

Siege of Dogwarts (2:48 - 2:56)

Aerial attack using slowfall arrows

Ground combat feat. Joel and dogs

 Bdubs kills Impulse, Scar kills Bdubs (2:56 - 3:04)

Interlude

Scar (right) kneeling in the water before Grian (left). We can see Scar from about chest down and only the lower half of Grian’s legs (3:04 - 3:12)

Low-angle shot of Grian looking down at Scar holding a sword. We can see Scar’s head and maybe a bit of his back depending on camera angles. (3:12 - 3:20)

Fade to the Tree in a dark void, glowing as if by firelight. Very slow pan out. Fade to a wider view before the light is extinguished, leaving us in darkness.  (3:20 - 3:28)

Ghosties (dark gray background, white outlines)

Jimmy/Cleo/Skizz (3:28 - 3:32)

Joel/Scott/Etho (3:32 - 3:36)

Tango/Ren/Martyn (3:36 - 3:40)

Impulse/BigB/Bdubs (3:40 - 3:44)

They want blood (survivors haunted by ghosts)

Grian, with chestplate and sword, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else(3:44 - 3:48)

Scar, also not having a good time, sword and shield but no chestplate (3:48 - 3:52)

Facing each other, no weapons or armor. Scar of left, Grian on right (3:52 - 3:56)

Close up side view of Grian’s face: scared, then steeling himself (eyes closed) then shouting as he runs in (3:58 - 4:02)

The girls are fighting! ;A;

(4:02 - 4:10)

(4:10 - 4:18)

(4:18 - 4:26)

We have a winner

Full body behind shot of Grian standing at the edge of the cliff before falling (4:26 - 4:36)

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Content Warnings: Adult content (video of a MMM threesome, d/s dynamics, praise kink), mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator ( hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy. Taglist: @alohastitch0626, @jspidey5

Your thoughts have been straying to them more often than you'd like to admit.

From the moment Prongs subscribed to you, they've been a persistent presence at the back of your mind. Their comments, their likes, their messages—all carrying an undercurrent of something that piques your curiosity. You've never been one to pay too much attention to specific followers, but these three...they're different.

Is it the way Prongs flirts without crossing boundaries, his words always respectful yet suggestive? Or perhaps it's Padfoot's bravado, his messages imbued with a confidence that makes you want to learn more about the man behind the screen. And then there's Moony, ever present and yet so elusive, his own brand of mystery stirring questions within you.

The knowledge that they are creators as well is inescapable. It was made evident when Prongs subscribed to your OnlyFans, and the content on his free feed has not gone unnoticed by you. You hesitate to watch any of it, afraid of what you might feel if you do, yet curiosity gnaws at you with persistent teeth.

The temptation to find their profiles on the free porn sites has been there since the beginning, a low hum in the back of your mind. You know they have them—Prongs mentions his in his bio, and it would be strange if Moony and Padfoot didn't as well. But you've held yourself back, created an unspoken rule: just because they consume your content doesn't mean you need to consume theirs.

Today, that rule is harder to follow. Your curiosity is piqued, not just by what they've said but by the mystery of them. The way they speak, the things they like... it paints a picture you're desperate to see filled in. You want to know what their voices sound like, how they move, the dynamic between them that's hinted at in every message, and if you’re being honest, the thought of seeing them together on screen sends a thrill through you that's hard to ignore.

You power up your laptop, the screen's glow casting long shadows across your desk. It doesn't take long to find what you're looking for—their online identities are well known in certain circles, their usernames public, their content tantalisingly explicit.

The thumbnail image of the first video you find is eye-catching; as always, their faces are hidden, their identities preserved by careful angles and strategic cropping, but there's an intimacy to the way their bodies entwine that speaks volumes, even in this tiny preview.

Your pulse quickens as you hover over the play button. You've watched countless videos before—you create adult content yourself, after all—but there's something different about this one. Perhaps it's the fact that you've interacted with them, shared a few messages, imagined them watching you perform with the same intensity you're about to direct at their on-screen display.

You click play.

The video starts mid-scene, the three of them already engaged, their bodies tangled. It's not the polished product of a professional studio; there are no theatrical lights or artificial poses. Instead, it captures a scene that feels stolen from someone's private moments—intimate, raw, and achingly real.

You can't see their faces, as expected, but somehow that doesn't detract from the allure. If anything, it enhances it, allowing your imagination to fill in the gaps, painting a picture that's more personal than any explicit detail could provide.

Prongs is on his knees on the bed, holding Padfoot's hips as he drives into him from behind. Their movements are fluid yet intense, a testament to familiarity and desire woven together. Even without seeing Prongs's face, you can hear his heavy breaths punctuated by soft grunts, each one matching the rhythm of his slow, deliberate thrusts. Padfoot is on all fours, his head buried in the sheets, but his participation is far from passive. Every now and then, his back arches, a low moan escaping him and getting absorbed into the fabric beneath.

Then your gaze shifts, and you find Moony.

He's positioned at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs spread wide. One hand rests in Padfoot's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands while guiding him where he wants. Padfoot's mouth works eagerly on him, the sound of slick movement barely audible over the ragged breaths filling the room. Moony's other hand lies idle on his thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns on his own skin, a stark contrast to the control he exerts elsewhere. Despite the fervor with which Padfoot services him, it's clear who sets the pace, who holds the reins of this encounter.

His voice is the first to reach your ears—steady, low, a soothing balm that belies the tension beneath. And yet, there's something else in his tone, an edge that prickles at your senses and sends shivers down your spine.

"Good boy," Moony murmurs, the words slipping out like a caress. "Just like that, Pads."

You lean closer to the screen, breath hitching as you hear him—really hear him—for the first time. His voice is just as you imagined it: firm but not harsh, commanding without needing to raise its volume. It's clear who holds the reins here, even if Prongs is the one driving the action.

Prongs grunts softly, the sound reverberating through the room as he buries himself deeper into Padfoot. He moves with calculated precision, each thrust gaining momentum as he finds his rhythm. There's a restraint in his movements, a sense of control teetering on the edge of release. You can almost feel the anticipation coiling within him, waiting for the signal to let go. Despite being the one physically leading, it's obvious he's not the one calling the shots.

"Such a greedy boy," Moony's voice coos, a softness there that contradicts the rough pull of his fingers through Padfoot's hair. He tugs lightly, guiding Padfoot's movements with a firm but gentle hand. "You need it so much, don't you?"

The sound that rumbles from Padfoot's throat is all the answer he needs, and Moony chuckles.

Prongs makes a sound, half-growl and half-gasp, as he thrusts into Padfoot. His grip appears to tighten on Padfoot's hips, fingers digging into firm flesh. The rhythm is relentless, driving them both towards a precipice they can't yet see but can feel looming ever closer.

"Fuck," Prongs breathes, the word barely audible over the slick sounds of their bodies moving together. "So fucking tight."

Padfoot whimpers, the noise muffled by the length filling his mouth. His body rocks forward with each of Prongs's thrusts, pushing him further onto Moony.

It's too much—the sight of them, the sounds they make, the raw intimacy of this moment. It's like watching a dance only they know the steps to, a silent understanding passed between them with every move. You feel like an outsider here, looking in on something sacred and private.

Yet you can't tear your eyes away.

The camera angle shifts, bringing into sharper focus the way Moony's hand rests in Padfoot's hair, fingers rhythmically tightening and loosening as if conducting an orchestra of pleasure. It's a subtle show of power, one that belies the calm detachment in his voice. Yet there's a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, a soft hum of approval when Padfoot's moans grow louder and Prongs's breath hitches with each slow, deliberate thrust.

"Fuck, Moony... can I—" Prongs's voice is strained, the words barely more than a breathless rasp against the backdrop of flesh meeting flesh.

"No." The denial is swift, Moony's voice steady even as it curls around the edges with a hint of amusement. "Not yet. You wait until I say."

A low groan rumbles from Prongs's throat, but he doesn't protest further. His hands tighten around Padfoot's hips, guiding him with an urgency that borders on desperation. Yet even as he seeks release, there's a restraint to his movements, a conscious effort to hold back the tide that threatens to sweep him under. It's as though he's fighting against the current, struggling to stay afloat while Moony's words pull him deeper into uncharted waters.

The sounds of Padfoot's pleasure grow in volume and urgency, mingling with the wet noises of his mouth working over Moony's length. His breath hitches as he tries to keep pace with the onslaught of sensation, giving himself over entirely to the moment.

You watch, entranced by the scene playing out before you. There's a rawness to it, yes, but also an unexpected intimacy in the way their bodies respond to one another. This is more than just sex; it's a display of trust, of need, a manifestation of a bond that runs deeper than skin.

A low groan ripples through Moony, his fingers flexing against Padfoot's scalp. He tugs the dark curls, pulling Padfoot’s head back, forcing him to look up. The camera angle still shields Padfoot's face from view, but there's no mistaking the tension coiling in Moony's frame, the tremor in his voice as he speaks.

"You're doing so well for us, Pads," Moony murmurs, his voice barely audible above the rasp of cloth and skin. His hand moves from Padfoot's hair, disappearing from view but its destination is clear — a gentle caress against a cheek that goes unseen but not unfelt. "You want to come, don't you? You've been such a good boy."

Padfoot makes a sound, half-choked and desperate, as he nods. The motion is sharp, almost frantic, and the camera holds steady, capturing the raw edge of need that vibrates through him.

A soft chuckle rumbles from Moony, and the camera pans out slightly, bringing Prongs back into view. He’s straining, holding back with visible effort even as he drives into Padfoot with a steady rhythm. “What do you think, Prongs? Has he earned it?”

Prongs groans, the sound thick with need. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

You can't see Moony's face, but you can hear the satisfaction in his voice as his hand returns to Padfoot's hair, guiding him back to his waiting erection. "Come for me, Pads."

The command sends a ripple of anticipation through you, and you watch as Padfoot's body stiffens, his hips jerking in sync with the low moan that escapes his lips. The sound is muffled by Moony's cock, but it's loud enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Prongs lets out a deep grunt then, his rhythm faltering as he reaches his own climax. His body trembles against Padfoot's, the two of them caught in the throes of ecstasy under Moony's watchful gaze.

"Good boys," Moony murmurs, his hand still buried in Padfoot’s hair.

The video cuts out then, leaving behind only the image of them lying there together, bodies still moving in small, unconscious ways from the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. It feels intimate, like something you shouldn’t be seeing but can't tear yourself away from.

As the screen goes dark, you lean back in your chair, your heart racing and your skin tingling from what you've just witnessed. You’ve seen plenty of porn before, and made hours of it yourself, but this… this was something else entirely. More real, more visceral. There’s a connection between them that’s hard to put into words, a bond that transcends the physical act they’ve just performed.

You close your laptop, letting the images settle in your mind. You've heard their voices now, seen them in action, and it's only fuelled your curiosity, your interest. You wonder how they would react if they knew you were watching too, with the same intensity they've been watching you.

For now, you let the moment linger. You've stepped over a boundary today, one that feels both exhilarating and dangerous, but there is no regret. Only anticipation for what comes next.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

What if Tommy had a box? A little box, maybe a shoe box or maybe even a cigar box, of things of his mother's. He talks about how terrible his father was, but what if his mother left? What if she left and didn't feel safe enough to take Tommy with her? Or that she didn't feel like she could support him? Or that she was broken and the only way to survive was to leave, even if she had to break her own heart and leave Tommy behind?

And Tommy has a box of her.

She's out there somewhere. Tommy hasn't looked her up. He's scared to. He has his father's name. He knows what his father was like. He doesn't want to find her if there's a possibility that seeing him might bring back all that trauma for her. He doesn't want to find her in case someone catches wind of where she is; if his father somehow finds where she is because he went in search of her.

But he has this box.

It's not a big box. As I said before, maybe a shoebox or an old cigar box. It has her name on it.

And when Buck finds it in Tommy's closet while helping Tommy clean his house, he gets curious and asks Tommy about it.

And.

And Tommy sees that box.

And he smiles.

And he sits down on his bed. And he pats the space next to him. And Evan sits there with the box and hands it to Tommy. And Tommy tells Evan fondly, "This is all that I have left of my mom."

And he opens the box. Maybe he pulls off the lid. Maybe he unlatches the top. But he opens it and what he has is basically nothing.

It was whatever he could save from his father when his dad trashed, burned, and dumped anything that had to do with Tommy's mother. It was a photo or two of his mother when they were young - maybe a small Tommy, a little big for his age even then, posing on a peer with a mother who looked like him.

Same chestnut brown curly hair, if a little golden from the sun, if a little longer. Same blue eyes. Same tall build. Even some of the angles of the face reflect in Tommy's. Same crinkle-nosed smile, even. Hugging Tommy as they laughed together.

Another photo was of them hiking somewhere. His mother helping a little, chunky toddler Tommy walk over a small stream.

There were little notes - "I love you" and "Have a good day" and "Miss you, Tomcat". Things Evan had only seen in other people's lunches - little lunch notes.

There was some sort of decoder ring from a cereal that Buck couldn't place, and Tommy confessed he didn't really remember why the ring was in there, but he knew it was important.

There was a lighter - the one his mother used despite the fact that his mom kept telling Tommy she was going to quit, she swore she would.

And there was a bigger note.

A goodbye.

I wish I could take you. I wish I was braver. I wish I was stronger. I love you, Tomcat. One day, I'll come get you. I want to. Be a good boy for me.

Mama

Tommy was maybe five when she left. She never came back. Tommy didn't feel like he held up to that standard of "Good Boy" while she was gone - he found himself increasingly becoming what he hated out of survival in that home with his father. At work in the army. At the station with Gerrard.

Tommy wasn't sure he felt up to that standard even now.

But his mom had been a coward.

She had left him.

And he still loved her.

So, maybe she'd still love him despite needing to unlearn a lot of terrible things; needing to work on himself to get back to being someone he liked; someone he felt proud of, even if that pride felt fleeting most of the time.

Buck doesn't ask Tommy if he wants to reach out to her. He sees this strange reflection of a box and talks about the baby boxes his sister has and Daniel has, but he doesn't. Not with his parents, at least. His baby box is the postcards he sent to his sister for seven, eight years.

And he couldn't send them to her at her house for fear of Doug finding them and tossing them out.

And he didn't interact with her much outside of that despite wanting to talk to her every day because he didn't want Doug to find out and hurt her.

But he was at least able to send her those cards.

And they both sit there.

With the box full of sparse memories.

With the heaviness of love still so vividly alive even without much contact, if any.

And maybe Evan puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder and pulls him close.

And maybe Tommy rests his head on Evan's shoulder.

And maybe Evan leans his head on Tommy's.

And Evan tells Tommy that he hopes it's safe for her to reach out someday.

And Tommy says he hopes so too.

[herecirmsims]

Holy Waters

Day eight of the Countdown To Valentine's Day collab with the wonderful @simmireen and @simmerianne93! My gift for you today is a fantasy pack for two lovers and a mysterious well. A healing spring? A ritual spot? Or just some magical bath bombs? Your choice! Please note: the pond object is actually very shallow, so I sunk my rigs into it to give the appearance of depth (and to hide the naughty parts!). If you're using Gshade/Reshade with MXAO then it might highlight some edges, but you can always mess around with angles.

Please see attached image for teleporter placement!

These poses were made with masc rigs, and should be fairly gender neutral; but, as always, there may be clipping or floating depending on clothing and Sim body type.

You will need: - Pose Player - Teleport Any Sim - Glow Moss Pond (direct link) from this set by the amazing @simdertalia

Download here (always free): SFS | Patreon

TOU: you may adjust for personal use to avoid clipping etc., but please do not reupload/paywall/claim as your own.

There'll be a new pack tomorrow! Be sure to follow Simmireen and Simmerianne93 to see all 14 packs in our collab, as we'll be posting on alternate days! DAY 1 | DAY 2 | DAY 3 | DAY 4 | DAY 5 | DAY 6 | DAY 7 

Simmireen: Patreon | Tumblr | Twitter | Instagram Simmerianne93: Patreon | Tumblr | Twitter | Instagram

I'd love to see the poses used! You can tag me on Twitter, Instagram, or Tumblr. I repost. ❤️ Use my Ko-Fi gallery to easily browse my other packs! Tips are appreciated but never required. Have fun telling your stories.

@ts4-poses @alwaysfreecc

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Six

Pairings: Poly 141 x female reader / female reader x her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Hint of future darker content?, Kidnapping, mention of miscarriage, possessive & obsessed Austrian man, the affair partner comes in, domestic abuse mentioned, controlling behaviour mentioned, many other possible topics you may or may not find disturbing. Reader discrestion is advised.

Words: 2574

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary:

You felt peaceful at home in Alaska.

Austria keeps you on tenterhooks.

A month into your kidnapping, you were never in the main house for longer than a maximum of three days of the week. König wouldn’t risk the task force finding you so quickly, he finally managed to get you back Mäuschen. Don’t you understand? He wanted to keep you for a little longer. How much longer you ask? Why do you need to know Mäuschen? You don’t have a choice in the matter.

Sit there, look pretty for him. Don’t you fucking move a muscle as a painter etches your new look into an oil painting. Into another canvas he would later neglect much like anything your relationship fostered between the two of you. You were too tired to protest or argue with him. The jet lag getting to you faster than a snail escaping a squirrel.

König’s cooing in your ear didn’t help the matter any more if you weren’t tired and fighting the urge to punch him in the face. He seemed too keen on making sure you had this child in his presence inside of his home.

You felt peaceful at home in Alaska.

Austria keeps you on tenterhooks.

Here screamed danger. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Nothing good for you.

That's a diet level not to recommend; a morgue visit seems more apt.

The cottage's redeeming feature is the panoramic countryside view from every angle.

Things kept inside of it? They were a little too perfect, perfected and placed in a ‘aesthetically’ pleasing view. If someone wasn’t paying too close attention to it. Someone with a keen eye would point out it was purposefully styled this way to get you to stay longer.

From Monday to Thursday, you focused on crafting an escape plan while in a different Austrian region. Upon returning, you had no intention of taking chances. Staring at the harp in one of the rooms. In another life you would be playing it still. In another life you would still be married. You wouldn’t have lost your child the first time. Things would have been…...better?

It didn’t matter. It is what it is and thinking about what ifs wouldn’t change a damn thing about it either. Your mind like a stonewall remained steadfast in your choices leading up to your divorce. There was nothing he would or could say to prove otherwise.

On a Friday morning, you were drinking your green tea while someone waltzed into your room. A smug grin plastered on her face. Painted on her face like a well-rehearsed lyric, line in a play and a notable quote from a novel you liked to read.

You finally saw the woman he was seeing behind your back, your face carefully posed neutrally. If looks could have killed, she would have died the moment she walked through the door. “Do I know you?” You asked raising an eyebrow at her.

Her tactics didn't amuse you at all. In fact, it was a mere joke in a failing comical script by a piss poor comedian. Raised by failing artists who thought they could raise a success amongst two failures. You would have pitied her if you didn’t already want to immediately want to melt her face off.

"You don't remember? I figured you would." She jeered.

“You are no longer an integral part of my life. Therefore, your presence in my mind does not exist. Your name is lost in my history, forever a number in a line of cowards I have met in my life.”

“Fancy words for someone locked away in her old bedroom.” She rolled eyes. “I suppose that’s what happens when you run to a group of men instead of remaining loyal to the one guy who could have given you everything you could have wanted.”

“Oh. You sweet summer child. He told you that or did you concoct inside that head of yours all by yourself?” you snorted as you rolled your eyes at her naivety. You just created a job opening sweetheart. He’s serial cheater. You did yourself no favours by staying with him. I have no pity for you. None for a woman who took the life of my first born child from me. You dug your hole here. Lie in it and stay there.

You didn’t dare speak those words aloud. Not yet. You wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of her seeing you emotionally react to her. Once in a blue moon you will find your soul here. A version of yourself untainted by the future hurt you would feel soon after. A piece of yourself forever lying inside of the walls of this place no matter how many coats of paint he will put upon these walls.

No matter how much he denies it. You were first and foremost the one who might end up killing him by the end of it all. As you promised you would have if you ever found him cheating on you. Not one to take back your promise as it would go against your morals, your personal code of ethics. A promise is a promise after all.

Like a mythic fox, you're crafty, sharp-witted, and never succumb to trivial vanity. While König laid the game's foundation, you held more hidden cards. You weren’t going to lay around all day helpless like a damsel in distress this time around.

You had an Italian phrase etched into your forearm the month after your divorce, ‘Fino alla morte ogni coglione ci arriva.’ Meaning ‘Until we die anything and everything can happen.’

The phrase slowly becoming your mantra, your personal hymn and prayer you would say yourself over and over. It became your saving grace. Something you cling onto with vehemently. Close to your chest long enough to burn into your soul.

Yet this woman seemed to be so keen on getting right into your face about your pregnancy. You snapped, ordering her back onto König's cock, claiming he'd already fucked her senseless. Best she returns to her sole expertise before you consider doing it for him. Maybe not the optimal phrasing, but it seemed the sole means to make her retreat into a room that felt like a cave.

“Apart from your girlfriend's foolishness, you've done well,” you said calmly. “Well enough for a man of stature.”

König had never seen your temper rise this much. To this level before, it was pointed, angled at him and somehow, he felt his skin fluster. A bundle of nerves aroused by the thought of you losing your temper at her or him. He wanted more. No, he needed more of it. Aimed at him more than anything. Even when you threatened to fuck his girlfriend for him, which to anyone else, it would be odd to hear about right?

König didn't disagree. It was in fact odd to hear the first time she told him. He felt the need to hear repeat inside of his mind. Like a small voice in the back of his skull. Thoughts lingering around. He didn’t know he could think of you in that way. He only saw you as pure. Delicate. A flower.

Upon hearing this now. He desired you to sleep with her from the get-go. A desire which grew from the depths of his soul straight to his cock. Upon hearing, he was even angrier, you didn't. He wanted you to, solely to prove a point. The point where you weren’t the same woman he met years ago. Yet you sent her away. Slamming his fists against the table, sending a few pens rolling off the other side.

A few papers on his desk jumped from the top of his desk. Grunting at the thought of you taking his girlfriend in such an aggressive manner made his cock rock hard in a way he couldn’t hope to describe. Tempting like fudge he wasn’t allowed to eat. Irresistible like the last slice of pizza he hadn’t eaten in years. An apple from a tree, God had forbade Adam and Eve from picking and eating. Lucious, delicious, irresistible.

He'll confine you another weekday henceforth, leveraging your fiery nature for his gain. The potential is immense and endless, ready for his consumption, much like savouring shreds of slow-roasted pork. Can't you see, Maus? Don't you see his longing? Are you truly oblivious? He wants you face first into the white pillows mewling, begging for his thick cock to be shoved deep inside of you until your legs were weak, wobbly like a fawn learning to walk for the first time.

The deep thought of the mockery you would bring for the name branded things he had bought his girlfriend gave him the urge to jerk off inside of a condom pretending it was your tight pussy instead. Tricking his mind into believing he was cock deep inside of you.

Its your fault you look hotter while you are angry, tears streaming down your face and chest heaving as the sobbing wracked through you. Body and soul. Things he took for granted the first time. Yet if only he could take you like he did recently. Over and over without the fear of you ‘remembering’ somehow or in some way in the future. It was far too tempting to not play with that thought right?

You should understand what he’s capable Maus. You fucked with the wrong man this time. I mean it would always wind up to be your fault right Mäuschen? You get a sniff, a lick, a taste and a bite of freedom. And you act up like this Mäuschen?

You must be punished.

You need to be shown who’s really in charge.

And do you really think it’s you? Really?

Need a wake-up call? König is more than prepared to give you one. Or two.

“Taking her away from me? Laughable excuse among many. Pathetic.” He grumbled. Brow creasing into a frown.

Your mantra from ‘I don’t need you. Just as you don't need me’ to the more comforting ‘Until we die anything and everything can happen.’ Though the process was tough, she felt relief at escaping someone cold and uncaring. Her past often surprised her when she least anticipated it. Finding her miss parts of it more than she felt like she should have.

The same platinum blonde and light brown ombre coloured hair tied with pink hair ties in two piggy tails. The pastel pink headband matching the hair ties. The corseted, A-line pink and white dress. It screamed ‘try hard’ to a desperate degree. You just hoped she liked dressing this way before he met her.

She batted her eyelashes as stepped closer to you, you stepped away from her, yet with each step further away. She matched it with two tiny ones of hers. One step back and two steps forward. Pressing your back against the wall. Her light grey eyes looking into yours like you had something inside you worth keeping for herself.

Thief and liar. Two typically dreadful things combined. Evoking a distinctive atmosphere of neglect akin to that found in a Lovecraft or King horror novel. Commonly appealing to horror fans over partygoers.

Odd. She’s silent this time.

Good. She learnt her fucking lesson.

I wish she would stay out of my face though.

Not my problem for much longer.

Her gaze delved deep, as if manually reorganising your insides, all without a trace of physical contact. As you mustered the courage to ask her to go away, the door suddenly opened, and a maid brought in your breakfast. You moved to the table, the young woman gazing in your wake.

What the fuck is her problem? Doesn’t she have something better to do? Did Konig put her up to this? That stupid sick fucker. Probably getting off to the thought of sending her here.

It's likely he has three to four cameras here now.

I located one above the bathroom door and another right above the showerhead, closer to the shower. The third was likely behind the bathroom mirror.

I wouldn’t put it past him. Even with an affair, he remained controlling. Subtly controlling, unnoticed until my departure. Cameras were just one of the few things I remember. I am sure the meals were just as restrictive as they were back then. Can’t gain weight when your husband controls what you eat right? In this case ex-husband.

It felt odd to be watched in this manner. You expected it to come from a stonewall mute who only spoke in sign language or morse code. Not whatever this was.

His mind has flown the coop. It would have to be long gone by now.

He creates chaos and expects me to fix it, accepting the blame for his actions to ease his conscience. Not anymore. As I told him the first day.

I don’t need him anymore. He’s no longer the first thing on my mind. Yet it’s like he’s not listening to the words I’m telling him through my actions. Deliberately misreading them to a dangerous degree.

I can’t find the words to describe how pathetic he seems to me now. Knowing what kind of person, he has shown himself to be.

To think I’m the monster in your eyes. Especially considering the lengths you go to get what you think is yours. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

You are far luckier you’re not in front of me now. No matter. If I need to bide my time. I will bide my time. Inch by inch. Centimetre by Centimetre. You will not get away with ruining my life.

Another strange thing you picked up on. There were no clocks inside the entire place. Not even digital ones. Not a single clock anywhere. No calendars kept anywhere to let you know what day or month of the year it was.

There is no ceramic dishes or glasses. Replaced by plastic plates, cups and cutlery. As if he tried to baby wrap and baby proof every aspect of your time here. You are sure the rest of the furniture has the same theme of ‘safety’. As if he didn’t think you were capable of caring for yourself properly.

Insulting as well as utterly demeaning.

He even cleared the books.

None of the erotic tales he'd suspect you of reading behind his back. He called it cheating to read them. Said you were reading them to get back at him on an emotional level of some kind.

Made him doubt your marital fidelity compared to his.

Stated it was your responsibility for his initial infidelity.

Ludicrous. Absurd and utterly false.

He yelled, calling it the ultimate betrayal for writing it on your own terms. He'd have remained unaware if he'd ignored the mail that day. You sold the manuscript a few months into his deployment for extra cash. You'd typically use this while earning, when he's usually away.

He’d be home. While you were deployed. It was an opposite of each other.

He didn’t know you. Not in the way you hoped.

He'd bring gold jewellery, but you liked silver more.

He’d bring you plain green tea. You preferred hibiscus and strawberry hibiscus.

Purposefully getting things wrong to the point where it felt like he just didn’t care. On purpose to a deeper degree, you couldn’t understand at the time. You couldn’t put your finger on the reason for it.

You guess you ought to be glad you got out of there in one piece the first time.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

A Collared Lamb [3]

Robbie Paulson x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 21: Bondage

Summary: Robbie gets tied up.

A/N: I feel like one day I will have to pay for my sins.

Warnings: bondage - crab, BDSM, sub/dom dynamic, oral (m! receiving), anal beads, anal play, aftercare, a little bit of subspace, Robbie just word vomiting, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1666

Robbie can’t help but squirm a little. The sensation of the soft rope against his skin is nice. More than nice. 

You give his arm a little squeeze, “You okay?” 

He hums a positive, nodding his head, and glancing up at you. “Really good.” 

Your smile makes his stomach tingle. 

He’s at a bit of an odd angle on the bed, his back against the mattress, pillows propping up his head and lower back. His wrists are tied to his ankles in a crab pose, leaving him wide and exposed. But it just feels so safe. 

He leans into you as best he can when you press a gentle kiss to his forehead before walking around to the end of the bed. 

You’d both discussed this at length before hand, but it still makes him pout a little that you’re fully dressed while he hasn’t got a scrap of clothing on him. It is exciting though. Something about it setting his blood ablaze. 

You kneel on the bed, putting a few things next to you as you shuffle closer and stroke his legs. 

“Comfortable?” 

He nods again, “Yes,” and bites his lip. “Thank you.” 

You smile and kiss his knee. “How does it feel?” 

“Good, really good, like… warm.” He blinks a little shyly, “Safe.” 

“That’s really good Robbie.”

His heart flutters at the praise, his hard cock twitching against his stomach. He’d been embarrassed when he’d snapped to full mast the second you started to undress him, nearly coming on the spot the moment you moved him gently into position and the rope touched his skin. But you’d kissed him and rubbed his arms, soothing his worries until he became liquid in your hands. 

Excursionatingly slowly you lean down, settling between his legs and resting the back of his thighs on your shoulders. 

He gulps, the sound echoing. 

“S-sorry.” 

“Shh,” you rub his skin gently, “it’s okay, you don’t need to say sorry. You’re perfect.” 

Heat runs along his nerves, twists and pools in his stomach. 

He gasps as you lick a fat stripe up his cock, flicking at his slit before you trail back down and trace a figure eight over his balls. 

He jumps, groans, a soft, “oh!” falling from his lips as you repeat your actions, settling into an agonising rhythm. 

Robbie hums loudly, biting his lower lip as he wriggles, trying to get closer and fighting the urge to buck into the warm relief of your mouth. 

Your thumbs massage his inner thighs, coaxing him to relax even as he tenses and whines. 

“You okay?” You mutter.

“Yes, yes, god yes.” 

You lightly suck his bulbous head into your mouth, swirling your tongue over it like it was a lollipop. 

He sobs in pleasure, pulling at the rope even though he wants to go absolutely nowhere. 

“Please,” he gasps again, the air catching in his throat with every swipe of your tongue, “Oh, feels so nice. Please don’t stop.” 

You hum lightly, taking him a fraction deeper and he all but loses his ability to speak. The soft groan that comes from his chest is deep, all encompassing. 

“Please, please, please, I, I, I need… after,” his sob of pleasure cuts himself off and you gently ease him out of your mouth even though he whines in distress. 

“What do you need baby?” You ask sweetly and he sighs, his skin flushing at the pet name. 

“I need us to… later… I want to please you.” 

You smile. “You are pleasing me.” 

“I…” he blinks shyly at you, “I want to make you…”

You nip lightly at his inner thigh, making him jump and giggle. “You want to make me?”

“I want to make you come.” He whispers, his eyes blown wide. “I… when we talked about this, I…”

You nuzzle his leg, giving him room to speak. 

“I was embarrassed about speaking about it, because I didn’t know if you would like… that… too.” 

“You’d like it?” You ask a little teasingly and he nods rapidly. 

“I would, I would love to make you feel a fraction as good as you make me.” He blushes and you kiss the spot where his thigh and torso meet. 

“Such a sweet thing,” you purr, “we can do that.” You mutter as you mouth at his balls.

He jumps, moaning deeply. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

You kiss the base of his cock and trace the thick vein that runs along his length. “Would you like to finish the original plan?” 

He nods again quickly and you grin. 

“Good boy Robbie.” 

His shiver and moan delight you as you take him back into your mouth, sucking slowly, taking him apart piece by piece. 

Pleasure ripples along his spine, making him lightheaded and floaty. Your warm hand on his stomach keeps him grounded, present and safe under your hold. 

You skink a little deeper before you ease up. “Really for the next step?” 

“Yes, oh god, please.”

You grin, flicking your tongue against his tip and revelling in the little jolt that flutters across his muscles. 

Quickly, you move back and grab the bottle of lube and beads. They’re a small set, one for beginners, and you coat them liberally in the cool liquid before you position them at his entrance. 

He shivers, trying to move his legs further apart. 

“I’m gonna need you to keep talking the whole way through, okay sweet thing?” You ask softly.

“Yes, I promise, I remember.” He squirms a little in anticipation, there’s a warm lightness in his bones. Like he’s floating in a large warm bath. 

“Good boy.” You whisper as you start to ease the anal beads inside. 

“Oh!” His little gasp of surprise is so sweet. He turns his head to the side, eyes screwed up as the first bead presses in, stretching him ever so slightly before it just pops inside. “That’s…” he groans as the alien sensation settles in his belly. “Good.” Heat rises to his cheeks. “More please.” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” you press the next in. This one is a little bigger, the stretch a little deeper as his hole widens to accept it. 

“Ohhh!” He shivers, his back arching. Something about it, about him being completely at your mercy, spread open for you while you penetrate him is intoxicating. “Please more, don’t stop, I want all of them, please!”

You smile and push the rest of the toy inside, not stopping until he’s swallowed all ten and the looped handle rests flush against him. 

He gasps, breathing heavily, his cock twitching on his stomach. 

“How do you feel?” You ask softly. 

“Like I’m about to come,” he whines.

“That good?” You tease, your voice low.

He nods, “it’s, it’s so good, because, because you’re doing it and you're with me and your hands are on me,” he blurts out all at once. Pleasure burns tight and white hot in his belly, flares along his pelvis. Tears build in the corner of his eyes, wetting his lashes. 

He wriggles a little, squeezing around the beads and gasping as he feels them deep inside. 

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re so safe with me,” you nuzzle his thigh, moving back so that you can suck his cock into your mouth once more. “You come whenever you want to, okay? You’re such a good boy.”

He sobs, shivering, “thank you, thank you, oh god,” he almost comes on the spot as your lips wrap around him and you draw him inside. “Please, oh, thank youuuu!” He lets out a long moan, trembling as you take him deep and his insides flutter against the beads. 

“So good,” falls out of his mouth with every breath, his heart races in his chest, pleasure spiraling to dizzying heights and threatening to pull him down. 

“I’m gonna come, I can’t stop, I can’t, I,” his moan is practically a choked scream as his balls tighten, pleasure just starting to unravel. And then your fingers hook into the beads loop and as he thinks he possibly couldn’t get any higher, you pull them out quickly. And everything snaps. 

His cry is so high pitched it becomes silent as the sensation rushes through him like a spike, the impact of pleasure robbing him of any sentient thought as all he can do is feel. 

He comes hard, harder than he can ever remember, spurting and pulsing into your mouth. Ropes and ropes of cum that you drink down greedily until he is limp and spent beneath you. 

He doesn’t quite remember completely passing out, but he knows that your voice was muffled when you spoke and he couldn’t quite put the meaning of your words together. 

But he feels the safety of your warm strong hands as you untie him, as you rub his muscles and kiss his wrist. 

You wrap him up in the fluffy blanket and your arms, letting him rest his head on your chest and nuzzle into you while you stroke his hair. 

“You’re safe, you’re so safe. You did such an amazing job, so good.”

He blinks as your voice filters in and looks up at you slowly. 

“There you are.” You smile and stroke his cheek, leaning down to give him a soft kiss that makes him giddy. “How are you?” 

He nods, “Floaty. Happy.” 

You kiss his nose and he giggles. “Good boy, here.” You move slightly, keeping him close and one arm wrapped around his shoulders, to grab the glass of water on the bedside table. “Sit up a little and drink?”

He nods again, taking a large gulp when you press the glass near his lips.

“Ah, don’t rush just to please me.” You chastise softly and he blinks heavily. 

“So-sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry sweet thing.” You kiss the top of his head. “You’re just too well behaved sometimes.” 

He blushes and shivers at the praise, pressing closer to you for a moment before he takes a more gentle sip. 

Thank you for reading!

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[fluffymiyaa]

Attention

Actor!Gojo x paparazzi!reader

Genre: romance, fluff

Summary: The spotlight is on him, but you are all he sees.

Masterlist

The red carpet buzzed with excitement, bathed in the glow of flashing lights. Gojo Satoru, the epitome of confidence, stood in his best suit and tie, His white hair radiated more than the camera flashes, and every move he made commanded attention. Amidst the sea of paparazzi, you struggled to find the perfect angle, determined to capture his charisma.

As Gojo strutted down the red carpet, his smile and poses effortlessly stealing the spotlight, you fought against the pushing crowd, annoyance evident on your face. "Stop pushing me!" you hoarsely exclaimed to the paparazzi behind you. The struggle intensified as everyone vied for the best shot of him.

In the midst of the chaos, you turned back to your camera, only to be startled by Gojo's face right in front of you, visible through the lens. Caught off guard, you stammered, "G-Gojo Satoru…!"

He grinned. "No need to worry, miss paparazzi. You can take as many pictures as you want," he said, winking and striking a pose.

Froze by his handsome face, you blinked and then swiftly captured the captivating moment.

Flash flash flash

The air crackles with the rapid succession of flashes, each moment echoing the pace of excitement. He glances your way, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

"Ahh~ it's not good."

In a second, he took your camera, effortlessly flipping it around to capture an unexpected frame of you and him. The swift exchange leaves you momentarily stunned, the surrounding fans and paparazzi caught in a chorus of shock and screams.

"Meet me at ten behind the building," he whispers into your ear, returning your camera with a wink. You're caught between a gasp at his audacity and a blush creeping across your cheeks, rolling your eyes at his playful antics. Yet beneath it all, your heartbeat seems to echo louder than the relentless rhythm of the camera flashes.

He strides into the building, a regal acknowledgment for everyone with waves and bows. Deciding to distance yourself from the crowds, you turn toward a quiet street near the building. Glancing at your phone, the clock displays eight o'clock — signaling a two-hour wait. You exhale in fatigue but press on.

Ding!

Toru<3: Hey sweetie, I've already parked my car behind this building. Someone will be waiting for you there. I've prepared some snacks and water in case you get hungry. I'll be right back as fast as I can, okay? I love youuu, see you soon, princess mwah (´ε｀ )♡

You: ok, i love you too toru

Toru<3: where's my kiss (>_<)

You: ( ˘ ³˘)♡

Toru<3: (//ω//)

You chuckle at his silly texts and follow his instructions. After a brief 5-minute walk, you find yourself in a quiet hallway. The cool air prompts you to tighten your grip on your jacket. A big figure stands there, awaiting your arrival.

"Ms. Y/n?"

You nod in acknowledgment.

He opens the door for you left. You then lock the car from inside. Waiting for him, you attempt to stay awake with the radio humming softly, but the exhaustion takes its toll, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

---

Gojo impatiently taps his foot, yearning for the event to conclude. Glancing at his watch, it reads 9:30. His gaze sweeps across the array of actors, actresses, and influential figures present.

The burning desire to meet you intensifies, you have no idea how hard for him to holding back from kissng you infornt of eveyone earlier making him smile like a man possessed. In his mind, you become the sole focus, overshadowing everything else.

His daydream screeches to a halt as his friend calls his name.

"Satoru, to earth? You there?"

"Ah? What is it, Suguru?"

"My friend, Kana. She said she wants to talk to you. You know her, right? She's won a lot of awards as the best actress," Suguru says.

Gojo rolls his eyes, displaying an uninterested demeanor.

"No, I don't. I've got to meet my girl now. Tell the manager I've gone to the toilet or something."

Suguru chuckles at his best friend's response, recognizing the irresponsibility. It's a habit that threatens to make the manager go bald at this point.

Gojo discreetly slips out of the building, swiftly navigating the streets with one destination in mind: you. Upon reaching his parked car, he deftly retrieves the key and unlocks the door. As it swings open, he discovers you peacefully sleeping inside, prompting an uncontrollable smile to spread across his face.

Entering the car, he pull out his phone, intending to capture this tender moment. Drawn in by your serene expression, he can't resist showering your face with gentle kisses. The soft caresses of his lips rouse you from your slumber, and as your eyes flutter open, you find yourself greeted by his affectionate gaze.

"Satoru...?" you murmur, still caught in the embrace of sleep.

"Baby," he whispers, his voice a tender murmur.

"I'm sorry I made you wait for so long," he pouts, his apology accompanied by a playful yet apologetic expression. Your drowsy eyes meet his, and he can't help but marvel at your sleepy charm.

"No worries, Satoru," you say, a smile playing on your lips. "What's the plan now?"

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "How about we get out of here? Leave the chaos behind."

With shared excitement, you both decide to escape the glittering lights and bustling event. Gojo turns on the gas, the engine humming with anticipation. The city lights gradually fade as you drive towards a secret place.

You gaze out of the window, entranced by the dazzling city lights as Gojo effortlessly maneuvers through the streets.

"I can't believe you did that on the red carpet," you comment.

He laughs, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Yeah? I'm just helping you, miss paparazzi."

His hand casually finds its place on your thigh, a comforting touch that makes you sigh and smile, feeling the warmth of his presence.

"This would be my last. I'll be resigning soon." You said

He scoffs, eyes still fixed on the road.

"I've been saying that for six months now. You don't need to capture my pictures for entertainment anymore. Take my picture with your phone and keep it just for yourself instead."

You chuckle at his playful insistence. Taking pictures of him with your own phone still feels a bit weird, considering your roles are almost like opposites. Meanwhile, Gojo takes immense delight in capturing moments with you, creating a dedicated album that contains only pictures of you and him in his phone.

As you arrive at a secluded spot, away from the prying eyes of the world, Gojo prepared a surprises. A cozy blanket is spread on the ground, surrounded by flickering candles. Delicious foods await, creating a picnic under the stars.

"Welcome to our sanctuary," Gojo grins, gesturing to the makeshift haven he's prepared. He steps out and opens the car door for you, his hand gently touching yours. The night sky above, adorned with a breathtaking tapestry of stars, becomes the backdrop for your impromptu escape from reality.

You two sit on the blanket, the air gently caressing your hair. Gojo delicately tucks a loose strand behind your ear, his eyes filled with an abundance of love.

As his face draws closer, heartbeats synchronize, the cold air yielding to the warmth of your entwined bodies in this intimate moment. Closing your eyes, you feel the soft press of his lips against yours, a lingering kiss that lingers just enough before he pulls away.

"I know you're hungry. I prepared your favorite food!" he grins.

You both begin to eat, savoring each bite as you share conversation and laughter. After finishing the meal, you lay down, his arms enveloping you, your face nestled against his neck, sharing warmth and comfort.

"Your manager is going to be mad, you know," you mumble, your breath softly tickling his neck.

"Mhm? That's fine. I'm the one who made money anyway."

"You know people are starting to get suspicious that you're dating someone, especially when you always sneak out like this. They keep dropping you with questions, some even suspecting you dating your co-star," you pout.

He laughs it off, kissing your forehead. "You know that's not true, baby. I only have eyes for you."

You tighten your embrace, and in a soft mumble, you confess, "I really want to tell people that you're mine."

You sense Gojo's body momentarily tense at your words, but then he calms, gently stroking your hair.

"Yeah? So do I, princess," he murmurs, his reassurance adding a layer of comfort to the quiet night.

Under the night sky, with stars and the moon as silent witnesses to the love shared between you two.

Gojo turns his head towards you. "It looks beautiful."

Meeting his gaze, your eyes lock onto his bright blue eyes. "It is beautiful."

He seals the moment with another gentle kiss, pulling you even closer as if to capture the enchanting night within the warmth of your embrace.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," you reply, the words lingering like a sweet promise.

No paparazzi, no intrusive flashlights, just an intimate exchange of attention between the two of you, satisfying the craving for each other's company. And that's how you both spend the night, escaping from everything, finding sanctuary beneath a sky adorned with countless stars.

Hope you enjoy. Reblogs make me feel more appreciated<3

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ Chapter Eight: A Great Friend

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 11.5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Your day immediately turns eventful at the very second you open your eyes, receiving a congratulatory message from Hongjoong which was apparently because of your sudden popularity that skyrocketed overnight, following your first photoshoot. As you grapple with this sudden surge of attention, Seonghwa offers a welcome distraction by suggesting you assist Hongjoong with his designs for the upcoming autumn collection, all of which are still in progress.

a/n: apologies in advance, but it should probably be in your best interest to expect slow updates starting from now on 🥲 i’ve been getting busier and busier lately so it might take a little while to upload the following chapters ㅠㅠ lmk what you think about this chapter! reading people’s feedback cheers me up a lot, and i’d really appreciate them especially rn since i’m having a hard time haha

tags: @beabatiny

You awaken to the soft chime of a message notification, the early morning light casting a gentle glow in your room. Blinking away sleep, you reach for your phone on the bedside table, the screen glowing softly in the dim light. The message is from Hongjoong, and your heart skips a beat as you read it.

Seems like you got a good head start in the industry. Congratulations!

Confused, you sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to make sense of his words. You quickly type back, asking him what was going on, as you had just woken up. Hongjoong’s response comes swiftly.

The pictures from your first photoshoot were uploaded last night and they’re currently going viral.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you hurriedly exit the conversation to check the social media platforms associated with Hongjoong’s brand. The notifications are overwhelming. As you scroll through the posts, your face appears repeatedly—each shot capturing a different angle of the Parisian venue, each pose more captivating than the last. The comments are a flurry of excitement and admiration. Each one is a testament to the impact the photos have had.

“Who is this stunning new face?”

“She looks like she stepped out of a painting!”

“Her expression is so captivating; I can’t stop looking!”

“Such a refreshing presence, she’s going to be huge!”

“She exudes this ethereal vibe—like a modern-day muse!”

If there was one thing you were expecting the moment you stepped into the industry, it was definitely not this. Well, you probably should’ve. Your hands tremble slightly as you continue scrolling, unable to fully grasp the scale of the attention. It’s surreal to see yourself through the eyes of so many strangers, each comment adding another layer to the overwhelming reality.

A hand ghosts over your mouth in shock, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes. “Is this real?” you whisper to yourself, the room around you suddenly feeling too small, too quiet compared to the roaring storm of notifications and messages on your phone.

Rushing to the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face, the chill jolting you awake. You even slap your cheeks lightly a few times, trying to dispel the surreal feeling that’s settled over you. The mirror reflects your wide-eyed expression, confirming that this is, in fact, happening. You stare at your reflection, the reality of your newfound attention slowly sinking in. It feels like stepping into another world, one where your life has suddenly taken a dramatic turn.

Still in a daze, you return to your bed, clutching your phone tightly. You reopen the conversation with Hongjoong, asking him if any of this was real. You could’ve just been having a highly realistic dream, for all you know. On the other side of the screen, Hongjoong can almost sense your disbelief.

As real as it can be.

But even through the text, you sense a smile, a quiet confidence in his words. Just as you’re beginning to process everything, your phone rings again. It's Seonghwa. His voice is warm, laced with a hint of amusement as he says, “You’re quite the hit lately. Have you heard of it?”

You let out a small laugh, still overwhelmed. “Yes, Hongjoong actually beat you to it.”

There’s a brief pause, and Seonghwa’s voice becomes thoughtful. “Hongjoong texted you first? That’s... unusual.”

“Huh?”

Seonghwa’s mind lingers on this revelation. Hongjoong, known for his reserved nature, seldom initiates contact with others. He was the type to keep his thoughts to himself, preferring the solitude of his creative processes. For him to reach out so directly is… well, it’s unexpected. He wonders if there’s more to this than meets the eye, but he quickly shakes off the thought, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

He continues, his tone lightening again, “Nevermind that. But seriously, congratulations! This is huge.”

You sigh, a mixture of happiness and anxiety bubbling up. “I still can’t believe all of this is real. It feels like things are progressing too quickly, and while I’m happy, there’s this overwhelming feeling somewhere deep inside.”

Seonghwa’s voice softens with empathy. “It’s completely normal to feel that way, especially since this all came out of nowhere. It can be a lot to take in at once.”

You nod, though he can’t see you, and explain your usual method of coping with major news—pushing it aside until you’re ready to fully process it. “So… what I’m saying is I kinda need to put that method to use right now. Is there anything I can help with over there? I need something to focus on, just to distract myself.”

Seonghwa thinks for a moment, considering your offer. “Well, you could help bring some of Hongjoong’s designs to life. Unfortunately, he rarely accepts help, preferring to work alone because it helps him focus. But I’ll mention it to him and see what he says.”

Seonghwa hangs up the phone, placing it gently on the table in front of him. The lounge area of the building is quiet, save for the soft hum of distant conversations and the occasional clink of cups. He leans back in his chair, lost in thought about the conversation he just had with you. Just then, as if on cue, Hongjoong strolls into the lounge, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. He spots Seonghwa and heads over, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Things are turning out well for her, aren’t they?” Hongjoong remarks, settling into the lounge chair across Seonghwa. His tone carries a hint of pride, and Seonghwa can see a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

Seonghwa, remembering something from the call, tilts his head slightly. “You know, she mentioned you were the first to tell her about all the attention she’s getting. That’s... not exactly your usual style.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “What do you mean? I just wanted to congratulate her, that’s all.”

Seonghwa isn’t convinced and leans forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “You don’t even text first when it comes to both me and Wooyoung. What’s the deal?”

Hongjoong chuckles, shaking his head as if dismissing the notion. “It’s nothing. Just thought she should know.”

But Seonghwa isn’t buying the nonchalant act. His eyes narrow playfully, clearly intrigued by this rare deviation from Hongjoong’s usual behavior. Hongjoong, noticing the look, quickly grabs a crumpled paper from his blazer pocket and tosses it at Seonghwa, laughing. “Stop reading too much into it. There’s nothing there.”

Seonghwa catches the paper, laughing as well despite not being entirely convinced. He decides to change the subject, leaning back in his chair. “So, how are the designs for the autumn collection coming along?”

Hongjoong’s eyes light up at the mention of his work. “I’ve been making good progress with the tailoring and even started on some new designs. Though I left my sketchbook in my office today, I’ve got some photos of the pieces.”

He leans forward, pulling out his phone and handing it to Seonghwa. As Seonghwa scrolls through the images, he’s greeted with a series of designs that reflect the collection’s theme. The first few designs are ethereal yet grounded, capturing the essence of the season. There’s a long, flowing coat made of rich, burnt orange wool, adorned with delicate embroidery of falling leaves. The next outfit is a layered ensemble featuring a deep forest green velvet dress, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, and paired with a capelet that mimics the texture of fallen leaves.

Each piece exudes a sense of elegance and warmth, perfectly encapsulating the quiet beauty of autumn. The use of earthy tones, mixed with subtle metallic accents, creates a harmonious blend of nature-inspired elements and modern fashion. Seonghwa can see the meticulous attention to detail in every stitch and fold, each piece a testament to Hongjoong’s artistic vision. It was admirable, as always.

As he continues scrolling, Seonghwa’s eyes widen slightly when he stumbles upon an unexpected photo—a candid shot of you holding a cat, your face soft with a serene smile. It’s a stark contrast to the fashion designs, capturing a moment of unguarded warmth and simplicity. Seonghwa’s mind raced with questions, his curiosity piqued even further. Why does Hongjoong have this photo, and what does it signify?

Quickly, he scrolls back to the fashion designs, masking his surprise. He hands the phone back to Hongjoong, his expression composed but his thoughts swirling. “These are incredible, Hongjoong. The way you’ve captured the essence of autumn is truly impressive. I especially like the use of textures and the color palette—it feels very grounded yet still has that ethereal quality.”

Hongjoong nods, pleased with the feedback. “Thanks, I’ve been working on capturing that balance. Autumn has this quiet, reflective beauty, and I wanted that to come through in the designs.”

Seonghwa nods thoughtfully, but his mind lingers on the photo he saw. He can’t help but wonder if there’s something more going on between you and Hongjoong, something beneath the surface that he hasn’t yet understood. As he hands the phone back, he decides to keep this little discovery to himself, at least for now, storing it away as something to discuss with Wooyoung later.

Clearing his throat, Seonghwa leans forward, his tone thoughtful. “You know, I was talking to her earlier, and she mentioned feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the sudden exposure. It’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone so new to the industry. She was wondering if there might be any way she could help with the tailoring of the designs. Not only to get some practical experience but also to have something to focus on, something to keep her grounded while everything else is so chaotic.”

Hongjoong listens intently, his expression contemplative. Seonghwa continues, “I know you usually prefer to work alone, to have complete control over your creative process. And I get that—it’s part of what makes your designs so unique. But maybe just this once, it could be beneficial to have an extra pair of hands. She’s genuinely interested in learning and contributing, and I think it could be a good experience for both of you.”

As Seonghwa speaks, he watches Hongjoong closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Before he can elaborate further, Hongjoong cuts him off with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind at all. We can start tomorrow.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. That was a quick agreement, far quicker than he expected. “Good, alright. I’ll inform her,” Seonghwa says, still processing Hongjoong’s easy acquiescence. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, almost tentatively, “Or do you want to do it instead...?”

Hongjoong’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa quickly waves him off, standing up from his seat. “Oh, no, no, nothing. I’ll let her know.” He makes a quick exit, leaving a bewildered Hongjoong behind, still puzzled over the odd exchange.

As Seonghwa strides towards the elevator, the gears in his mind are turning. The ease with which Hongjoong agreed to your involvement, coupled with the candid photo and the early morning text, is starting to form a pattern in Seonghwa’s mind—a pattern that suggests something more than just professional interest.

As the elevator doors open, Seonghwa is met by Wooyoung, who looks ready to step out. Without a second thought, Seonghwa gently but firmly shoves Wooyoung back inside, pressing the button for the floor where his office is located.

“What the hell—” Wooyoung begins, startled by the abruptness of Seonghwa's actions.

Seonghwa cuts him off, a serious look on his face. “There’s something important we need to discuss. Just trust me.”

Wooyoung, sensing the gravity in Seonghwa’s tone, complies without further protest. As they reach Seonghwa’s office, Seonghwa gestures for Wooyoung to double-check the lock on the door, ensuring their privacy. “Just in case Hongjoong walks in.”

Wooyoung complies, yet thete was a puzzled look on his face. “Hongjoong? What does he have to do with this?”

They settled into Seonghwa’s office, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Seonghwa starts, his tone hushed. “Alright, so get this: Hongjoong texted her first thing this morning to congratulate her on the viral photos. Can you believe that?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way! Hongjoong? Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Do-Small-Talk’? Like, for real?”

Seonghwa nods, his expression mirroring Wooyoung’s shock. “For real. And it gets better. He even had a candid photo of her on his phone. You know, not a posed shot or anything, just her holding a cat. She looked so natural and relaxed. I accidentally saw it while scrolling through his design pictures.”

Wooyoung leans forward, clearly intrigued. “A candid photo? From Hongjoong? That’s... well, I definitely didn’t see that coming. What else did you see?” he asked, pushing for more details.

Seonghwa goes into a contemplative gaze. “That’s the thing, Wooyoung. He never keeps personal photos like that. And then, when I mentioned her feeling overwhelmed by all the attention, he was totally understanding. And, get this, he agreed to let her help with the tailoring for his autumn collection without even hesitating.”

Wooyoung's eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, hold on. Doesn’t he literally hate people interfering with his work? What do you mean he agreed just like that?”

Seonghwa holds his hands up, still a bit in disbelief himself. “That’s what I don’t get either. No arguments, no reservations. Just ‘sure, she can start tomorrow.’ It’s so out of character for him. Usually, he’s all about keeping things strictly professional and handling everything himself.”

Wooyoung leans back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “So, let me get this straight. Hongjoong, who never texts first, texts her before anyone else. He’s got a candid, personal photo of her on his phone. And now, he’s okay with her helping out with his designs? That’s…”

Seonghwa nods. “Exactly. And when I asked him about texting her, he brushed it off, saying he just wanted to congratulate her. But I know Hongjoong. He doesn’t do things like this for just anyone. Hell, he doesn’t even text us first, and we've known him for years.”

Wooyoung grins, clearly entertained. “So, what do you think? Is he interested in her? It sure sounds like it.” This was definitely worth the gossip drought that lasted for weeks.

Seonghwa shrugs, though his eyes gleam with curiosity. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely out of the ordinary. I mean, Hongjoong’s not one to show personal interest in anyone, let alone a model he just met.”

Wooyoung clasps his hands together, shaking his head. “This is going to be interesting. We should keep an eye on this. Maybe they’re just friends, or maybe there’s something more. Either way, it’s unusual for Hongjoong.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchange a knowing glance, an idea slowly taking root in Wooyoung's mind. He leans forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You know,” Wooyoung begins, “we could give them a little nudge. Like, play matchmaker. It could be fun.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, hesitating. “We shouldn’t make things awkward between them. What if they’re just forming a friendship? We don’t want to overstep.”

Wooyoung waves off the concern, his enthusiasm undeterred. “I get that, but think about it. Most great love stories start with friendship, right? They’re already getting along well, and there’s clearly something different about how Hongjoong is acting lately. Maybe it’s worth exploring.”

Seonghwa sighs, shaking his head with a faint smile. “You’re incorrigible, you know that? But I suppose you have a point. It’s just... Hongjoong’s been very private about his personal life. We shouldn’t push him into something he’s not ready for.”

Wooyoung nods thoughtfully. “Well, yeah, but he’s been alone for as long as I’ve known him. He’s always so independent and hardworking, constantly putting the company and his designs first. Wouldn’t it be nice for him to have someone who reminds him to take a breather, to enjoy life a little?”

Seonghwa looks away, pondering Wooyoung’s words. He knows that Hongjoong is fiercely dedicated to his work, often to the point of neglecting his own well-being. It’s a quality they all admire, but it also worries them. Hongjoong’s solitary nature, while admirable in its focus, sometimes seemed to be a shield against something deeper.

At the same time, a part of Seonghwa agrees with Wooyoung. Hongjoong deserves to experience love, to be taught what it means to love and be loved in return. To have someone who sees past the professional facade and connects with him on a deeper level. Hongjoong has always been the rock for everyone else, the leader who guides and supports, but who supports him? Seonghwa knows that beneath Hongjoong’s calm exterior is someone who longs for a connection, even if he doesn’t consciously acknowledge it.

Seonghwa finally exhales, nodding in agreement. “Alright, maybe you’re right. He does deserve that chance. But we need to be subtle, okay? We can’t just throw them into situations and expect magic to happen.”

Wooyoung grins, practically bouncing in his seat. “Of course, of course. We’ll be subtle. Well, as subtle as we can be.” He chuckles, already plotting. “We could start with simple things. Like arranging for them to spend more time together, under the guise of work, of course.”

Seonghwa nods, though he can’t help but smile at Wooyoung’s eagerness. „Fine, but let’s keep this quiet. The last thing we need is Hongjoong finding out and feeling pressured or uncomfortable. We’ll just... create opportunities for them to bond naturally?”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with excitement. “Yes, exactly! This is going to be great. Just trust me on this one.”

Seonghwa sighs, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Alright, but no wild schemes, okay? We’re not in a rom-com here.”

Wooyoung laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No wild schemes.”

—

The sound of fabric being meticulously fed through the sewing machine filled the room, but despite the soft hum, your mind was anything but calm. The task at hand was supposed to be a distraction from the whirlwind of unexpected fame and the gnawing anxiety about potential backlash—something that often follows a sudden rise to internet prominence. However, the complexities of threading needles and manipulating fabrics were proving to be more challenging than anticipated. You couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was a bad idea, a sentiment only reinforced by the knots of frustration building in your stomach.

Hongjoong had stepped out to go to the restroom for a moment, giving you a brief respite. It was just enough time to let out a sigh of frustration, your hands pausing their clumsy movements. You were aware of how out of your depth you were, fumbling with the sewing machine in a way that likely confirmed his suspicions. He had asked several times if you needed help, always with a gentle tone that hinted at his concern. But pride—or perhaps a stubborn streak—had kept you from admitting just how lost you felt.

“Maybe I should’ve just volunteered to be burned at the stake in a Salem witch trial—”

“Are you alright?” Hongjoong’s voice sliced through your musings, making you jump slightly. You straightened up quickly, feigning concentration as you adjusted the fabric under the needle. The effort was futile; the moment Hongjoong leaned over your shoulder, his hand resting gently on yours, your cool façade crumbled.

His close proximity, the soft warmth of his hand, and the subtle, intoxicating scent of his cologne were all too distracting. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and I’m gonna need you to answer it in full honesty. Is that okay?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting from his hand to his face and then back to the sewing machine. “I... um... sure, go ahead,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice at bay.

“Do you know how to use a sewing machine?” he asked, his tone patient yet direct.

You winced, slumping in your seat as you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I thought it would be easy,” you admitted, your voice muffled by your palms. “But I had no idea it would be so... intricate? I think I’ve used up half my patience already.”

Before you could spiral further into self-recrimination, Hongjoong’s soft laughter broke the tension. It was a soothing sound, yet its proximity sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He pulled a chair over and sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. You kept your eyes fixed on the sewing machine, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently, taking your hand in his once more. “Everyone starts somewhere. Let me guide you through it.”

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he began, his voice warm and steady. “First, we need to thread the machine properly. It can be a bit tricky at first, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes second nature.”

He gently guided your fingers to the spool pin, showing you how to place the thread. “Make sure the thread is placed securely here,” he explained, his hand lingering over yours for a moment. “Then, we’ll pull it through the tension disks. This part is crucial because it controls the tension of your stitches. If it’s too loose or too tight, your fabric might bunch up or the stitches might break.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his instructions rather than the slight warmth of his hand. “Got it,” you murmured, glancing at him again. His eyes were intent on the machine, but there was a softness in his gaze.

“Next, we bring the thread down here,” he continued, guiding your hand to the take-up lever. “This part moves up and down as you sew, pulling the thread through the fabric. It’s important to make sure the thread is seated properly in the eye of the lever.”

You tried to mimic his movements, your fingers fumbling slightly. He caught your hesitation and gently corrected your grip, his touch light but firm. “Like this,” he demonstrated, pulling the thread through the lever with practiced ease. “See? It’s all about smooth, even motions.”

You nodded again, feeling a bit more confident but still acutely aware of the slight tension in the air. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... different. “And finally, we guide the thread through the needle,” he said, his voice low and patient. “This part can be a bit tricky, especially if the needle’s eye is small. Just take your time and don’t rush.”

As you attempted to thread the needle, your hand shook slightly, and you fumbled with the delicate thread. Hongjoong leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he steadied your hand. “Here, let me help,” he offered, his tone gentle. He carefully guided the thread through the needle’s eye, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

“There we go,” he said with a satisfied smile, leaning back a bit. “Now, let’s get to the sewing part. Start by placing the fabric under the presser foot, like this.” He demonstrated, his hands guiding yours to position the fabric correctly. “Make sure it’s aligned straight with the needle and the edge of the foot.”

You followed his instructions, your eyes focused on the machine but your mind wandering slightly. There was something about this whole situation—the quiet focus, the close proximity, the shared task—that felt nice. You couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of self-consciousness, wondering if he could sense your awkwardness.

“Now, gently press the pedal to start the machine,” Hongjoong instructed, his hand still lightly resting on yours. “Don’t go too fast; just a slow, steady pace. That’ll give you more control.”

You did as he said, the machine whirring to life as you guided the fabric through. Hongjoong watched closely, offering occasional tips and corrections. “Try to keep your hands steady,” he advised. “And remember, it’s okay to stop and readjust if you need to.”

“Okay, got it,” you replied, focusing intently on the fabric and the machine’s needle. But despite your best efforts, you could feel your heart beating a little faster, your palms slightly sweaty. It was all so new, and the added pressure of having Hongjoong right there, guiding you, was both comforting and nerve-wracking.

As you continued to sew, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Hongjoong’s instructions were clear and patient, and his occasional praise—“Good, that’s perfect,” or “You’re getting the hang of it”—helped to ease your nerves. Still, there were moments when you couldn’t help but feel a slight, almost imperceptible tension. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a subtle awareness of his presence, of the closeness between you as he guided your hands and offered gentle encouragement.

After a few more passes, he smiled at you, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “You’re doing really well,” he said, giving your hand a light squeeze before releasing it. “Just keep practicing, and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You smiled back, feeling a mix of relief and a strange, fluttering excitement. “Thanks, Hongjoong,” you said, your voice a bit softer than you intended. “I really appreciate your help.”

As you continued to practice, the room was filled with a quiet focus, the sound of the sewing machine blending with the soft rustle of fabrics and the occasional tap of Hongjoong’s fingers on the table as he worked on his designs. The space was filled with mannequins adorned with various pieces in different stages of completion, each a testament to his creativity and skill.

Hongjoong stood by one of the mannequins, testing out different fabrics and adjusting the drape of a garment. It was a half-finished piece, a beautiful autumn-inspired dress, rich with deep, warm hues and delicate detailing. The design was stunning even in its incomplete state, with layers of fabric cascading down in elegant folds. The room, spacious and filled with natural light, was a perfect backdrop for his work, highlighting the textures and colors of his creations.

As you worked, you found yourself unconsciously humming. It was a habit you’d developed over the years, a way to keep yourself company during moments of concentration. The tune was “La Vie en Rose,” a classic melody that had always been a favorite of yours. Lost in the rhythm of your work, you didn’t notice Hongjoong glancing over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he recognized the song.

The peaceful atmosphere continued until you completed your practice piece, checking the fabric carefully. To your delight, it was flawless, and you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of triumph. You looked up, catching Hongjoong’s eye as he turned towards you, clearly curious about your reaction.

“I think I’m ready to help out,” you announced, holding up the fabric proudly.

Hongjoong smiled, a warm and encouraging expression on his face. “Really? Let's get to work, then.”

You quickly tidied up your workspace, eager to join him. As you approached, you got a closer look at the dress he was working on. It was even more beautiful up close, with detailed stitching and a careful blend of textures. The design was both modern and timeless, capturing the essence of autumn with its rich color palette and sophisticated lines.

On the table next to the mannequin, you noticed Hongjoong’s sketchbook. The sketches inside were detailed and precise, showcasing his vision for the final piece. You couldn’t help but compliment him, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “This looks incredible, Hongjoong. The sketches were already amazing, but seeing it come to life... It’s even better.”

He waved off your praise modestly, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s not even halfway done yet,” he said, glancing at the dress. “There’s still a lot of work to do. That’s where your help comes in.”

He gestured towards the dress, explaining his vision for the piece. “I need to work on the intricate details around the neckline and sleeves. There’s a specific embroidery pattern I want to incorporate, but it requires a steady hand and a lot of patience. I thought we could split the tasks—I’ll focus on the main body of the dress, and you can help with the embroidery.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I’d love to help with the embroidery. It sounds like a challenge, but I’m up for it.”

Hongjoong smiled, clearly pleased with your enthusiasm. “Great. I’ll show you the pattern and we can go over the details together. It’s important to get the proportions and spacing just right, especially since the embroidery will be a key feature of the design.”

“For this part,” he said, pointing to a section on the sketch, “we’ll use a simple running stitch to outline the design. It’s straightforward but effective, especially for creating clean lines. The trick is to keep your stitches consistent in length. If they’re too short or too long, it can throw off the balance of the pattern.”

As he demonstrated, you watched closely, noting the way his fingers moved deftly with the needle and thread. His attention to detail was impressive, and it was clear that every element of the design had been carefully considered.

“Next, we’ll add some texture with a chain stitch,” Hongjoong continued, switching to another part of the design. “It’s great for creating a sense of depth and can really make certain areas pop. You’ll want to keep your tension even, not too tight or too loose, so the stitches sit nicely against the fabric.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice the passion in his eyes. It was evident in the way he talked about each technique, his dedication to his craft shining through. There was something incredibly admirable about his focus and commitment, and it made you feel even more determined to do your best.

Once you both began working, the conversation naturally shifted to lighter topics. Hongjoong broke the comfortable silence first, glancing over at you with a curious expression. “By the way, earlier... you were humming a song. Was it ‘La Vie en Rose’?”

You blinked, momentarily confused. You hadn’t even realized you were humming. “Oh, was I…? Yeah, that’s a favorite of mine,” you admitted with a small chuckle, recalling the familiar melody. “My dad used to play it all the time when I was younger. He had this old recorder, and ‘La Vie en Rose’ was always his go-to song. I guess it just stuck with me.”

Hongjoong listened attentively, a soft smile forming on his lips. “It’s a beautiful song. There’s something timeless about it.”

You nodded, feeling a warm nostalgia wash over you. “Yeah, it’s one of those songs that just... helps me focus. I hum it when I’m trying to concentrate, and sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

As you shared your story, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you, a subtle fondness in his eyes. He seemed genuinely interested, as if he enjoyed hearing about these little aspects of your life. When you looked up from your work, catching his eye, he quickly averted his gaze, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You smiled, amused by the small moment of shyness. “Do you have a favorite artist?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up at the question. “David Bowie,” he replied without hesitation.

“Really? Great choice,” you said, your admiration clear in your tone. “How did you get into his music?”

Hongjoong leaned back slightly, reminiscing. “Back in my school days, a friend of mine always shared their earphones with me. They had a playlist full of David Bowie songs, and I just... got hooked. His music was so different from anything else I’d heard at the time.”

“Was it Seonghwa?” you asked, curious.

Hongjoong shook his head, a faint, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “No, it was someone else. We’ve… lost touch over the years.”

Before you could ask more, your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with a notification from an app you rarely used. Hongjoong glanced at the screen and recognized the image on your lockscreen. “You set that as your wallpaper?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice as he saw the candid photo he had taken of you and the cat.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist. It’s just too cute not to use as my lockscreen.”

Hongjoong chuckled, clearly pleased. “How’s the little guy doing?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” you replied with a grin. “Running away from me and munching on the flowers in our landlord’s garden. He’s a real troublemaker.”

Hongjoong laughed at this, the sound warm and genuine. “It’s hard to imagine him being so mischievous. He looked so sweet and innocent when I saw him.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Maybe you should come by again sometime and see for yourself just how mischievous he can be.”

Hongjoong paused, momentarily caught off guard. Was that an invitation? The way you said it, with a casual laugh, made it seem like a harmless joke. But there was a part of him that wondered if there was more to it. He quickly dismissed the thought, reminding himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

As you continued working on the embroidery, a sudden sharp pain shot through your finger. A fairly large needle had slipped through your grasp, piercing your skin and drawing a bead of blood. You hissed in pain, “Ow!”

Hongjoong immediately turned his attention away from the dress, concern etched across his face as he took a few quick steps toward you. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with urgency. “Let me see your hand.”

You extended your injured hand toward him, wincing as you saw the small but painful wound. Hongjoong frowned, setting your hand gently on the table. “Hold on a moment,” he said, heading over to one of the drawers where he kept a first aid kit. He quickly retrieved the necessary supplies, including antiseptic wipes, a bandage, and some ointment.

Returning to your side, he crouched down to be at eye level with you. When you made a move to stand, thinking you should let him take the seat, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, guiding you to sit back down. “Stay put,” he instructed softly, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he focused on your injured finger.

Hongjoong took your hand with a surprising tenderness, carefully cleaning the wound. “You’ve got to be more careful next time, alright?” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” He looked up at you and smiled, a small, reassuring curve of his lips that made your heart flutter unexpectedly. He then returned his focus to your finger, diligently applying ointment and wrapping it with a bandage.

As he worked, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on his face. The way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the soft lines of his features... It struck you how effortlessly handsome he was, even in such a simple moment. You found yourself thinking that models must be relieved he chose to become a fashion designer instead of competing with them in front of the camera.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly blurted out, “Your lashes look pretty.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, catching both you and Hongjoong by surprise.

He paused, then chuckled, clearly amused. “No, I mean, sorry,” you quickly tried to recover, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I just have this habit of accidentally saying things out loud that are supposed to stay in my head...”

Hongjoong’s laugh, warm and genuine, cuts off your rambling. “It’s alright,” he said, still chuckling softly. “I’m flattered.”

As he continued tending to your wound, you noticed the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled, and how his presence seemed to have a calming effect on you, even when you felt like you were spiraling. You realized that he had probably picked up on your tendency to speak in a single breath whenever you were nervous or flustered—a trait you found a bit embarrassing, but he seemed to find endearing. It’s a little strange.

“Tell you what,” Hongjoong began, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked up at you. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll share one of my unsaid thoughts too.”

You tilted your head, intrigued and a little wary. “I’d appreciate that,” you said, though you weren’t sure what to expect.

Hongjoong smiled, finishing up the bandage on your finger. “I think you look pretty.”

The words hit you like a gentle wave, unexpected yet disarming. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. Did he… did he really just call you pretty? Your mind raced, heart pounding as you tried to find a response. Was he just being nice? Or was there something more to it? Maybe he was joking? Or not, given his sincere gaze? You felt your cheeks heating up again, and you could barely string together a coherent thought.

As you stared at him, wide-eyed and flustered, Hongjoong laughed softly at your reaction. “Sorry,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

You knew from the look in his eyes and the slight smirk on his lips that he definitely meant to say that.

You both returned to your respective tasks, but focusing proved more difficult than before. Your heart raced, and every so often, your thoughts drifted back to Hongjoong’s unexpected compliment. It lingered in your mind, making it hard to concentrate on the delicate stitches you were working on. The realization of why your heart was fluttering was something you preferred to push aside for now, not wanting to dwell on the implications.

Meanwhile, outside the room, hushed whispers filled the corridor, inaudible to you and Hongjoong inside. Wooyoung, eyes wide and a hand covering his mouth, turned to Seonghwa beside him. “So...” he began, trying to process what they had just overheard.

Seonghwa met Wooyoung’s gaze with a similar look of surprise. “No way. Are they really...”

Wooyoung furrowed his brows in contemplation. “But if they were together, wouldn’t she have responded with something flirty? Like, you know, bantering back?”

Seonghwa shook his head, disagreeing. “She’s not that type of person. Not from what I’ve seen.”

Wooyoung pointed out, “Yeah, but when she told him his lashes looked pretty, she started apologizing like crazy. Would she do that if they were dating?”

Seonghwa considered this, then shook his head again. “Uh… no, definitely not. It’s not every day someone apologizes for complimenting their partner.”

“So... what’s the deal with them?” Wooyoung asked, genuinely puzzled.

Seonghwa shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think they’re just friends, but there’s definitely something more simmering beneath the surface. You can feel the chemistry, even from out here.”

Wooyoung nodded, his curiosity piqued. “The awkward tension between them definitely supports your theory. That’s how these things usually start, right?”

He paused, then added with a mischievous grin, “Do we even need to play matchmaker? It feels like they’re figuring it out on their own.”

Seonghwa laughed softly, a sound almost lost in the quiet hallway, but Wooyoung quickly hushed him. “Shh, we can’t let them know we’re here!”

Wooyoung then pondered aloud, “Now that I think about it, they would make a cute couple. Imagine being a model and dating the creative director of the brand you’re working for... It’s like something out of a romance movie.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s only a matter of time before he starts designing pieces specifically for her, just like he used to—”

Their conversation was abruptly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps from inside the room. Panicking, Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchanged wide-eyed looks before quickly scurrying away, eager to avoid getting caught eavesdropping on their friend’s private moment.

Hongjoong spared a glance at both sides of the hall, a confused expression on his face. “I could’ve sworn I heard something from out here…”

—

A couple of weeks passed, and although the internet buzz surrounding you hadn’t entirely died down, you managed to keep yourself distracted from any concerns about potential media backlash. The credit for this went to Hongjoong, who had embraced your offer to assist with his designs. This partnership provided you both with a creative outlet and a much-needed escape from the spotlight.

You stood before the now-completed outfit you had both worked on, admiring the intricate details and the seamless blend of fabrics. “It’s stunning,” you remarked, your voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe how beautiful it turned out.”

Hongjoong smiled warmly at your words, pride evident in his eyes. “You should take some credit too,” he replied. “I genuinely think it wouldn’t have looked this good if I had done it all alone. Your input was invaluable.”

His compliment made you feel shy, a soft blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Well, if you ever need a hand in the future, I’d be more than happy to help,” you offered, your voice slightly timid.

“I’d like that,” Hongjoong murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. An idea seemed to cross his mind, and he looked at you with a glint of excitement. “How about I take you out to dinner tonight? You deserve a proper thank you for all your help. It’s not every day someone offers their time and skill like you did, and I’d like to show my appreciation in a way that’s more than just words.”

You started to shake your head, feeling that such a gesture was too much. “Oh, you really don’t have to. It’s nothing, really...”

But Hongjoong was persistent—as he always seemed to be. He smiled reassuringly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Nonsense. You’ve done more than enough to earn a nice evening out. So, let me treat you. I’ll pick you up from your apartment around eight. Just be ready.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his insistence, knowing you wouldn’t win this argument. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. “But I’m not expecting you to take me anywhere high-end.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew a little mischievous. “Maybe I will be,” he teased, refusing to give a clear answer. “Just be ready, and leave the rest to me.”

A part of you wondered if this dinner had been on his mind for a while, but you pushed that thought aside, nodding in agreement. Your phone buzzed with a message from Madame Dupont, urgently informing you that Pompidou was scratching at your apartment door. Your eyes widened, and you quickly told Hongjoong, “Oh no. I’ve got to go. See you tonight!” before rushing out.

Hongjoong watched you leave, a bemused expression on his face. He shrugged lightly and turned back to the outfit on the mannequin, admiring the final product one last time before heading back to his office. When he arrived, he found Wooyoung lounging comfortably in his chair, looking as if he belonged there.

“Sometimes I wonder if this office belongs to you or me,” Hongjoong mused, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Wooyoung grinned cheekily. “It’s not my fault your office is so comfy. Anyway, are you free tonight? I need someone to go grocery shopping with me,” he whined dramatically. “My fridge is empty, and I feel like I might starve to death.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, maybe next time. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Wooyoung’s curiosity piqued, his eyes narrowing with interest and a mischievous glint in them. “Plans? With who?”

Hongjoong hesitated for a moment, knowing where this conversation was headed. “With her,” he finally said, referring to you. “I’m taking her out to dinner to thank her for helping me with the designs.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, a playful glint appearing in them. He leaned forward, his expression full of intrigue and mischief, as if he had just discovered the juiciest piece of gossip. “Oh? Really? Just the two of you?” he teased, his voice dripping with implication.

Hongjoong sighed, deadpanning, “I know that look, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a grin spreading across his face. “So, is this a date?” he asked, stretching the last word with a teasing tone.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. “No, it’s not a date. It’s just a dinner to say thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung drawled, clearly not buying it. “You hesitated. You’ve got to admit there’s something there. The way you two have been spending time together...”

Hongjoong shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re reading too much into it. It’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner?” Wooyoung echoed, disbelief lacing his tone. “You don’t take just anyone to a fancy restaurant, do you? I mean, I can’t remember the last time you took me to a nice place, and I’m practically your best friend.”

“It’s not about the restaurant,” Hongjoong insisted, though he couldn’t help but chuckle at Wooyoung’s theatrics. “It’s about appreciating her help.”

Wooyoung leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “Sure, just dinner. But you don’t have to dress up for ‘just dinner,’ do you? Or pick her up personally? It’s almost like... I don’t know, like a date?”

Hongjoong could feel himself being cornered, yet he maintained his stance. “It’s not a date, Wooyoung. It’s a gesture of appreciation. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Wooyoung leaned in closer, his grin widening. “Oh, I see. So, if she shows up looking stunning and you two have a great time, it still won’t be a date?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dodging the question,” Wooyoung shot back, laughing. “But seriously, it’s great that you’re taking her out. You two would look good together.”

Hongjoong shook his head again, though his smile remained. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Wooyoung grinned. “But hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, let everyone think what they want. We’re just friends.”

“For now,” Wooyoung teased, his voice sing-song. “But you know, friends can become more. It’s like a... pre-date.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Pre-date?”

Wooyoung nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Like a test run. You get to see how you feel about it, how she feels about it. It’s perfect! And if it goes well, who knows? Maybe it’ll turn into something more.”

“You’re really reaching here,” Hongjoong said, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “But I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“Well, someone has to be enthusiastic about your love life,” Wooyoung quipped, grinning. “You’re too busy being all serious and professional.”

Hongjoong shook his head, still smiling. “I think I can manage my own love life, thank you very much.”

“Sure, sure,” Wooyoung replied, waving his hand dismissively. “But just remember, if it turns into a real date, I called it first.”

Hongjoong laughed, finally giving in to the lighthearted teasing. “Fine, you can have the credit if it does. But for now, it’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner,” Wooyoung repeated, still grinning. “We’ll see about that.”

Hours later, Wooyoung was proven right as he and Seonghwa found themselves in Hongjoong’s penthouse, assisting him in choosing the perfect outfit. The room was filled with various clothing options—jackets, shirts, pants—scattered across the furniture. Hongjoong stood before a full-length mirror, trying on a sleek dark blue suit that accentuated his figure.

“He kept insisting it’s not a date, but look at him now,” Wooyoung whispered to Seonghwa, chuckling as they observed Hongjoong’s meticulous attention to detail. He adjusted his tie, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Maybe he just didn’t want to admit it’s a date because then he’d have to acknowledge it’s the first time he’s taken someone to a fancy restaurant,” Seonghwa whispered back, both of them stifling laughter. The idea that Hongjoong was fussing over an outfit over an occasion he swears isn’t a date was both endearing and amusing.

Hongjoong turned to them, an unamused expression on his face. “Are you two going to help me decide which of these looks more presentable, or are you going to keep gossiping about me even when I’m right in front of you?”

“The latter,” both Wooyoung and Seonghwa replied in unison, causing Hongjoong to roll his eyes with a sigh of resignation.

“Alright, alright, let’s get serious,” Wooyoung said, standing up from the bed. He approached Hongjoong, scrutinizing the suit. The tailored fit and elegant fabric gave off a sophisticated vibe, yet it felt a bit too formal for the occasion. “Maybe something a bit less formal?” Wooyoung suggested, tilting his head in contemplation.

As Seonghwa was about to offer his opinion, his phone buzzed with a message notification. Glancing down, he saw it was from you, containing photos of two different outfits with a message.

Which one looks better?

Seonghwa smiled, knowing you hadn’t mentioned the dinner to him but aware of it nonetheless. You probably thought he was unaware of the plan. He quickly assessed the outfits you sent, noticing that the second—a chic, knee-length dress with elegant detailing—would pair perfectly with one of the outfits Hongjoong had yet to try on. Without revealing his thoughts, he texted back, “Go for the second one,” before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Hongjoong, try on the dark black suit with the silk dress shirt of the same color,” Seonghwa suggested, nodding towards the outfit laid out on the couch. The combination was stylish yet not overly formal, balancing sophistication with a touch of modern flair.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow but complied, heading to the bathroom to change. When he returned, the outfit fit him perfectly, the deep blue contrasting nicely with his complexion and highlighting his eyes. Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchanged satisfied looks.

Seonghwa walked towards him, undoing the first two buttons. Once he was done, he stepped back and nodded approvingly. “You should wear that one.”

Hongjoong looked puzzled. “Why this one?”

Seonghwa simply smiled, shaking his head. “Just trust me on this one,” he insisted, not revealing that the choice was to complement your outfit.

Meanwhile, you were at home, finishing up your preparations. After much deliberation, you had chosen the outfit Seonghwa recommended. The dress was elegant yet understated, perfect for an evening out without feeling too over the top. You sat on your bed, waiting for Hongjoong’s message, your heart fluttering with anticipation and nerves. As the clock struck 8 PM, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

I’m outside.

You quickly grabbed your purse, slipped your phone inside, and made sure to lock your apartment door before heading down to the ground floor.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the sight of Hongjoong leaning casually against his car, his eyes focused on his phone. The soft glow of the streetlights highlighted his sharp features—the strong jawline, the soft curve of his lips, and the way his hair was neatly styled. The suit he wore brought out his eyes, making them seem even more captivating in the dim light.

“Hongjoong?” you called out, your voice slightly hesitant. He looked up immediately, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, his expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance.

As you walked over to him, you could see the admiration in his eyes. He seemed momentarily taken aback by how beautiful you looked, the dress flattering your figure in all the right ways. The elegant fabric and subtle detailing accentuated your features without being too flashy. “Hi,” you greeted him, offering a shy smile.

Instead of a typical greeting, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you, and he finally spoke, his voice soft but sincere. “You look beautiful.”

You laughed lightly, feeling a flush of warmth at his compliment. “Isn’t that supposed to be an unsaid thought?”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “Not tonight, it isn’t.”

He moved to the passenger side of the car, opening the door with a gentlemanly gesture. “After you,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. You thanked him, slipping into the car, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

As the car pulled away, you found yourself gazing out the window, mesmerized by the city’s beauty. The streets were alive with lights, the architecture blending old-world charm with modern elegance. The cityscape seemed to sparkle, creating a romantic and enchanting atmosphere. “Paris is so beautiful...” you whispered, almost in awe of the city’s charm.

Hongjoong glanced over at you, smiling. “It is, isn’t it?” he agreed, his tone reflecting the warmth of your admiration.

The drive continued in comfortable silence, the city's lights creating a mesmerizing backdrop. Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of a high-end restaurant. The building exudes elegance, with large windows showcasing the warm, inviting interior. You looked over at Hongjoong, a hint of hesitation in your eyes. You weren’t used to such fancy places, and the grandeur of the setting made you feel slightly nervous.

Hongjoong noticed your unease and offered you a reassuring smile, his eyes filled with warmth. “It’s going to be great,” he said softly, his voice calming your nerves. He stepped out of the car and walked around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out.

Inside, the restaurant was elegantly decorated, with soft lighting and tasteful decor creating an intimate atmosphere. A waiter greeted you both with a warm smile. “Good evening, sir, madam. Welcome to Le Ciel de Paris,” he said, his voice professional. “May I say, you look lovely this evening, miss,” he added, glancing at you appreciatively.

Hongjoong nodded in acknowledgment, and the waiter led you to the highest floor—a stunning rooftop with a breathtaking view of the city. The night sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples, dotted with stars. A reserved table awaited you, set with fine china and candles, adding to the comforting ambiance.

As you took your seat, you couldn’t help but express your gratitude and slight apprehension. “This is all so... beautiful,” you whispered, your hands fidgeting slightly. “But honestly, Hongjoong, I really don’t think I deserve—”

Your words were cut off as Hongjoong placed his hand gently over yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “Hey,” he said softly, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve this. You’ve been amazing, and I wanted to show my appreciation.”

The sincerity in his voice eased your worries, and you nodded, smiling gratefully. Just then, the waiter approached your table, ready to take your orders. “Good evening. May I start you off with something to drink?” he asked, his pen poised over his notepad.

Hongjoong glanced at you, then back at the waiter. “We’ll have a bottle of your finest white wine, please,” he said, and the waiter nodded, jotting it down.

“And for the main course?” the waiter inquired, looking between the two of you.

Hongjoong smiled at you. “What would you like? Do you have any preferences?”

You looked at the menu, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the options, none of which were familiar to you. “I haven’t tried any of these before... I think I’ll just have whatever you recommend,” you said, smiling sheepishly.

Hongjoong nodded understandingly, then turned to the waiter. “She’ll have the grilled sea bass with lemon herb sauce, and I’ll have the filet mignon with truffle butter,” he ordered confidently, choosing dishes he thought you would enjoy.

The waiter nodded, noting down your orders. “Excellent choice, sir. Your meals will be out shortly,” he said, giving a polite bow before leaving.

As the evening continued, you and Hongjoong indulged in light conversation, gradually easing into more personal topics. You took a sip of your wine and asked, “So, how are you feeling now that Fashion Week is drawing closer? I know there’s still a few months left, but it’s not as far as it used to be.”

Hongjoong leaned back slightly, exhaling softly. “Honestly? I do feel a little pressured and stressed out. The beginning of the process was quite overdue, which has added some tension,” he confessed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his responsibilities.

Hearing this, you immediately felt a pang of guilt. You were acutely aware that the delay was partly due to the time it took for you to return his sketchbook. “I’m so sorry about the sketchbook... I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble or delay,” you began, your voice tinged with regret.

But Hongjoong quickly shook his head, raising a hand to stop you. “No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault at all. I completely understand why it took a while. You had your own reasons, and I respect that,” he assured you, his tone gentle and understanding. “Besides, I’m grateful it was you who found it. The sketches are as personal as they are professional, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to return them.”

He then shifted the conversation, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “As for my goals for Fashion Week, I’m really aiming to showcase something unique. I want my collection to tell a story—something that resonates on a deeper level with people. I’ve been working on integrating sustainable practices into the designs, focusing on eco-friendly materials and innovative techniques. It’s a challenge, but it’s important to me. I want to highlight not just fashion but also a message about sustainability and conscious consumerism.”

You listened intently, impressed by his dedication and vision. “That sounds amazing. It’s great that you’re thinking about the bigger picture, not just the fashion itself but the impact it has on the world. It’s a refreshing approach in an industry that can sometimes seem so detached from these issues,” you responded, your admiration evident in your voice. “It’s inspiring to see someone so committed to their values and willing to take on the challenge of integrating them into their work.”

Hongjoong smiled, appreciating your support and understanding. “Thank you. It’s definitely a journey, but it’s one I’m passionate about. There’s a lot of work to be done, but I believe it’s worth it.”

As the conversation naturally flowed, Hongjoong turned the focus back to you, his expression curious and concerned. “How have you been handling the sudden exposure to the media? It must be a big change for you.”

You sighed, glancing around the restaurant. You noticed a fair portion of the other diners occasionally glancing in your direction. It was hard to tell if they were looking at Hongjoong, you, or perhaps both of you. The attention felt overwhelming, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Hongjoong noticed your unease and seemed to read your thoughts. “They’re definitely looking at you,” he said, a wry smile on his lips. “People are still curious about you. The media has been persistent, trying to learn more about your background.”

You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s quite a lot to take in,” you admitted, your voice carrying a hint of anxiety. “Honestly, it’s a bit scary. What often happens with people who suddenly go viral is that the media and the public can switch up on them. One moment you’re the person everyone wants to know about, and the next, they’re tearing you down for no reason. I can’t help but worry about that, about what people might say or think. There’s probably already hate comments about me out there, and it’s just... unsettling.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his gaze sincere and reassuring. “I understand your concerns, but you shouldn’t waste your time or energy worrying about those people,” he said firmly. “There will always be people who are negative or try to bring others down, especially online where it’s so easy to hide behind anonymity. But what matters is how you handle it. You’ve been genuine and true to yourself, and that’s all anyone can ask for. The people who care about you and respect you will see that, and they’re the ones whose opinions truly matter. The rest is just noise.”

His words were comforting, a reminder to focus on the positive and not let negativity overshadow your experiences. Just as you were about to respond, the waiter arrived with your meals, expertly setting down the plates before you. The aroma of the food was enticing, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the delicious meal in front of you.

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, then turned to Hongjoong with a smile. “And thank you, Hongjoong, for this lovely dinner. It’s really thoughtful of you.”

He smiled warmly. “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad we could spend this evening together.”

You took your first bite of the grilled sea bass, savoring the delicate flavors. The lemon herb sauce complemented the fish perfectly, creating a harmonious and delightful taste. You looked up at Hongjoong, your eyes shining with delight. “This is really good! You definitely recommended the right dish.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Hongjoong said, his smile broadening. “I wanted you to have a good experience here.”

Curious, you asked, “Do you come here often?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I usually only come here when Wooyoung or Seonghwa or both invite me to dinner. I rarely go to extravagant places alone. I prefer staying home or in the office, losing myself in work. It’s just more comfortable for me that way, I guess.”

The evening seemed to slip away like sand through your fingers. Before you knew it, you were seated comfortably in Hongjoong’s car, the soft hum of the engine a soothing backdrop as he began the drive to your apartment. The day’s events, from the delightful meal to the heartfelt conversations, had left you pleasantly exhausted. As you gazed out the window, watching the city lights blur past, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Hongjoong glanced over, noticing your drowsiness.

“You can sleep if you want to,” he offered kindly, his voice a soft murmur. “I’ll wake you up when we reach your apartment.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it would be alright to take up his offer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

He smiled gently, reassuring you with a calm, “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s no trouble at all.”

Relieved, you returned his smile and shifted in your seat, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window. As your eyes fluttered closed, the rhythmic motion of the car lulled you into a peaceful slumber. Hongjoong kept his focus on the road, but every now and then, he glanced over at you, noting your serene expression. As the car came to a halt at a red light, he took the opportunity to gently remove his blazer and drape it over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable. For a brief moment, he found himself mesmerized by your features, a sense of quiet admiration washing over him. A stray strand of your hair fell across your face, and without thinking, he reached out with the intention to brush it away. Just as his fingers were about to touch your skin, the light turned green, pulling him back to reality. He quickly withdrew his hand, clearing his throat and refocusing on the road.

As Hongjoong navigated the familiar streets leading to your apartment, he gently tapped your shoulder three times, rousing you from your nap. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, until your eyes met his. The warmth in his gaze instantly put you at ease. “We’re almost there,” he informed you, a soft smile on his lips.

You nodded, slowly coming back to full awareness. It was then that you noticed his blazer draped over you, the scent of his perfume subtly filling your senses. It carried a complex blend of fruity, floral, and musky notes. Grateful for the warmth, you pulled the fabric closer, a small, appreciative smile gracing your lips.

Upon reaching your apartment building, Hongjoong exited the car first, walking around to your side to open the door. He extended his hand, helping you out of the car. “Thank you,” you murmured, taking his hand and stepping out gracefully. You took a moment to straighten the slight wrinkles in your dress, feeling a bit more composed.

Just as you were about to express your gratitude, a familiar feline figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The cat leaped up, not into your arms as expected, but into Hongjoong’s, causing him to let out a small gasp of surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him awkwardly adjusting his grip to properly hold the cat.

“Looks like Pompidou missed you,” you remarked with a fond smile, tilting your head as you watched the scene unfold.

Hongjoong chuckled, a mix of amusement and affection in his eyes as he gently petted the cat. “I can definitely picture you being mischievous now,” he cooed, lightly tapping the tip of Pompidou’s nose with his index finger.

An idea sparked in your mind. You quickly pulled out your phone, taking a few steps back to capture the candid moment. Hongjoong, caught in the act of playing with the cat, looked both charming and endearing. You snapped a photo, giggling softly to yourself before putting your phone away.

“You have a kind soul,” you whispered, almost to yourself, as you observed Hongjoong. “That must be why Pompidou likes you.”

As if on cue, the cat suddenly jumped down from Hongjoong’s arms and trotted towards the entrance of your apartment building. Hongjoong watched the feline’s departure with a soft smile, then turned back to you.

“It looks like it’s time for you to go inside,” he said gently, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you prepared to bid him farewell. “Thank you for tonight, Hongjoong. It was really wonderful. And thank you for letting me help out with your designs. It was a great way to distract myself from everything that’s been going on,” you said sincerely, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I’ll definitely make sure to return the favor.”

He shook his head, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “You don’t need to. Your presence is enough for me,” he said, then quickly added, waving his hands as if to clarify, “I mean, you’re a really great friend. It’s nice to have you around.”

The term “great friend” resonated with you, touching a part of your heart that hadn’t felt such warmth in a long time. You smiled softly, a heartfelt look in your eyes. “I’m glad you think of me that way,” you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

With that, you exchanged goodbyes, Hongjoong standing by until you safely entered your building. As the door closed behind you, you watched from the lobby as he walked back to his car, giving you one last wave before driving away. You stood there for a moment, reflecting on the evening’s events and the unexpected bond you were forming with Hongjoong. The night had been more than just a distraction; it was a step towards something new and meaningful, leaving you with a warm, lingering feeling as you made your way up to your apartment.

Once you were back home, you quickly settled on the floor with your journal in hand, leaning your back against the bed. The quiet of your apartment contrasted with the eventful day you had, and you felt a comforting sense of calm wash over you. As you opened your journal, the blank pages seemed to invite you to pour out your thoughts and feelings. You began writing, your pen flowing across the paper.

The past few days have been really eventful, thanks to Hongjoong. At first, practicing the ins and outs of sewing was proving itself to be quite the struggle, but I was lucky enough for him to lend me a helping hand with zero judgment. Honestly, I still feel a little embarrassed over offering to help while being well aware I barely knew how a sewing machine operates... But anyway, when I got used to it, I wasted no time in helping him out with one of his designs for his upcoming collection for autumn. We finished it today, and I think it’s safe to say that it turned out great.

He insisted on treating me to a celebratory dinner tonight, and while I had initial hesitance since fancy places weren’t exactly my style, I think his presence helped me get more comfortable with it over the minutes we spent there. He said I was a great friend, too, and I have to say that it was really heartwarming. I can’t even count how many years have passed since the last time someone called me that...

But overall, I had a lot of fun today, and hopefully, I’ll continue to.

🪞 — lividstar.

[interpolanticssuperfan]

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 1 | 18+ only

warnings: this will eventually contain smut so please be mindful. part of my goal is to explore ken developing a relationship with a human who struggles with their own vices, and doesn't feel qualified to teach him how to be human. i'd consider this slow burn with obviously eventual relationship fluff and smut (this includes ken doing things like drinking alcohol for the first time, having sexual experiences for the first time, etc.) not sure how many parts this will be but i will keep everyone updated!

also - my main is @snuffbby i just didnt feel comfortable posting it there, but you can follow me there if you want to chat or ask questions about this ongoing work. thanks <3 <3

Meeting Ken was actually a complete and unforeseen fluke – not on your part, it’s not like you were looking for him. 

Frankly, you weren’t looking for anything at this point in your life. Burnt out, at the end of your rope with men and content to enjoy your own company in the comfort of your apartment, happy to work your menial clerical job for the rest of your life until a better paying career fell into your lap.

Or whatever.

You didn’t really care. As odd as it sounded, you were thankful right now for boring. For humdrum chores, for cleaning the kitchen and brainlessly answering emails for eight hours a day until your joints ached. 

Having been out of college for four years now, you’d put in a decent tenure at your current company doing data entry. It wasn’t challenging and afforded you plenty of freedom in your schedule. That being said, most days were seamless copies of one another – wake up, feed your guinea pig, stretch on the tiny sliver of patio out front, then head to the library down the road to work until your eyes crossed from screen fatigue. 

Nothing really ever changed. Yogurt for breakfast every morning. Repeated motions of the only three yoga poses you knew. Even your guinea pig seemed to look at you with confusion sometimes when you fed her, tiny eyes ogling up at you from her spacious enclosure.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you’d mutter, dropping in romaine lettuce and pellets for her. And after every complaint, she would twirl in a circle, waiting for her daily brushing.

The library was a godsend on these hot summer days, air conditioned and quiet. You didn’t even need headphones, but preferred them to focus. The secretary stopped asking if she could help you find anything when she realized you’d become a regular patron of the modern looking white table near the massive windows.

“Good morning, Pat,” you’d smile as you passed, and she’d give you a little wave, usually on the phone with someone or engrossed in a book of her own. 

Updating spreadsheets. Notifying supervisors of progress. Nearly nodding off at eleven thirty. It had been shaping up to be an entirely normal, predictable, cut and dry day. Until a silhouette by the front desk grew bigger, approaching your peripheral and then flat out startling you. Numbers and figures had started to blur together, so you blinked hard and shut your laptop – just to find an incredibly curious sight across from you.

Sat comfortable and cross-legged in the opposing chair was one of, if not the most objectively attractive men you’d ever seen in your entire life. Pretty in a way that bordered on unnatural, like a living sculpture. A long, denim-clad arm splayed out lazily along the back of the chair. 

This man gave you a calculated yet warm smirk that danced across his features. Bleached blonde like a model and face angled, glazed in sunlight that inched through the windows. He was something straight out of a fairytale – picturesque, almost glowing.

Where had he come from?

“Is this seat taken?” Inexplicably you felt the back of your neck heating up, a ring of sweat forming around your collar where your necklace was clasped. It seemed to sear into your skin as you fumbled over your words, deciding what to say to the stranger who’d placed himself in front of you like an apparition. 

“I… no, I’m here by myself. Working, I’m, uh. Just working.” Strangely, you noticed him make a fist to himself, concealed partly by the table, but his gesture of victory was obvious, as if he’d just won a bet or something. The blonde composed himself then with a twitch of his neck, nodding evenly, instantaneously cool as a cucumber again. His bright blue eyes studied you, your laptop and planner on the desk, your bag hanging across the arm of the chair. You’d never needed the air conditioning to be effective more so than this moment. Crank it way up – igloo this place all the way.

“Excellent. My name’s Ken.” Big blue eyes finally locking with yours, he puffed his chest out, like a purple and green speckled peacock trying to attract a mate with his confidence, his easy bravado. Though it was difficult to ignore the openness – the curiosity in his eyes as he took you in. 

Like it was his first time talking to a woman, or at least trying to do… whatever he was doing right now with you. 

You felt that your instincts would warn you if this neatly manicured man was making you uneasy or frightened, but you didn’t notice an inkling of displeasure. On the contrary, it was almost electrifying to be stared at like this. Flattering. 

Had been months, almost a year since anyone paid attention to you like this.

“Ken?” Unable to stop the laugh, you tilted your head sideways, scooting your chair back to get a better look at him. “I don���t think I’ve ever met a Ken. Wait – I’m sorry, that’s not true. My dad’s boss was named Ken. But you wouldn’t, um. You wouldn’t know him. At least I don’t think so, I have no idea where you’re from. He was an engineer, this senior engineer for a huge company in New Jersey… we don’t keep in touch, he’s sort of an asshole.” You found yourself rambling on as you drank this surprising man in, freely sharing details about yourself without even telling him your name first. 

But what an interesting view he was. Painted still with this deeply intoxicating smile, pupils darting and eager like an energetic puppy. 

“I am not from New Jersey. But I’m sorry the other Ken was – what did you call him?”

“An... asshole?”

“Yes, I’m sorry he was that.” Your long winded introduction didn’t seem to bother him one bit. He kept his gaze unmoving right on your face, like he was terrified to break eye contact.

You eyed his white cowboy boots (did people still wear those?), black leather pants that hugged his legs like a gift from the heavens, and a long sleeved white denim jacket that appeared to be cropped, revealing just a hint of his lower stomach, and when you caught your eyes lingering for just too long on the tanned patch of skin peeking out, you sighed, shutting yourself up. 

You couldn’t shake one thing, though; leather and denim on a day like this? It was nearly ninety outside, you remembered, and cocked your head at him.

“Oh, I was talking about my dad, not his boss. And I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Ken replied, studying you to gauge your reaction to his compliment. It was clear Ken was attempting to hit on you, and it was equal parts unfamiliar and gratifying. 

“Thank you. I’ve never had anyone say that about my name.” Ken winced as if shot through the heart, his flawless eyebrows flying up to his flawless hairline, and he clutched at the buttons on his jacket. This display would have probably seemed incredibly dramatic on any other man, but for some reason it read as… serious on Ken.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“Well, I really appreciate your honesty, Ken.”

“It’s no problem at all. I would never lie to you. Not in a hundred million years.”

Very heartfelt words coming from someone you’ve known for all of… four minutes, generously. 

You quirked your head, caught off guard by his comment. “I… thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you over… here? To sit with me, I mean?”

This caused a beam to unfold across Ken’s face, and he leaned back in the chair, perching his chin up so as to look professional. “Can I tell you the truth?” 

“Well. Yes, I’d like that.”

“I saw you here last week. On – what’s the one that starts with an ‘F’?” Ken screwed his eyes shut, scanning his brain meticulously for a piece of very common, everyday information. 

This is a bizarre way to flirt with someone for the first time, you thought to yourself, bewilderment sinking into your gut as you helpfully offered, “Friday?”

“Yes! That’s it. Friday,” He uttered to himself and dropped his eyes, seemingly making a mental note. “So, I saw you here Friday. You were getting a book from right over there.” Ken pointed to the magazine rack nestled against the front desk that you once in awhile perused when the weekend approached, for lack of anything better to do at home.

You had checked out a magazine last Friday, in fact, after you clocked out for the day and packed up your things. It wasn’t anything special, just a stupid crossword puzzle collection with a recipe for a quiche you wanted to try making.

“You saw me on Friday and didn’t say anything?” 

“Exactly. You got the magazine, and then you walked home, and I didn’t know what to say because you were already inside. So then I walked back here – the library – and waited in case you came back. But that rude lady up there told me they were closing at nine, so I had to leave. Actually, she told me a little more than that. She said that I couldn’t loiter, whatever that is, but I was free to check out a book, so I asked her what book you had just gotten. But she didn’t want to tell me that for some reason.”

Ken recounted this like he was describing the weather with a colleague, just simple, redundant water cooler talk. Your jaw hung open in disbelief. Was he being serious? You’d finished work at four thirty. He sat here, allegedly for hours until it closed? 

He’d followed you home?

Before you could interject with a dozen questions flying through your mind, Ken continued. 

“Anyway, I thought about walking back to your house – and you have a big house, by the way! I had a feeling you would. You seem like a very successful lady. That’s why I had to meet you. Successful, captivating, beautiful, I couldn’t just go all the way back to Barbieland after I saw you!”

Had he mistook your apartment complex to be something you owned? And – what did he just say?

“Go back. To Barbieland.” You stated, smile faltering quicker than Ken managed to absolutely stun you with his fanatical tale.

“Right? I knew you would understand. I just knew you would, (Y/N)! Not to mention how long it took me to get here in the first place. So after security kicked me out –”

“Hold on, I’m sorry. I just… Ken?”

“Yes, my dove?” Ken’s taken to periodically toying with his jacket in positions that display his pronounced biceps. It’s endearing. It’s distracting. He’s stiflingly mesmerizing.

“Okay. Can we back up for a moment?”

Ken’s wide eyes regard you with infinite patience, wisps of his almost silver-like bangs falling against his brow bone. You remember that it’s only noon, and you’re still technically on the clock. In fact, your supervisor is almost certainly trying to get ahold of you for his midday rounds, checking on your team’s progress for the day. 

“Ask me anything you want. I am an open book. Especially for you.” He enunciates each syllable, adoring eyes raking over you again, and it’s beginning to feel a bit too much – and there’s a lot more information you need to derive from Ken before you can backpedal to… introductions and amicable conversation. (Not to mention the curling heat that’s pooling in your lower abdomen the more Ken devours you visually. He may have just dropped a bomb on you, yes, but he’s… well. He’s bewitching, alluring in a fashion that’s barely comprehensible.)

“Right. Here’s where I’m at. With all of this. I am very flattered by you, and your… dedication to finding me.” 

Ken’s grin overtakes his face, eye lines wrinkling with complete satisfaction. You almost forget your next words, forget to draw a line in the sand with this (gorgeous) stranger who’s just admitted to essentially stalking you.

But somehow, the pit in your stomach ceases its knotting when you meet his honest cobalt eyes. Not a hint of malice behind them, not a shred of ill intention. Not for the first time since you’d met Ken, you’re astounded that with any other man this behavior would scare you, probably compel you to call the police, even. Maybe you’d misjudged him.

He forgot the word for Friday, for Christ’s sake. 

But then there was this talk about traveling a long way to come here… about Barbie? This didn’t sit right with you, and the concept that Ken might be mentally unwell dawned on you, though he seemed coherent and relatively well spoken. Just a half hour ago you’d been toiling away with spreadsheets, and now you were silently cataloging all psychiatric facilities within a ten mile radius, wondering if a man of average height and average build could walk that far on a sweltering hot day. And still look, for lack of a better word, perfect. 

As you sat agonizing over the right words to say, Ken merely watched with his hands in his lap, boot tapping against his knee with no discernible rhythm. Patient with an emotion akin to devotion swimming through his watchful gaze.

“Ken… where are you staying?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Where have you been staying while you’ve been in town? Do you live around here?”

Ken smirked again, leaned in close to you, resting his elbows on your work laptop. “There’s that humor I like about you. Silly girl. I already told you, I live in Barbieland. It takes me seven hours to get here!”

“Okay. Right. So, let’s try this. Friday when I went home and you came back here. You remember that?”

“Uh huh,” Ken bobbed his head with sincerity, unfazed by this line of questioning, not picking up on how perturbed you’d grown.

“Where did you sleep that night? Do you know anyone here?”

Ken took his bottom lip in between his teeth, thoughtfully chewed on it. “Besides you, I don’t think so. The book lady who kicked me out doesn’t count as knowing someone. Right?”

“...Probably not. So where did you sleep?” You didn’t have the heart to tell Ken he didn’t really know you.

“I didn’t.”

“Sleep. You didn’t sleep?”

“No one’s asked me that before. I don’t really… get tired.” This confession strikes you as highly strange.

Your head began to feel fuzzy, and you guessed it wasn’t from skipping breakfast this morning. At least the sweat on your back had finally dried, and you inhaled deeply, trying not to startle Ken with your obvious worries.

“How about we do this. As you can see, I’m working right now,” you open your hand towards your long forgotten computer. “Well, I was working. And I’m not done for a few hours. But I think that we need to sit and talk about… everything. That you’ve told me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just wait here with you until you’re done! Look – I wanted to show you this. I even got a book before you got here.” Ken seems excited to share, so you purse your lips, watch him as he procures a book from underneath his chair. 

Ken holds out and frames a well worn paperback titled “Misty of Chincoteague”, frayed at the edges and featuring a wistful painting of a horse on the cover. For some reason, this childlike display of wonder touches you, and against all reason you’d ever acquired throughout your life, something nags at your conscience to trust this strange man – something tells you, like a mantra beating in time with your heart, that this man is not a threat to you, he is not going to hurt you.

“Are you a horse lover?”

“I’m more of a horse admirer… they intrigue me,” Ken quips, scanning your face again to see how you’re reacting to him. He seems to be at once keenly self aware and simultaneously oblivious to how he sounds – how he’s received by others. This man is a conundrum, made up of so many conflicting personality traits and mannerisms that don’t belong together but mesh nonetheless. 

And, you tell yourself, you’re still giving him your undivided attention.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”

“Really?” Ken’s act of unbothered macho-man seems to slip slightly as his eyes bulge, intently seeking for validation, wanting to hear you talk more about him, your impression of him so far. Maybe this is the way to get more information out of him, you realize, so you humor him.

“Not at all, Ken. Tell you what – why don’t you come back with me to my ap… my house, and you can tell me more about the things you like? Would you like that?”

In the minutes since you’d begun talking to him, Ken shone brighter than ever, practically buzzing with enthusiasm, gilded with a golden halo from the unrepentant sun as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Perfect. You lead the way, I’m ready whenever you are!”

[haihaihaitani]

365 Days of Certified Cuteness ~ *Chifuyu Matsuno*

Summary: You have no idea what to get Chifuyu for his birthday. Luckily Pete J has you covered.

Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 875

Warning: Mentions lingerie

Masterlist

Chifuyu’s birthday was coming and for the longest time, you had no idea what to get him. He always claimed he didn’t need anything, that being yours and spending time with you was a gift enough. However, your love language is gift giving and you were determined to find the perfect present for your hard-to-shop-for boyfriend. You just needed to trust your skills, which was easier said than done.

That’s when it struck you; literally.

Chifuyu was out with the rest of the gang and you offered to cat-sit for him. It wasn’t a problem, as Peke J loved you almost as much as he loved Chifuyu. As you were playing with the adorable kitty, he struck the most adorable pose you have ever seen in your entire life. You were reaching for your phone to take a picture to send to your boyfriend when you paused. What better present could you give him for his birthday than three hundred and sixty five days of guaranteed adorable photos of his beloved Peke J? It was an absolutely genius plan!

As soon as it entered your head, you got to work.

First, you went through your camera roll of old photos of Peke J to use for special events and the occasional Throwback Thursday. When that was done and you had a good start on the collection of photos, you scooped up the sweet cat and started taking staged pictures of him that looked like candid shots. Chifuyu would never know that these pictures were pre-planned in the first place.

At first, Peke J was a willing participant. He flashed the cutest eye and always angled his head just right to get the best shot. But after the first thirty or so pictures you decided to keep, he started to get grumpy. You couldn’t blame him, so you called it a night and fed him lots of yummy treats to quell his temper. He warmed up to that idea and took full advantage of your generosity until Chifuyu returned from his night out. He was none the wiser about your present idea and thanked you for cat-sitting.

In the week leading up to his birthday and subsequent party, you could tell he was getting suspicious of you. He was especially suspicious when you asked to borrow his cat on more than one occasion. You knew it sounded weird when you asked to spend time with Peke J instead of him. When you weren’t taking photos of the rambunctious cat, you were editing all of the photos together in a half-calendar, half-photobook. Everything had to be perfect, from the pictures, to the colors, to the layout of each page. You were not going to mess this up!

Finally, after eight days of preparations, and just three hours before Chifuyu’s party, you were putting the final touches on the wrapping that would hold your present. The package was immaculately wrapped and you used a fluffy bow to tie it all together.

With pride filling your chest, you made your way to Chifuyu’s apartment. His birthday party was a simple, intimate affair. You expected nothing less, as he was never one for big flashy parties. Upon your arrival, you were pulled into the fray. You mingled and joked with the rest of his gang of friends, and even gave Peke J some scratches for good luck.

As he opens his presents, you insist he wait until everyone leaves to open yours. Of course, this opens the door to the idea you bought skimpy lingerie just for him. You neither confirm, nor deny it, which makes Chifuyu blush like crazy.

When the party begins to wind down and everyone leaves, you take the last bottle of wine that’s half-finished and pick up your present. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you sit next to Chifuyu on his couch.

“This is for you.”

He looks at it for a split-second before glancing back at you. “It’s not really lingerie is it?”

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s not. The boys were benign stupid. Just open it already!”

When he did, his jaw dropped to the floor. On the cover was his favorite photo of the three of you. “Is this…?”

You nod and scoot closer. “It’s both a calendar and a photo album. Each picture has a little description too. I made it all by myself. I hope you like it.”

“Like it?” Gently setting the book to the side, he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“Just being yours is enough.” You toss one of his usual lines back at him.

He laughs and the two of you spend the next couple hours drinking and flipping through the photos. He compliments Peke J on his fine modeling skills and you swear you saw the cat puff up with pride at his words.

Then Chifuyu grabs a pen and marks the date in between your birthdays and you frown.

“What’s that for?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He winks.

When that day came, he paid you back for the book tenfold, in the form of a luxury vacation and a little velvet box. Of course you said yes.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A black and white tuxedo cat with a bowtie emerges from the Matrix-green screen of a laptop and stands in the keyboard looking adorably up at us.Text reads, “194, ROSWELL, the small god of CATS ON THE INTERNET”]

* * * * *

I’M ON UR INTERNET, STEALIN UR BANDWIDTH.

Simple images on a screen, block text marching across the tops and bottoms.  I CAN HAZ CHEESEBURGER?  MONORAIL CAT IS READY FOR LAUNCH.  WE CAN’T STOP HERE, THIS IS BAT COUNTRY.  OH HAI.

They were here before the internet began.  Capturing the images of cats has always been a human preoccupation.  We’d say the cats don’t care as much, but…the cats POSE.  Could the cats pose if they didn’t care?

What we don’t realize is that they aren’t posing for us.  They’re posing for Roswell, hoping to gain his fleeting favor.

When a cat is uploaded to Instagram or to Twitter or to Facebook, Roswell is there, studying the angle of their whiskers, the gleam of their eyes.  He sees the cats in costumes, the cats in ridiculous positions, the cats in need of better care, and he favors them all, for all of them are his.

In recent years, his favor has extended to turning eyes toward the rescues, toward the goopy-eyed kittens and the abandoned nursing mothers, the ones who may not be as photogenic, but are all the more in need of attention, love and care.  He wants them all to thrive, to appear as the star of some human’s life in their natty bowtie and carefully chosen name.  They’re all stars.  He wants to help them shine.

I’M ON UR INTERNET, STEALIN UR HEART.

We all serve Roswell, one way or another.  We all feed into the endless hunger for the cats he carries, and we can all be his beloveds, if only we listen, and we pay attention, and we post.  Our likes and shares feed him, and by feeding him, we feed the cats he cares for, from the social media influencer with eight million followers and a diet of raw minced tuna to the goopy kitten fighting to grow up big and strong and lasting.  We all serve him, and we should count ourselves lucky to do so.

CAN I HAZ—

Yes, Roswell.  Yes.

You CAN haz cheeseburger.

[tenderjock]

a thousand words

OR, eight photographs Director Carter has in her office.

ONE | Steve.

TWO | A group shot of the Howling Commandos, with a scrawl across the top corner in red pen that reads Howlies in [CROSSED OUT], Feb 1944. There's not much background to speak of; the gaggle of armed, muddy men take up the entire photograph. Captain America is standing dead center, smiling with just the corners of his mouth, Sgt. Barnes to his right hand with a cavalier angle to his head. A row of men kneels in a line in front of him, and more line up on each side.

One of the men kneeling is visibly smaller, less muscular, than the rest, and suspiciously clean-shaven although no less covered in mud. She's grinning with all her teeth at the camera and holding a MP40 with casual grace.

THREE | A gilt-framed photograph of her brother, Michael, in his military uniform, taken before his first death.

FOUR | Technically a clipping from a newspaper: Angie at the opening night curtain call of her first real on-Broadway show, holding a bouquet of dark roses and smiling ear to ear.

FIVE | It's a candid, really, taken in the booth of a bar somewhere in Manhattan near SHIELD's original New York headquarters. They're all outrageously drunk. Jack's slouching in his seat, an arm thrown around the back of the booth and bracketing Peggy's shoulders. He's giving someone behind the camera the what-for, and Daniel is laughing, open-mouthed and crinkle-eyed, at whatever he's saying.

Peggy is staring directly into the camera's lens, drawn up with her spine perfectly straight and a stern expression on her face. It's somewhat marred by the fact that she's wearing a man's hat that is too big for her and has tipped down over one ear.

SIX | A Miss Carter in her mid-forties, gray streaking her dark hair and a fashionably appropriate evening gown adorning her body. Miss Carter is posing for the camera, tipping her glass in a toast to Ana Jarvis, who is winking gayly at her. Half a dozen familiar faces litter the background of the shot, all invitees to Howard Stark's wedding - which happens to be both his first wedding and his last.

SEVEN | A color photograph, this one, taken for LIFE magazine, of Barbara Thompson and Director Carter pouring over a map of the United States. Nothing of the documents they're looking at is visible, but Mrs. Thompson is gesturing, one hip leaned against the table. Carter is looking up at her, red lips slightly pursed. To Carter's right, slightly out of focus, Agent Fury is standing with his hands on his hips, listening as well.

EIGHT | Aunt Peggy, well into her seventies, with her hands on Sharon's shoulders. They're at a gun range; both of them have on protective headsets and goggles. Sharon's holding a loaded pistol and wearing an apprehensive expression. Peggy is smiling, sly and knowing.

[im-not-batman]

For the ask WIP game

Spideypool falling please 😊

Oh I LOVE this one!

It's a 5+1 of spideypool falling for eachother and then Falling For Eachother. Featuring Dadpool because I'm a big fan of his work (Ellie).

"It really creeps me out when you do that, Webs." Wade said, sinking deeper into Peter's beat-up couch and kicking his fluffy-sock-clad feet up onto the other half of it that Peter was perched above. "I like sitting up here, sends all the blood to my brain so that I can beat you quicker," Peter reasoned and as if on queue the tinny TV speaker announced yet another victory. "You're such an asshole, Baby Boy," Wade smirked up at him, sounding more proud than annoyed. He threw a couple of M&Ms up for Peter to catch in his mouth, "do the other heros know how much of an asshole their comrade is?" Around his mouthful of chocolate and peanuts, he grinned, "I save all my worst bits for you, Wade." It was true too. He always felt like he needed to pose and posture around his fellow superheroes. Even though he'd come into his own as Spider-man over the last ten years, he still yearned for their approval and strived for their respect. Around Wade though, there was no need to pretend he was any better than he actually was. He didnt feel the need to constantly be on his best behaviour. Peter let his sass and sarcasm, disdain and irritation, good moods, bad moods and everything inbetween run rampant around Deadpool. And he never felt like he was being judged or evaluated. Just admired. Ecouraged even. "I'm touched," he said, throwing up another handful of M&Ms. This time Peter didn't react quick enough, lost in thought, and missed them.

Instead Wade caught the chocolates in his own mouth. Which shouldn't have been a thing but Peter's brain was making it a thing. He couldn't figure out if it was the ease with which he caught them – Peter's attraction to competency rearing it's ugly head – or the fact that the M&Ms were intended for his mouth and were now in Deadpool's. Either way, Peter's brain was doing some sort of horny gymnastics to rationalise it as tonsil tennis by-proxy. He watched Wade's throat bob as he swallowed. Peter's concentration was decidedly broken. He slipped. Usually that wouldn't be an issue; usually he'd have fallen from a much greater height and thus had more time to catch himself. But he was hanging from the ceiling this time. Granted, it was a relatively high ceiling, but not high enough. He let out an indecipherable jumble of a scream/shout/warning and Wade managed to dive out of the crash zone in time to not be knocked out by a 170 pound moron. When Peter didn't feel the heavy, throbbing pain of head trauma, he managed to gather his wits enough to realise that his head hadn't made contact with anything.

After another moment, he realised that Wade had seemingly managed to get his hand between Peter's skull and the floor. He still found himself uncomfortably contorted - half on the couch, half off, in a sort of human pretzel situation - but Wade had reacted in enough time to keep his head from cracking against the ground. And he was still holding him that way.

Peter's brain stopped working again. "Sorry," Wade said, trying to right the hero so that he was no longer lying at a downward 45 degree angle with legs akimbo, "Dad reflexes."

Peter wanted to scream. "You're apologising for saving me from a concussion?" Peter attempted to tease but it fell flat when he saw Wade's face, "Are you okay?" He let out a choked laugh, "Am I okay?" He asked incredulously, "you just fell eight feet." "And yet you're the one looking a bit loopy," Peter half laughed but wasn't able to keep the worry from seeping into his tone. "You scared the shit outta me, thought you were gonna go splat!" Deadpool justified. "From that height? Child's play. If I'd splatted, I'd have deserved it." It was a joke but Wade didn't seem to find it funny. "You should look after yourself better, Petey," he looked like he realised he was being too serious then, and his demeanor visibly shifted, "you don't regenerate, so you gotta look after that sinfully gorgeous meat suit of yours."

Ty ty for the ask! I really wanna get back into writing these two, I love them so much 🥲

Send me an ask with which of my WIPs from This Post you wanna hear about!