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yieldtotemptation · 4 months ago

Text

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.”

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?” Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

#kpop smut #somi smut #male reader

1K notes · View notes

aliyahwritings · 4 months ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (08)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 6.5k

Aliyah's Notes: i fucking hate this so much. i dont like anything about this chapter but the next chapters are gonna be yummy. hope u enjoy this trash :)

You stepped through the threshold into Rafe’s penthouse, and you were immediately struck by the space—clean, modern, and surprisingly immaculate. The quiet hum of New York City below faded, giving way to a silence you didn’t expect. The place felt polished, with clean lines and a minimalistic aesthetic that was entirely different from the messy and chaotic persona Rafe projected.

The living room opened up to an expansive view of SoHo’s city lights, stretching out in glittering rows beneath the vast windows. Soft, ambient lighting spills over sleek furniture—a large sectional couch in dark charcoal, a glass coffee table with a few tasteful magazines stacked in one corner, and a matching armchair positioned just right. Everything was so... neat. Even his shoes by the entryway were perfectly lined up.

You hesitated just inside the doorway, suddenly hyper-aware of the tension still knotted in your chest. After everything tonight, the walls of this calm, organized space almost seemed to close in around you, amplifying the turmoil still spinning inside your head.

“You can come in, you know,” Rafe’s voice broke the silence, snapping you back to the moment. He was standing beside you, watching as your eyes roved around the room. “Promise, there’s no trapdoor waiting to drop you,” he added, his attempt at humor softening his tone.

You managed a weak smile, stepping fully into the apartment. “Yeah, of course, no—uh, I guess I just… expected it to look different,” you admitted, letting your fingers drift over the cool surface of the console table by the door. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

“What did you expect?” He grinned, kicking off his own shoes and motioning for you to make yourself comfortable. “Mountain of pizza boxes? A shrine to myself?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and despite yourself, you chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Thank you.” He placed a hand over his heart with exaggerated gratitude. “I’ve put a lot of work into fooling people into thinking I’m a responsible adult.”

That got another smile out of you, and for a moment, the silence settled into something comfortable. You took a few tentative steps further into the space, letting yourself take in the polished decor, the subtle hints of personality hidden in the smallest details—a leather-bound book resting on the side table, a worn-in baseball cap hanging from a hook by the door, the faintest scent of coffee lingering in the air.

“Here, let me take your jacket,” Rafe offered, holding out a hand. His voice was calm, and there was a warmth in his eyes as he met your gaze. You hesitated, gripping the edges of your coat a little tighter before relenting, letting him slide it off your shoulders and hang it neatly by the entryway.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No problem.” He gave a gentle nod, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit for a minute? Or, if you want something to drink, I can grab you some water?”

The idea of sitting felt almost foreign to you, as if your body couldn’t settle even if you tried. “Water sounds nice,” you said, though your voice wavered as you followed him to the plush couch, perching awkwardly at the edge.

Rafe returned a moment later, handing you a glass of water. You muttered a thank you, taking a slow sip as he settled down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. For a while, the two of you just sat in silence, the soft hum of the city outside the only sound filling the space.

After a beat, Rafe broke the silence. “Wow,” he began, glancing sideways at you, “Tonight was insane.”

You nodded slowly, his words sinking in. For a moment, it felt like everything was too quiet, too still, and your mind began to race, searching for something—anything—to fill the silence.

As if sensing your discomfort, Rafe tried to lighten the mood, leaning back and stretching his arms across the couch. “So,” he started, an easy smile playing at his lips, “not to brag, but I make a mean cup of ramen. Best in New York. You hungry?”

The words landed like a trigger, setting off a wave of anxiety that you’d tried so hard to keep at bay. You felt your throat tighten, your heartbeat quickening as an overwhelming rush of emotions began to build. His casual offer had hit a nerve, and suddenly, the walls of the penthouse felt like they were closing in.

“I don’t… I don’t need anything,” you replied sharply, your voice wavering as your grip tightened around the glass of water. But Rafe’s well-meaning gaze didn’t falter, and the pressure inside you began to build, spiraling out of control.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice still gentle, still concerned, as if he wanted to make sure you were truly okay.

The question, that seemingly innocent offer, tore through you like a wound reopening. It was as if he’d taken a crowbar to a door you’d worked so hard to keep shut, prying it open until every raw, painful memory began flooding in, drowning you. Your breaths came faster, shallow, the room closing in around you as you tried to hold yourself together.

“No, I don’t want anything to eat! Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Your voice rose, sharper than you intended, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of something dark and manic. The walls seemed to close in around you as the noise in your mind grew louder and louder. “I don’t want to eat! I’m fine, okay? I don’t need anything!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in surprise, and he leaned back slightly, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Whoa, hey… I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought… maybe you’d want something, that’s all.”

His words were gentle, but they only fueled the fire. “Everyone thinks I need to eat,” you continued, almost hysterical now, your voice shaking. “It’s always about food, isn’t it? Do they think I’m starving, or that I can’t take care of myself? I don’t need anyone to tell me to eat, or to make sure I’m doing it right, or to ask if I’m hungry every five seconds. I can take care of myself. I don’t need—”

Your voice cracked, and suddenly the weight of your own words hit you, the admission cutting deeper than you’d realized. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that had finally broken free. All of the pressure, the expectations, the shame—it all came crashing down, suffocating you.

Without waiting, you shot to your feet, stumbling as you rushed toward the bathroom. Your breaths were coming in ragged gasps now, your heart hammering in your chest as you slammed the door shut behind you. The mirror loomed in front of you, but you couldn’t bear to look at your reflection, couldn’t face the hollow, haunted expression staring back at you.

Instead, you leaned over the sink, gripping the edges until your knuckles turned white, trying to keep the nausea at bay. But it was too much—the panic, the shame, the weight of Rafe’s eyes on you, seeing everything you’d tried so hard to hide. With a shaky breath, you turned away from the sink and sank to your knees, the familiar wave of nausea rising as the tears spilled over, thick and heavy.

The sound of your own sobs echoed off the tiled walls, and you buried your face in your hands, feeling the last of your composure slip away. It was a battle you’d fought alone for so long, a pain you’d hidden from everyone, even yourself. But here, in this stark, sterile bathroom, the weight of it all felt like too much to bear. The shame, the desperation, the need for control—it all crashed over you like a wave, drowning out everything else until you were left gasping for air.

Your throat burned, and the nausea twisted deep in your stomach, leaving you hunched over the toilet bowl. You gripped the sides of it, trying to will the shame away, trying to breathe through the crushing weight of panic that made it hard to even look up.

Then the door opened, and you froze, shoulders tensing as you felt his presence behind you. You wanted to scream at him to go away, to leave you alone, but before you could, you felt his hands on your back, warm and steady, rubbing gentle circles along your spine.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and calm, completely different from the usual playful, cocky tone. He crouched beside you, one hand reaching to hold your hair back, careful not to touch your face but close enough to keep it out of your way. It was a kindness you hadn’t expected—a tenderness that caught you off guard, that almost made it harder to keep from crying.

“Rafe…please…just go,” you choked out, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

But he stayed, his hand warm on your back, grounding you as your breaths came faster, rougher. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly. “I don’t care about seeing you like this. Just focus on breathing. I’ve got you.”

Your shame deepened, the tears spilling over as the familiar cycle took hold, and you couldn’t stop it. But Rafe was right there, anchoring you, holding your hair gently and murmuring quiet reassurances as you retched, his hand never leaving your back.

When the worst of it passed, you slumped forward, feeling completely spent, the last shreds of your dignity scattered. You could barely bring yourself to lift your head, and when you finally did, you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. “You…you should’ve left,” you mumbled, your voice trembling as you wiped at your cheeks with shaky hands.

Rafe ignored your words, shifting so he could reach for a washcloth by the sink. He dampened it with warm water, and before you could protest, he gently tilted your chin, dabbing at your face with a gentleness that almost broke you. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything.”

The warmth of the cloth felt soothing against your skin, and the quiet intimacy of the moment—of Rafe here, with you in your most vulnerable state—left you speechless. He wasn’t supposed to see this side of you. This was meant to be an arrangement, something on paper, and yet here he was, his touch gentle, his gaze filled with an unexpected tenderness that left you feeling more exposed than ever.

Once he finished wiping your face, he reached for a glass of water, holding it out. “Here. Just rinse. You’ll feel better,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

You managed a weak nod, your hands trembling as you took the glass. After rinsing your mouth, you set it aside, still feeling hollow and raw, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Rafe didn’t pull away. He simply stayed close, watching you with a quiet patience that made your heart ache.

Then he reached into the cabinet, pulling out a tube of toothpaste. He unscrewed the cap, squeezing a bit onto a fresh toothbrush before handing it to you. “Here,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “Trust me, it’ll help.”

His steady presence, his calm, unhurried movements, made it impossible to hide. You took the toothbrush, swallowing hard as you glanced away, barely able to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over. “You…you don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he replied, his voice a soft murmur as he leaned back against the counter, staying close without crowding you.

You closed your eyes, brushing your teeth in silence, every movement feeling surreal, like you’d stepped into someone else’s life. Rafe’s presence, his quiet support, felt too real, too genuine. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that it was—all of it. That he was truly here for you, that you weren’t alone.

When you finally rinsed and set the toothbrush aside, he reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “There,” he said, his voice warm. “Better?”

You nodded, though words felt impossible. He offered a soft smile, his hand lingering at the edge of your shoulder. “You’re okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to keep this all to yourself, you know?”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the ache of those words settle deep inside you. This was supposed to be fake—a carefully crafted arrangement, a performance for the public eye. Yet here he was, holding you in a way that felt so real it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He shook his head, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “It’s all right. You don’t need to apologize.” For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence settling around you like a gentle blanket. Then, he tilted his head toward the hallway, his voice low and warm. “Come on, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. You look exhausted.”

You nodded, the fight in you all but gone, and let him guide you down the hall.

He led you down the hallway off the living room, his hand light on your shoulder as if he was afraid to push too hard, but still determined to keep you steady. The quiet around you felt different now, no longer suffocating, but soothing. The weight of your earlier breakdown lingered, and you were acutely aware of his presence, the warmth of his hand anchoring you even as your mind replayed your outburst. But he said nothing, just kept moving forward, offering a silent comfort that, strangely, made you feel safe.

He opened the door to a room on the right, flipping on the light to reveal what appeared to be his guest room—if it could be called that. The room was filled with clutter: a stack of boxes against one wall, a few stray bags on the floor, and clothes that hadn’t quite made it into the closet. It was the only part of his home that didn’t feel curated, and you almost laughed at the mess, a strange relief filling you at the imperfection.

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed as he glanced around the room. “I, uh, haven’t really had the time to keep this room… organized,” he admitted, shooting you an apologetic smile. “Usually, it’s just storage, but—well, it has a bed.” He gestured to a neatly made bed tucked into the far corner, the only part of the room untouched by the chaos.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “No, it’s perfect.”

Rafe’s expression softened, his hand dropping to his side as he watched you. “Good. I’m glad,” he said quietly. He took a step back, giving you some space as he gestured to the dresser by the wall. “There should be some extra blankets in there if you get cold, and if you need anything else…” He hesitated, meeting your eyes. “Just let me know. I’ll be right down the hall. Or, actually,” he added, seeming to correct himself, “I’ll probably be downstairs on the couch, but I’ll leave the door open. You know, just in case.”

What he didn’t say was that he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. After seeing your outburst, and watching you throw up, he couldn’t bring himself to fully leave your side. He’d stay close enough to hear the slightest sound from your room, ready to be there if you needed him. The open door was his quiet reassurance: he wanted to be close enough to protect you, to do anything possible if the night took a turn.

You nodded, a quiet understanding passing between you. Despite everything, despite the tension and confusion that had brought you here, there was an undeniable comfort in his presence tonight.

Rafe lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching as you settled onto the edge of the bed, hands twisting nervously in your lap. You were still reeling from everything, still shaky, but the exhaustion was starting to settle in, weighing your limbs down. He looked at you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes, before he gave you a small nod and turned to go.

But just as he was about to close the door behind him, he paused. “Oh, wait. Here.” He pulled open a drawer in a nearby cabinet and took out a plain, oversized T-shirt, holding it out to you. “Thought you might want something more comfortable to sleep in.”

The kindness of the gesture caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at the shirt in his hands, your heart unexpectedly warm.

“Thank you, Rafe,” you murmured, taking the shirt from him. The fabric was soft between your fingers, worn in a way that felt comforting.

He gave a soft, almost shy smile. “Anytime. Get some rest, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he closed the door halfway, leaving it just slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the hallway casting a gentle glow across the room.

Once alone, you changed into the shirt, the fabric falling around you in a way that was oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a part of him. You slid under the blankets, pulling them up to your chin, and tried to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing. But even with the warmth of the bed and the security of the walls around you, sleep wouldn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the events of the night.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. You tossed and turned, shifting under the blankets as you tried to settle, but your mind wouldn’t quiet, the unease creeping back in. Finally, with a sigh, you sat up, clutching the edge of the blanket as you tried to weigh your options.

You could hear the faint murmur of the TV downstairs, the soft hum of sound carrying through the quiet penthouse. Something about it felt reassuring, like a reminder that you weren’t alone here, even if everything in your mind felt isolated and dark.

Almost on autopilot, you slipped out of bed and padded toward the door, pulling it open quietly as you stepped into the hallway. Your feet moved almost without thinking, carrying you toward the staircase and down into the living room, where Rafe lay sprawled on the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV. He looked comfortable, one arm draped over his head, his eyes half-closed, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows across his face.

As you approached, he noticed you, his expression shifting from surprise to a warm smile. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, sitting up a little, his tone gentle.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stopped just a few feet away. “I… I just couldn’t quiet my mind.” You hesitated, glancing at the empty space beside him on the couch. “Would you mind if I… joined you?”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he patted the cushion next to him. “Of course. Here, take a seat.”

You eased down beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence as he settled back, his arm stretching out along the back of the couch. For a while, you just sat there in silence, the quiet hum of the TV filling the space between you.

After a moment, you took a steadying breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I’m sorry… about earlier. About… the way I reacted.” Your voice trembled slightly, and you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, avoiding his eyes.

Rafe shook his head, his tone firm but gentle. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/N. Not for that.”

You managed a weak smile, feeling a twinge of relief at his understanding. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like everyone’s always watching me. Watching what I eat, what I do, how I look.” The confession felt raw, vulnerable, but sitting here with him in the dim light, it felt almost safe.

Rafe’s gaze was steady, attentive, as he listened to you, his hand resting on the back of the couch just inches from your shoulder. “I get it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what you do, someone’s waiting for you to slip up.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the understanding in his eyes. “I… I guess. I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Rafe’s expression turned thoughtful, almost pained, as he shifted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I know that feeling more than I’d like to admit. It’s like… I’m always trying to be someone for my family, or at least… the son my dad wanted. And after my mom died…” He hesitated, his voice catching slightly, and he looked away as if he was afraid to let you see the rawness in his eyes. “I guess I felt like I had to fill a space I didn’t even know how to reach.”

Your heart twisted, a soft ache blooming as you watched him open up. You saw him differently in that moment, the weight of expectations he carried, the vulnerability he kept hidden behind the confident mask he showed the world. Slowly, you reached over, placing your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “It’s not something I talk about much. But… I guess it feels different with you.” His thumb brushed against your hand, the light touch sending a warmth through you that you couldn’t ignore. There was something in his eyes, something unspoken, a tenderness you hadn’t seen before, and it made your heart beat just a little faster.

The warmth in his voice, the sincerity, made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

You managed a small smile, feeling a strange warmth settle over you. “Thank you, Rafe… for tonight. Really.”

He reached over, gently placing a hand over yours, his touch reassuring, grounding. “Anytime.” His voice was low, sincere, and the intensity in his eyes made your heart race, a warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite ignore. “I know this started out as a… as a deal, but I’d be more than happy to talk to your family, if that would help.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt a softness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in so long. No one had ever made an effort like this for you. You squeezed his hand gently, meeting his gaze with a warmth that mirrored his own. “Thank you, Rafe.”

For a long moment, you just looked at each other, the quiet intimacy of the night wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles over your hand, the warmth of his touch sending a thrill through you that you hadn’t expected. You didn’t know when it had happened, but something had shifted between you.

As the quiet settled around you, the intensity of the moment began to ease, replaced by a warmth that made you feel unexpectedly at peace. Rafe still had his hand over yours, his thumb brushing soft, idle circles across your knuckles, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he looked at you.

“What?” you asked, noticing the spark of amusement in his eyes.

He shrugged, leaning back a little, though his hand didn’t leave yours. “I don’t know… you just have this look right now. It’s kind of cute.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, right. After everything tonight, ‘cute’ is the last thing I’d call myself.”

Rafe’s smile softened, and his eyes held a kind of warmth that made your chest flutter. “No, seriously,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You’re always beautiful, but right now… it’s like you’re letting go of something. And that’s what’s cute. You’ve got this calm about you, like you’re finally breathing easy.”

You blushed at his words, warmth spreading across your face. “I… I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Say nothing,” he replied softly, his thumb still tracing small circles over your skin. “Just let me say something. I’ve been a mess lately… and I know I’ve been distant.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away. “I owe you an explanation. About ghosting. The last two weeks… I know I hurt you.”

Then, just as you were about to look away, unsure of where this was going, Rafe continued; “I’m sorry for disappearing on you. I should’ve talked to you, explained. But I didn’t know how. I still don’t really know how…” He trailed off, his voice faltering for the first time since you’d sat down. “I didn’t want to mess things up, and I thought that if I kept my distance, it’d be easier.”

The honesty in his words made something ache in your chest, but it wasn’t just frustration anymore. There was understanding there too, a quiet sympathy for the walls he had built around himself, the things he wasn’t willing to confront until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. “Why pull away?”

Rafe’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know why I do half the shit I do sometimes.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t want you to think I was using you. I didn’t want you to think this was just about the deal. Because it isn’t,” his gaze meeting yours, and the vulnerability in his eyes hit you like a wave. “Something happened,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “With my family.”

You frowned, trying to make sense of what he meant. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath, like the words were difficult to get out. “It’s about my dad—but it’s… more than that.” His fingers traced the edge of the couch, his eyes avoiding yours as he searched for the right words. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want you to think I was a mess.” He paused, then let out a humorless laugh, almost bitter. “But I am.”

Your heart sank as you watched him, the walls he had built around himself starting to crumble in front of you. Rafe’s eyes were distant now, focused on something you couldn’t see.

“My dad called me two weeks ago,” he continued, his voice tight. “He’s always… well, he's always trying to control everything. He told me I had to come to this meeting with him—something about my career and how I was handling things, how I’m not living up to the expectations he set.” He shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping him. “But that wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t just him. It was my stepmom, too. They’ve been pushing for me to change, to be more like my sister. She’s got this perfect life, the one my dad’s always wanted for me. And I don’t know how to explain it, but that day, I just… I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t keep pretending I was someone I’m not. So I shut off my phone. I just…” His voice trailed off as his hand dropped into his lap, the frustration still evident in the tension in his shoulders.

You listened in silence, the weight of his words sinking in. You had always seen Rafe as someone in control—confident, cocky, never afraid to face any challenge. But now, sitting here beside him, you saw a side of him you hadn’t expected. A side that was raw, real, and 2human.

“I couldn’t talk to you because I didn’t know how to handle it,” Rafe admitted, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “I saw your texts. All of them. I just… I didn’t know what to say. I thought if I ignored it, it would be easier. But it wasn’t. And I’m sorry. I hurt you, and I should’ve been better. I should’ve communicated. I don’t expect you to just forgive me right away, but…” He paused, taking a deep breath.

Your chest tightened as you processed everything he was saying. It wasn’t just about the deal anymore, and it never had been. It was about everything he had kept buried deep inside of him—the weight of his family’s expectations, the pressure of trying to live up to something he couldn’t even define.

“I… I don’t know what to say either,” you whispered, your voice shaking a little. “You’ve hurt me, Rafe. You disappeared for two weeks without a word, and I didn’t know why. And it wasn’t just the silence—it was the feeling that I wasn’t even worth telling the truth to.”

Rafe’s expression softened, and he looked like he might say something, but you raised your hand to stop him, needing him to understand before he tried to apologize again.

“But I get it now,” you continued, voice a little stronger. “I get that it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t because of something I did. And maybe that helps, a little. But I can’t just pretend it didn’t hurt, Rafe. I’m not that strong.”

His eyes flickered with regret, and he nodded slowly. “I know. And I’m sorry. I really am.” He was still so vulnerable, still unsure of what the next step was, but something in his eyes—something raw and genuine—made you believe him.

The room fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t the same heavy silence. There was understanding, there was pain—but there was also the unspoken possibility of moving forward. You weren’t sure where it was going, or what would happen after this, but for the first time in two weeks, you didn’t feel completely lost. You could see the cracks in him, and maybe, just maybe, you could help him heal them.

Rafe was leaning close, his hand resting over yours, fingers brushing softly. His thumb traced lazy circles across your skin, it felt like a reassurance. His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you could see the hesitation there, the uncertainty, but also the longing.

You could feel the way your body responded to him. The way your chest tightened, how your breath hitched every time his thumb brushed your hand. And then, as if something finally clicked between you both, you leaned in, closing the distance just a little bit more.

Rafe’s eyes flickered down to your lips again, and this time, there was no hesitation. His hand, still covering yours, shifted until his fingers curled gently around your wrist, guiding you closer. His breath brushed against your skin as he closed the space between you, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

You both paused, breath mingling, sharing the same fragile moment. His eyes searched yours one last time, like he was trying to read you, to make sure you were truly there with him, in this moment. And then, without another word, his lips brushed against yours—a gentle touch, hesitant, as if he was testing the waters.

But when your lips met, it was like everything inside of you unraveled. His kiss was soft but insistent, like he couldn’t hold back any longer, like this was the one thing that could break through all the tension, all the confusion, all the weight of the unspoken things. And you kissed him back without thinking, without second-guessing, as if everything inside of you had been waiting for this exact moment.

His free hand lifted, gently cupping your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek as his lips pressed harder against yours. The kiss deepened, a slow, aching rhythm that made your heart race. You could feel the emotions, the vulnerability, the rawness in every touch, in every second of the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, it was only just enough to breathe. You rested your forehead against his, both of you trying to catch your breath. His eyes were closed for a moment, as if savoring the closeness, before he opened them, meeting your gaze once again.

“So…” You began, your voice light but purposeful. “About this whole marriage thing.”

Rafe blinked, pulling back, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “What about it?”

You smirked, feeling the words roll off your tongue before you could stop them. “I don’t know, I just keep thinking about how weird it’s going to be to call you ‘husband.’”

The effect was immediate. Rafe froze for a second, his gaze locking on yours, wide-eyed, as though the word had sent a shock through him. You noticed the way his breath caught, the way his hand tensed around yours, and the flush creeping up his neck.

“Wait, what?” He stammered, trying to mask the surprise but failing. “You’re—seriously, you just said ‘husband’ like it was nothing?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, it is a word I’m going to have to get used to, right? You’re going to be stuck with it, whether you like it or not.”

Rafe let out a low, almost nervous laugh, but you could see the way his mind was clearly spiraling as he tried to regain his composure. “Yeah, well… I mean, it’s just—uh, it’s a little weird to hear it come out of your mouth. You know? ‘Husband.’”

You couldn’t help but smirk at the way he was tripping over his words, clearly caught off guard by the casualness with which you said it.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll feel more natural once we’re actually married.” You gave him a wink, knowing exactly how to throw him off balance.

But Rafe was looking at you differently now, his eyes softening as they flickered over your face. You could see the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his gaze lingering on your lips before he snapped his focus back to your eyes, clearly struggling to rein in whatever thoughts were spinning in his mind.

And then, as though he couldn’t contain it anymore, he leaned in suddenly, pressing his lips to the side of your face, just below your ear. It was a quick, almost frantic kiss, like he couldn’t resist any longer. The next moment, his lips were on your temple, then your cheek, the soft, warm press of his mouth against your skin like an involuntary response.

You blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of it all, but a small, surprised laugh escaped you. “What was that about?” you asked, breathless from the unexpected affection.

Rafe pulled back, his expression almost shy now, like he hadn’t meant to do it but couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t know,” he muttered under his breath, not quite looking you in the eye. “You just… you said it again. And you looked so fucking pretty right now. I couldn’t hold myself back.” He was talking to himself more than to you, the words tumbling out as his hand found its way back to yours, his fingers curling around yours as though grounding himself.

You were silent for a moment, studying him with a mixture of amusement and something else—a warmth that spread in your chest, a recognition that maybe, just maybe, this whole marriage thing wasn’t so bad after all. His reaction was unexpected, but it made something stir in you. You felt a little giddy at the way he was reacting, the way he was unraveling in front of you. There was something so raw about it.

“Rafe,” you said softly, your voice teasing but with a deeper hint of affection now. “You’re really freaking out over the word ‘husband’?”

He gave you a sheepish look, a little embarrassed but still leaning in a little closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “It just—did something to me, okay?” His voice dropped to a low whisper, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes. “I don’t know. The way you said it… made me feel something I wasn’t ready for.”

Before you could respond, he kissed your cheek again, this time slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor the moment. He pulled back just enough to glance at you, his lips brushing against your skin as he murmured, “I swear, you’re killing me with that word.”

And then, almost without thinking, you whispered the word again, dragging it out just a little for dramatic effect. “Husband…”

His eyes closed at the sound, his breath catching in his throat. His reaction was instant. His hands cupped your face just as you had done, and suddenly, his lips were everywhere—across your forehead, along your jawline, down the side of your neck—each kiss soft, urgent, as if he couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t frantic, but it was definitely filled with a need that he wasn’t trying to hide anymore.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly between his kisses, your heart racing from the sweetness of it all. “Rafe,” you murmured through your laughter, “are you okay?”

He pulled back for a second, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Am I okay?” His voice was soft, almost incredulous. “I’m better than okay. I’m…” He stopped, looking at you with a look that was so intense, so unguarded, you felt it in your bones. “I’m kind of losing my mind over you right now, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth in his eyes catching you off guard. The words hung in the air, a confession he hadn’t meant to make but couldn’t help. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your own composure. This wasn’t the time for heavy emotions, not when things were still so uncertain between you both.

But as you looked at him, his lips still slightly parted, his breath mingling with yours, you couldn’t deny the pull that had formed between you, something that felt more real than the arrangement you had set out to create.

“So… about that husband thing,” you said, a teasing smile curving your lips. “You sure you can handle it?”

Rafe chuckled, pulling you a little closer, his hands now resting on your waist as his eyes softened. “I’m starting to think I might be in trouble.”

“Trouble?” You raised an eyebrow, playfully narrowing your eyes. “Only if you keep kissing me like that. Otherwise, you’re fine.”

He smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Good to know,” he whispered, “I’ll make sure to keep kissing you then.”

chapter nine

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gracie-eilish · 1 month ago

Text

My Valentine💝

an: i have long nails on again so pls excuse any typos…. typing is hard😭

The scent of roses fills Billie’s place the moment you step inside, the warm glow of candles flickering across the walls. Soft music plays in the background—something romantic but unmistakably her, a perfect blend of dreamy and intimate. You barely have time to take in the cozy, love-filled atmosphere before Billie appears from around the corner, her face lighting up like you’re the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“There’s my Valentine,” she purrs, already making her way toward you with that signature cheeky grin. She’s wearing an oversized sweater—your favorite one on her, of course—and a pair of cozy sweatpants, but somehow she still looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine.

You smile, setting your bag down just as she throws her arms around your neck, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before pulling back slightly to study your face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, angel,” she murmurs, her hands sliding down your arms before intertwining your fingers with hers.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you reply, squeezing her hands. “This all looks amazing.”

She shrugs, but the glint in her eyes betrays her pride. “Only the best for my girl.”

Before you can reply, she’s tugging you further inside, leading you to the living room, where a blanket fort—yes, a full-on blanket fort—is set up in the middle of the room. Fairy lights are strung up along the edges, twinkling softly, and inside, a mountain of pillows and blankets makes it look like the coziest, dreamiest hideaway imaginable.

You laugh, eyes wide with delight. “Billie, did you make a whole pillow fort for us?”

She grins, guiding you down onto the soft pile of blankets. “Obviously. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t give my Valentine the cutest, coziest setup for our big romantic night?”

You shake your head, beaming as you settle in beside her. “You are ridiculous.”

She smirks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into you. “Ridiculously in love with you, maybe.”

Your heart does a little flip, but before you can get too flustered, she’s already reaching for a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries sitting nearby. She picks one up and holds it near your lips, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Open up mama,’” she teases, barely suppressing a giggle.

You play along, opening your mouth just as she slowly—painfully slowly—brings the strawberry to your lips. But just as you’re about to take a bite, she pulls it away at the last second, grinning wickedly.

“Billie!” you protest, swatting at her playfully.

She laughs, delighted by her own antics. “Okay, okay, I’ll be nice,” she concedes, finally feeding you the strawberry properly. She watches you with amusement as you chew, eyes flicking down to your lips before she leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, humming. “Mmm. Even sweeter on you.”

Your face burns at the compliment, and she lives for it, giggling as she pops a strawberry into her own mouth. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight,” you say, raising a brow at her.

She shrugs, all faux innocence. “What, I can’t shamelessly hype up my beautiful girlfriend on the most romantic day of the year?”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “You always hype me up.”

She gasps dramatically. “And I’ll never stop. Not when my girl is the most stunning, incredible, talented human being to ever exist.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “You are so extra.”

She giggles, prying your hands away so she can pepper your face with kisses—cheeks, nose, forehead, lips—until you’re breathless from laughing. “But you love it,” she teases, her voice softer now, eyes full of adoration.

You meet her gaze, and suddenly, the playful energy shifts into something quieter, more tender. The air between you hums with warmth, and Billie reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before resting her hand on your cheek.

“I mean it,” she murmurs, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. “I love you. So much. And I just… I want you to feel that. Every second of today. Every second of every day.”

Your breath catches, heart swelling at the sincerity in her voice. You cup her face in your hands, mirroring her touch, and smile softly. “I do feel it, Billie,” you whisper. “Every day. You make sure of that.”

She exhales a happy sigh, her forehead dropping against yours. “Good,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against yours in the softest, sweetest kiss.

The rest of the night is a blur of warmth and laughter, of stolen kisses and whispered confessions. You curl up together in the fort, sharing chocolates and playing silly games, Billie making it her mission to make you blush at every opportunity.

At some point, she starts listing all the things she loves about you—your laugh, the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, the way you look at her like she’s your whole world. And by the time the night winds down, and she’s lying half-asleep against your chest, her voice heavy with drowsy affection, you realize that this—this perfect, love-filled night—is all you could have ever wanted for Valentine’s Day.

And with Billie in your arms, pressing one last lazy kiss to your collarbone before whispering, “I love you, lovey,” you know you’ll remember this night forever.

#billie eilish #wlw #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x reader #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish fic #billie x you #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x reader #gracie eilish

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 3 months ago

Text

P*rn ☆ Introduction

Masterlist Word count: 1 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut. This part is setup. No graphic content yet.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

It's been fucking years! Not by your choice. No, not at all. You just hadn't had the time or the energy, but God do you crave it. It hadn't really bothered you the first year. You had gone on dates regularly, but despite your love for intimacy you need a certain level of connection before you lay down and take it. Sure, you had a few nice connections but no one that managed to turn you on.

Not like he does.

Ever since your regular booty call called it off, you started watching some adult content. At first nothing really seemed to call to you. You were flipflopping from category to category as if you were flipping through a magazine, leaving you high and dancing on the edge of full gratification every single time. Sure, you came but it never felt that great.

Then you found him.

Tall as a fucking mountain, grey hair, red eyes, sly smile, toned body, strong nose that's ever so slightly crooked. You even remember the little scar under his left eye. But what does it for you, most of all, is his voice. Low and gravely, constantly teasing and commanding. There's something more to it though. When he gets to the edge, it's almost as if he wants someone to take over and it fucking gets you going. Makes your panties go from bone dry to soaking wet in a matter of seconds.

Worst of all, the man has a TikTok page and a Tumblr page. Neither are all that suggestive. The TikTok has some thirst traps and workout videos, but the Tumblr page is a different story. On there, he reads spicy romance books to his audience. He had tried it before on YouTube but got taken down real fast. Those books, the way his voice picks up and changes with the story. It's truly something magical. You'd almost consider it better content than the videos of him stroking his dick, though you don't mind that those exist at all.

And today is Friday, which means he's posting a new chapter and there's a possibility of a new video on TikTok. Nothing too riveting but enough to get you going and keep you going for the weekend. You're looking at a long and satisfying weekend with your magic wand. Just one more hour until your shift is done.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

'Again?!' Sylus’ voice booms through the living room of his apartment. If it were any louder, the walls would shiver. 'I was so fucking careful this time,' he says through gritted teeth. His hand has a strong grasp on his phone, almost snapping the thing in his fit of rage.

"I don't know what to tell you man. Maybe someone followed you?" Kieran, the ever daft creator that makes spicy content with his friend Luke, tells him in the kindest voice he can must up. He knows just as well as Sylus that the man is impossibly popular. It all happened overnight just a year or two ago when he made a video humping a pillow and groaning praises to a nonexistant partner. Ever since then, he's been making content solo. It's doing much better than his partnered stuff used to.

It also came with unwanted attention. Sylus lives for the praises and truly feral comments on his socials and spicy content, but this. This goes too far. It's the third time in as many years he's been doxed. If it were a stalked he could go to the police but it seems to be someone different each time.

Sylus groans and runs a hand through his hair. 'I should move further away this time.'

"That's the understatement of the century. Just be glad they haven't got your name yet."

Yet. The word rings in Sylus’ head for a little longer than he would like it to. If those feral women and men got his name, he would never get any peace again. Sure, he was the one that decided to put his face in all those videos and that might've been stupid. It is stupid. Especially for someone who likes his privacy as much as Sylus does.

"Oh, Luke just said he knows a place for you. He has a friend who owns an apartment ages away from your place. He's been looking for someone to lease it to."

'I can trust this person?'

"Yes, for sure. I know this guy too. He's some flamboyant artist that owns too many properties to keep track of who lives where." Sylus sighs, a rumble going through his chest.

'Fine, get me the contact info.'

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

'You doing anything fun this weekend,' your friend and colleague Tara asks with a sweet smile. You almost spill and tell her, but she's far too pure to understand any of your desires. It'd be better to keep this friendship as wholesome as it is.

'Nothing much. I don't have any plans for once. I'm probably going to binge that TV show you recommended.'

'Oooh, tell me what you think about it,' she replies excitedly. At that moment, a car honks, and she looks up. Her lovely boyfriend is waiting for her in the car. 'See you soon,' she says with a quick wave and off she goes. The man even gets out of the car to open the passenger door for her. Such a nice man. He waves to you and you nod back. You know him a little, but he never comes along to any company events or dinners. If you're not mistaken, his name is Kieran. Nice guy.

You make your way to your car and drive home. Traffic is terrible but uneventful. All you can think about is sitting down on the couch at home and listening to whatever Red Crow has cooked up this time.

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chaotic-archaeologist · 21 days ago

Note

I saw your post in the thread about the Budj Bim creation myth, and you mentioned that you teach Ancient Civilizations and have a week on Australia and the Torres Strait Islands. I was wondering if you have any recorded lectures on this topic that are available anywhere online?

Or do you have any recommendations for freely available resources to learn more?

Hi there,

I'm so glad you're interested in this (and also so sorry it took me this long to answer)! I'm also tagging @four-ravens-in-a-trenchcoat because you sent a very similar ask.

I'm far from the expert, so I'm going to tag @micewithknives and @acearchaeologist who are both Australian archaeologists with far more knowledge than I. The lessons I've developed have been with their expertise as guidance.

I'll start out by linking to a short piece about Budj Bim and its eel traps being designated as a world heritage site and why that's important:

This page talks a little bit more about the eel traps, the creation story, and the Gunditjmara people who live there:

Unfortunately, I don't record my lectures, and sharing them would probably violate some privacy laws. I can, however, share the readings I give my students.

The week is broken into two class periods, and for each session I ask students to read one scholarly piece and one more pop culture one. The readings for the first part are:

Nunn, Patrick. 2018. “Australian Aboriginal Memories of Coastal Drowning.” In The Edge of Memory: Ancient Stories, Oral Tradition and the Post-Glacial World, 63–107. Bloomsbury Sigma. Clarkson, Chris, Ben Marwick, Lynley Wallis, Richard Law Kelaham Fullagar, and Zenobia Jacobs. 2017. “Buried Tools and Pigments Tell a New History of Humans in Australia for 65,000 Years.” The Conversation, July 19, 2017. https://theconversation.com/buried-tools-and-pigments-tell-a-new-history-of-humans-in-australia-for-65-000-years-81021.

and then for the second class:

Taçon, Paul S. C., Rosalie S. Chapple, John Merson, Daniel Ramp, Wayne Brennan, Graham King, and Alandra Tasire. 2010. “Aboriginal Rock Art Depictions of Fauna: What Can They Tell Us about the Natural History of the Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area?" https://doi.org/10.7882/FS.2010.008. Smithsonian Magazine. 2019. “A 42,000-Year-Old Man Finally Goes Home,” September 2019. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/mungo-man-finally-goes-home-180972835/.

The important part of this unit is that it comes right after we learn about the four classic river valley civilizations (Mesopotamia, the Indus, China, and Egypt). These "Big 4" all fit the description of the article I have them read at the very beginning of the class about the Key Components of Civilizations.

Australia week is about challenging that definition of civilization by examining where it came from, how it was developed, and who it excludes. At the end of the week I have students come up with another definition of Civilization that does not exclude Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders, Indigenous groups in North and South America, nomadic groups, etc.

The book (The Edge of Memory) by Patrick Nunn is a good one (for this class we only read the third chapter, but the entire book is worth a read.

Decolonizing Research Indigenous Storywork as Methodology is an edited volume that features perspectives on oral history from Indigenous people all over the world, including Australia.

Cheers, -Reid

#he speaks #he answers #archaeology #australian archaeology #Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders

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rhiannonsknife · 3 months ago

Text

── ❆ DAY 17: christmas vacation with lottie matthews

— summary: lottie invites you to go on vacation with her and her family.

— warnings: secret relationship. gn!reader. literally just fluff. these were supposed to be only hcs at first.

the first invitation comes out of nowhere, catching you off guard one december afternoon. lottie leans against your locker, twirling a strand of her hair as she speaks to you;

“it’ll just be us, my parents, and the insane amount of christmas decor they insist on putting up,” she says, though there is a slight nervous edge to her voice. she fiddles absentmindedly with the hem of her sweater, her gaze flicking to yours as if searching for a reaction. the truth is, she’s been hoping for this; hoping to spend more time with you, to have you by her side. usually, it’s just her and her parents during the holidays, the house too quiet beneath all the flashing lights and over-the-top decorations. this year could finally be different. this year, you could be there with her. if you agree to come along that is.

“it’s no big deal! we’re just going to my family’s cabin in the mountains. you’ll love it! it’s peaceful up there,” she continues.

you agree, partly because the thought of spending christmas eve with her is too tempting to resist, and partly because you can never quite say no to lottie matthews.

it’s not until you’re actually boarding the plane -her family having insisted on paying for “one of charlotte’s friends”- that you realize her idea of “no big deal” is wildly different from yours.

the flight itself is surreal already. you’re used to crowded commercial planes with tiny, cramped seats, so the first-class cabin the lottie’s family booked is the complete opposite of any flying experience you’ve ever had.

lottie notices, of course. she always does.

she tilts her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “are you okay?”

you nod. “i just…wasn’t expecting all of this” you lower your voice. “you said it was no big deal”

lottie laughs lightly. “it’s just a plane!” she says. then, after a beat, she adds: “but, uhm, thanks for coming with me. it’ll be nice to have someone there”

when you land and step out into the frosty mountain air, you’re struck yet again by how absolutely not “no big deal” this is: the cabin isn’t a ‘cabin’ at all: it’s a sprawling, three-story masterpiece nestled against the snowy mountainside, its floor-to-ceiling windows glowing warmly in the evening light. you honest to god thought these kind of places only exist in winter magazines or on postcards.

lottie watches your reaction from the corner of your eye as the car pulls up to the front. “bigger than you expected?” she teases, but there’s an audible nervousness in her voice, like she’s worried you’ll find it too much.

“way bigger,” you admit as you take it all in. she huffs a small laugh, brushing her fingers against your leg in the backseat when no one is looking.

much like the exterior, the inside of the “cabin” could be straight out of some holiday movie: sleek yet warm, with high ceilings and wide-open spaces that still manage to feel cozy. there’s a stone fireplace, and tasteful christmas decorations that look like they’ve been arranged by a professional (they might as well have been).

you step inside first, breath catching slightly, and lottie lingers behind you. as she steps over the threshold, her gloved hand finds the small of your back.

“that’s-“ you begin, at a loss of words. “you weren’t kidding about the decor”

lights twinkle softly against the pine garlands wound around the staircase railing, and a towering tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room.

lottie’s parents make a brief appearance, sweeping through the front hall as they already talk about some last-minute errands and plans to catch up with old friends in town, their tone polite but distant. exactly as you expected. they offer smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes and a few murmured pleasantries before they’re out the door again.

the sound of the car pulling away lingers for a moment before lottie lets out a long sigh. she unwinds her scarf and tosses it onto a nearby chair.

“is it always like this?” you ask gently.

“what do you think?”

you don’t have an answer, so instead, you step closer, closing the distance between you. gently, you reach up and brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. your touch lingers when you tell her: “well now you have me here”

“yeah. now i have you.”

the days that follow are a mix of quiet intimacy and subtle luxury.

festive bliss.

mornings are slow and peaceful, with lottie insisting on being the one to make coffee, shooing you back toward the couch when you try to help. “i’ve got it,” she murmurs as she tugs the blanket tighter around your shoulders before padding off to the kitchen.

from your spot on the couch, you watch her move through the kitchen, the sound of coffee brewing filling the quiet air. lottie is dressed in an oversized sweater that falls just past her hips, sleeves bunched up as she works, her thick socks muffling the soft shuffle of her feet.

when she returns, two cups in hand, she settles beside you and hands you yours. “see? perfect,” she says.

you laugh softly, pressing closer to her as the two of you sip your drinks in comfortable silence. lottie tucks her feet beneath the blanket and leans her head against your shoulder, her body warm against yours.

“we don’t have to do anything today,” she reminds you every morning. “no schedules, just us!”

you could spend hours like that, curled up by the fire or watching the snow drift lazily outside the massive windows.

afterward, the two of you bundle up in layers and step outside. the air is cold, your breath visible in short puffs. lottie insists on taking a short walk around the property each day, claiming it helps her clear her mind. hand in hand, you navigate the snowy trails, laughing as you each slip and slide on spots where ice glistens beneath a thin blanket of powder.

at night, the cabin feels even cozier. the christmas tree lights cast a warm glow across the room, and lottie always gravitates toward you, pulling you onto the couch with her to cuddle “come on,” she’ll say, her voice insistent as she pulls you closer.

like that, lottie curls up against your side, her head resting comfortably on your shoulder as you flip through old photo albums she’s dug out from one of the bookshelves.

“that’s me!” she points out, tapping her index against one of the photographs and you can’t help but smile at the sight of a much younger lottie: small and grinning, her hair pulled back in two pigtails. “look how tiny i was!”

by the time her parents return in the evenings, you’re both so settled into your little bubble of warmth that their presence feels almost like an intrusion. they always seem too busy to notice much, though, and for that, lottie is grateful this once. the sound of them bustling through the front door or calling out vague greetings hardly registers; neither of you move from where you’re curled up together, limbs tangled in a way that’s just a bit too close to be purely platonic.

if her parents notice the proximity at all, the way lottie’s hand lingers on your arm or how your fingers absently trace patterns against her back, they don’t say anything. they’re too preoccupied with their own evening routines to look closely, anyway.

there are enough rooms in the house that you’re offered a spare guest room. without knowing what else to say, you accept. but each night, after her parents announce they’re going to bed, their footsteps fading down the hall, you wait. you listen for the house to settle, the sounds of distant doors closing, and then, once you’re sure that they’re in bed, you slip back out into the hallway.

by the time you reach lottie’s door, it’s already cracked open. she’s waiting for you, knowing you’d come and now perched against the pillows. “there you are!”

you grin as you pad across the room and slide beneath the covers with her. lottie immediately pulls you close, her arms slipping around your waist as you get comfortable as her little spoon. she presses her face into your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. “it’s too cold in here without you,” she mumbles.

you laugh quietly, trying not to wake her parents down the hall.

neither of you says much after that, the silence between you comfortable. when you finally drift off, the sound of her soft breathing at your back is the last thing you hear.

on christmas eve, lottie’s parents insist on a formal dinner, the table set with fine china and candles that flicker gently. it’s the most you’ve heard them talk all throughout your stay; her mother is asking you polite questions about school, your plans for the new year, and occasionally prying into your family traditions. her father cracks dry jokes that make lottie roll her eyes but don’t seem to faze him in the slightest.

even with the slightly tense tone of the evening, there’s something surprisingly cozy about it. lottie keeps sneaking glances at you across the table, her lips curling into small smiles when your eyes meet and every now and then, her hand brushes yours under the table.

after dinner, they exchange presents already. her parents’ gifts to her are expensive, if a little impersonal: a new sweater, a pair of new leather boots….lottie thanks them politely, but it’s when she opens the small box from you that her expression truly softens.

it’s a simple bracelet, something you picked out because it reminded you of her. lottie’s cheeks flush as she fastens it around her wrist, her fingers lingering over the clasp. “it’s perfect,” she murmurs “thank you” it’s then that you want to kiss her desperately. if her parents weren’t there, watching and marveling about ‘how thoughtful your friend is, charlotte’ you would.

later, when her parents retire to bed with wishes of “merry christmas,” you and lottie settle onto the couch by the tree. the cabin is quieter now. lottie leans against you, her head resting on your chest as she fidgets with her new bracelet absentmindedly.

she lets out a soft sigh, her voice barely above a whisper. “you know…i think this is the happiest i’ve ever been on christmas,” she says, tilting her head up to look at you.

“me too,” you whisper back. you’re kissing her before you even fully realize it, your lips pressing to lottie’s. your hand slips beneath the blanket, fingers weaving into hers, the warmth of her touch grounding you as everything else fades away.

#˙ ❆ ̟ !! ─ christmas works #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x fem!reader #lottie matthews x you #lottie mathews x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #yellowjackets x you

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mead-iocre · 6 months ago

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

spoiled!reader who grew up going to a prestigious boarding school nestled between mountains in switzerland. breakfast at the dinning hall involved freshly baked pastries, aristinal breads, cheese boards, and locally sourced fruits that aren't even in seaosn. she gets taught latin on wednesdays and fridays, and horseback riding is part of the curriculum. fencing was optional, and the classes were always crowded, so she chose polo instead. the uniform was a crisp white blouse, tucked neatly into the pleats of italian cotton plaid skirt. the navy blazer, with the school crest—a silver eagle-- hand embroidered and shining proudly on the pocket. shoes had to be only the finest leather shoes, matte not shiny so no one stands out, and preferably with a inch or two heel for the girls. she detested the uniforms because it made everyone bland and constricted individual expression. also: her prada heels were not made to wear with an ugly plaid skirt.

as a result of being away from home so often for most of her childhood, she grows up quite detached from her parents. she's independent but because she really had no other choice. birthdays and christmases were always lavish, but never sentimental. every year she would get an email from her parents with a short, straight forward "happy birthday" and some more money added to her card that day. even though her family had a lot of it, money was always conditional. father’s greetings over the phone always start with “if” and mother’s favourite word was “but”.

"if you continue to get full merits on your quarterly report cards then we'll buy you that bag you've been asking for" or "your teacher says you have gone down a rank-- from top of the class to third which isn’t too bad but it’s disappointing" and "if you want to be home for Christmas, you'll finish and submit your project early or else Daddy won't pay for a flight"

as a result, spoiled!reader grew up thinking money was conditional. that whenever someone spent money on her, she needed to do something to earn it. but when she met leah that all changed. spoiled!reader will never forget their first date when she offered to split the bill (like she does with every single date she has ever been on), but leah adamantly refused. she waited for the condition to come, the "well since I payed you for you, owe me another date" because it always came sooner or later, but there was none. leah ended up getting that second date, and the third and the fourth...

so now as you ascend the stairs into the looming doors of the school entrance, it isn't as scary anymore. what used to be a place of dullness and routine, is now a mere memory tucked into the furthest places in your mind. you pull the hand that's holding leah, eagerly stepping into the grand foyer where you recognizes a few familiar faces. your pink Fendi heels, shiny not matte because you want to stand out, click clanking against the marble floor as you lead leah into the high school class reunion. some of the people in this room you have not seen once in 10 years.

"are you ready to meet the most pretentious, self-absorbed people you'll ever meet?" you whispers to your lover.

leah entwines your fingers together and gives you a grin. "remember, the safe word is apples"

in the middle of the conversation between acquaintances not friends, they speak about their current lives. subtle drags about how they can appear more fulfilled and better than the woman standing next to them. talks about law school and medical school, about how hard it's been to manage their careers. fruitless stories about how they were all busy these days that it was even a miracle they could attend the reunion. eventually, they turn their conversation to you. "what are you doing these days?"

swallowing the last sip of vintage white, you smile. "I still work at the magazine but part time now"

"oh."

you catch the note of pity in their voices, willing yourself to hold the smile threatening to crack on your face. you wanted to yank the tacky pearl necklace that rests against her collarbones. Veronica never liked you, even back then.

"Don't you want to do something with your life? You know, instead of wasting your days at some desk job"

Leah stiffens beside you, her grip on your hand tighter than it was a minute ago.

"I don't mind it, actually", your reply is curt. "My job allows flexibility for when I have to join Leah for away games and whenever I have to travel with her for work. One day we'll be in London and the next day we'll be in New York for fashion week events"

They nod along but they're obviously not too impressed. which is fine because you weren't here to impress them or participate in this little game they've invented about who has a better life post-high school. "I'm actually quite spoiled these days"

"Ahh still being spoilt by mummy and daddy?" she meant it teasingly probably but you caught the hint of scorn in her tone.

From your peripheral, you notice Leah talking a small step forward, positioning herself so that she is almost shielding you from the rest of them. her height towering slightly over the other women in your group. you notice the stiffness in her jaw and the way her eyebrows lift in mockery. she chuckles slightly into the rim of her wine glass "yeah her daddy definitely spoils her"

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

idk what I just wrote but i typed out that last bit with the biggest cheesy grin on my face lol

I'm sorry if this wasn't exactly what you were asking for, anon. if you want something else please send me another prompt in my inbox <333333

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission. Thanks for respecting that!

#daddy leah #<- spread the agenda #spoiled!reader #leah williamson #woso #spoiled!reader stories #anon fic requests #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine #woso blurbs #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #blurbs

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 3 months ago

Text

Awards Night

Plot: A very important night for yourself and your close friends on who will be taking home an Emmy and changes in your life.

Word Count: 9K

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader

Warnings: little makeout scene, sweet "father-daughter" moments, laughter giggles, just general fluff

------

Energy fills the Los Angeles air as you sit out on the balcony with a fresh cup of coffee letting the sound of traffic try and soothe your nerves, the sun has just started rising hits of orange peeking over the horizon of buildings and mountains. You hear the sliding door beside you open and can sense his presence next to you.

“You’re up early,” He comments while taking a sip of his cup of coffee and you only hum in response keeping your gaze focused on the cars below seeing there was already traffic this early. “Nervous?” He asks and you shrug.

“I guess so. My body realized what today was and didn’t want me potentially sleeping through my alarm.” You say glancing over at Paul who rests his arms on the balcony railing only dressed in a tank and sleep pants, his hands fiddling with the cup that hangs over the edge.

“It’ll be fine. Whatever happens tonight you’ll still be my favorite actress. Plus I’m sure Pedro is dying to see you since New Year's,” He says with a slight chuckle which you can’t help but join in, despite it only being a few weeks you were used to your dear co-star and father figure’s clinginess.

“Yeah I’m sure he was so sad to stay in gorgeous Malta while I had to go back to New York for rehearsals for SNL,” You roll your eyes bringing your gaze back to the LA skyline, “God this place is boring I’m so glad I stayed in New York and didn’t listen to my old manager.”

Paul lets out a snort of laughter, “You are a New York City girl it’s funny seeing you stand out back in London and West Cork.” He says while coming to sit on the floor, grabbing your free hand and pressing a kiss to each knuckle. You smile pushing his face away from you which only makes him chuckle grab your hand again and repeat the action. He stops looking up at you as you share a moment of silence before he reaches forward and smooths away the wrinkle from your furrowed brows.

“Tonight we’ll be fine and if anything we skip the after-party and just relax back here and watch movies.” He says his hand trailing from your brows to cup your cheek and you settle into it.

“Just so you can watch Thelma and Louise.” You raise your brow at him and he flushes with a caught expression.

“Hey, it’s a good film and you know it,” He defends himself before raising himself from his haunches to press a kiss to your lips which you melt into. Your free hand strokes his beard as you kiss. He pours all his love for you and what you need to soothe the pit of anxiety inside until you feel nothing but calm. Paul pulls away not before pressing one last kiss to your nose which you scrunch up.

“It’ll be fine.” His voice is soothing as you both enjoy each other’s presence before the very busy day you have ahead of you.

Frank Ocean drifts through a speaker as you sit in a makeup chair, leftovers of brunch still on the dining table in the hotel you shared with Paul and the rest of your team. Paul in the bedroom with his team getting ready allowing you the large living room to get ready. Your amazing manager had brought you a collaboration with ELLE Magazine for a ‘Getting Ready with Me’ video, currently, the camera and sound team working fluidly alongside your hair and makeup team as you speak to the camera.

“I’ve been in this chair for about…three hours now?” You say as your hairstylist Elvira works her magic on your hair and René your talented makeup artist brings you to life with his skills. One of your hands is being painted in nudes and gold while your other hand is currently in a UV lamp being cured. “As you can see every part of my body is being handled so all I can do is just sit and listen to Frank Ocean play. I’m excited though surprised I’ve never been to the Emmys before so I do have a bit of nerves running through me.” You say shyly.

“You also have a nomination!” Paul’s voice comes from the other room making everyone in the room laugh and cheer at his comment as your face grows flush.

“Yeah…I do have one so it only heightens the nerves so I’m hoping I just get distracted during the whole time and have a drink or two as liquid courage.” You say as your hand in the UV lamp beeps ending its cycle and you use that chance to grab your smoothie to take a sip.

“Are you excited to see your friends and cast mates from previous work?” The interviewer asks and your eyes sparkle and you nod excitedly not before being scolded slightly by Elvira and René.

“Yes, most of these people I haven’t seen in months with work and life being so busy between all of us. I texted Bella this morning about how excited I was to see them since we last saw each other at the Met Gala we’ve Facetime and keep in touch but it’ll be good to see them in person.” You say as you switch hands to start curing the nail polish.

“Are you excited to see Pedro?” They ask cheekily and you smile widely.

“Oh god yes. Even though I saw him two weeks ago for New Year’s he has been nonstop texting about us seeing each other tonight. He fully freaked when he heard we had seats near each other,” You say, and almost on cue your phone gets a Facetime call the ringtone playing ‘Purple Rain’, “Speak of the devil.” You see the camera team swing around to get a view of your phone screen as you answer the call.

“Sup loser!” You greet the older man whose face is extremely close to the camera.

“Happy Emmys Day!” He shouts at the camera and you can’t help to giggle, “Happy Emmys Day to you too, getting ready I assume?” You ask as he pulls back the camera revealing Coco who is working on his hair. She sends a wave to the camera which you smile in return.

“Yep! Chilling getting all dolled up alongside Lux,” He says casually and you can easily spot the lie in his tone, and even Coco gives him a look.

“Pedro, you’re freaking out aren’t you?”

“Yes! What if I trip and fall and hurt my other shoulder then I get a double sling and look like an idiot? Or I say the wrong name on the card and it’s La la Land and Moonlight all over again.” He starts rambling getting himself all worked up and stressed.

“P you’ll be fine. You’re not gonna trip and look like an idiot or say the wrong name. I’m gonna be there, your sister, Bella, Paul, heck even fucking Kieran Culkin would probably run up there and catch you,” Your comment about his fellow nominee makes him laugh but does the job of getting his mind off it.

“Thanks, chiquita,” He says and it seems like he’s trying to spot anyone in the background of your Facetime call, “Yo where’s Ireland’s princess?” The sound of footsteps coming to the double doors separating the living room to the bedroom.

“I’m here Pedro!” His voice comes through the doorway and Pedro makes a weird face and you answer his silent question,

“We’re surprising each other with our looks tonight…well one of us is trying to.” You explain. Paul was getting antsy to see you and spend time with you. He had tried coming up with excuses to come out even getting to a point where he almost opened the door if you hadn’t thrown your slipper at the door and he closed it.

“You are so weird,” Pedro comments and you stick your tongue out at him, “Alright I shall leave you be and I look forward to seeing you tonight!”

“Bye P!”

“Bye Y/nnnnnn.” The call ends and you bring your attention back to the camera crew.

“You and Pedro have a very close relationship you practically act like your blood related.” The interviewer says

“Yeah, it’s crazy I've known him over five years and he’s practically my second father like I call him or my dad for the stupidest stuff if either doesn’t reply,” You say with a smile, “My dad finds it funny and comments how he’s glad someone is finally tagging in after the ‘retirement-inducing stress’ I put him through before I joined the Mandalorian.” The crew and your team chuckle at that story.

After getting your hair and makeup completed with your hair pinned up in a beautiful updo, your fabulous stylist Juliano had somehow struck gold with your outfit even working with Paul’s stylist to make sure the pair of you look stunning together.

“We were lucky enough from the archives to get this 1998 Spring Givenchy by Alexander McQueen,” Juliano explains as the camera shoots the gorgeous dress the shimmering silk on the top down to the skirt. The flower appliques on a sheer fabric to look like they were on your skin, “We decided to keep the makeup very similar to look natural with a shine and hints of color resembling the flower embellishments. To the accessories, we decided to keep Y/n’s hands minimal with just a pair of Bvlgari statement rings on her hands, and her earrings being from Bulgari Fiorever pieces keeping the floral delicate looking continue even down to the shoes with custom So-Kate Louboutin that matches the dress perfectly and brings the whole look together.”

The camera captures your excited expression as you are now fully dressed, clapping your hands together, “I’m literally in awe. I love Alexander McQueen’s fashion and I am honored to be wearing this gorgeous piece.” The sound of footsteps coming to the double doors again.

“Are you finally done?” Paul’s voice sounds like it’s practically pressed against the door and the crew laughs and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Yes I’m done but come out with your eyes closed. I want you to have the full experience,” You say quickly closing your eyes. You hear him groan before the sound of the door opens. You hear shuffling as someone guides him to the right position.

“Can I open?” He asks rocking on his heels.

“Wait I gotta get in position!” You say almost tripping as Elvira guides you to stand a bit in front of him so you both are the first things either of you see. The camera crew gets ready, one facing you while the other is facing Paul to get both of your reactions.

“Okay on three,” You say and start counting, “One…two…three!” You both open your eyes and the crew laughs at each of your reactions. You immediately squeal seeing his attire; his blazer is a crisp white that matches the color of your dress and is embroidered on the hem, lapels, and the cuffs of the coat is a recreation of the flower appliques on your dress, he has white button-down with a black bowtie and black wide slacks with black boots, Paul has that tiny gold hoop in his ear and he’s wearing the watch you got him for Christmas. Paul’s reaction is pure awe taking in how nicely the dress fits you almost as if Alexander McQueen made the dress for you, your hair perfectly framing your face with tiny strands hanging freely around your hair and the makeup making you look completely radiant.

“Ah! You look so good Paul,” You gush rushing up to him and looking over all the tiny little details what you don’t see but the cameras and the fans who will later eat this all up is the pure love and adoration in his eyes looking down at you fawning over him.

“You…are completely stunning,” He breathes and your face flushes at the genuine compliment as he takes your hands in his and fiddles with your rings a cheesy grin on his face. The team and crew ‘awe’ at the scene only makes you more flustered which makes Paul laugh wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your crown. An alarm goes off from both of your managers’ phones a cue that it is time to start prepping to leave soon.

Turning to face the camera you give it a wave, “Thank ELLE for coming and seeing us get ready for the Emmys let’s hope we take home an award,” You say crossing your fingers and making both teams cheer. Paul gives a wave and you blow a kiss before you turn facing each other and you pull a funny face and he bursts into laughter as the cameras stop rolling.

“Alright I think we got what we needed, so great meeting you guys, and best of luck tonight,” The interviewer says and you smile thanking them as they head out to pack up. Your manager comes up looking over her iPad that has the schedule.

“Alright we have a bit of time for photos and then the car will be pulling up to take us to the venue,” She says, and Paul helps guide you to the balcony as you grab the train of your dress. It’s fun and casual between yours and Paul’s team bouncing off each other. The first round of photos starts with you posing out on the balcony getting the professional photos done and throwing in a few funny poses when you see Paul whip out his film camera to take a few pictures. Then it switches to Paul who seamlessly starts posing and you take a few pictures on your phone before getting a decent one from his camera, he ends up breaking into waves of laughter as you keep hollering and sending him whistles as he poses. The pair of you do photos together some looking at the camera others looking at each other. Both your managers posting little teasers on each of your Instagram stories for the night ahead the photos already going viral.

From the hotel room to the car felt like a blur and you didn’t even realize you were pulling into the venue and entering the conga line of cars to the red carpet. Your leg shakes restlessly until Paul rests his hand on your knee making you look at him.

“Breathe,” He makes the gesture of letting out a big breath of air which you copy feeling your body stop vibrating with nerves, “It’ll be fine.”

You nod though the pit in your stomach still hasn't left now that you are so close, “I feel less nervous about the awards but this is our first time together like in spotlight public.” You take his hands playing with his fingers to help with your nerves, “Just nerves what they are gonna say is all.”

Paul nods understanding. It was a huge secret when you both first got together, not that you both were ashamed of each other but you both respected your privacy very much. Even when you were younger you were very cautious about what you put out on the internet perfectly curating posts and appearances so people didn’t have anything negative to say. It definitely freed up the older you got and the more secure you felt in your career but still, there were certain subjects you didn’t want the whole world to know. You prided yourself in keeping your relationships locked tight the only people aware of them being your family and close friends. It reached a point in some scenarios where the public and fans assumed the people you were with were just close friends given how that was the case most of the time. You were lucky for Paul to understand your hesitancy being so quiet about the two of you and it worked out in your favor. You were able to enjoy the starting of your relationship just the time together between the two of you and not the whole world focused on you all. Even telling Pedro was something you were worried about entering the relationship with Paul, he was his co-worker, some would call it a bit of an age difference with him being a few years older than you, you were still what people would consider their early 20s and him in his late 20s but neither of you noticed or cared for it. You remember it clear the day you told Pedro well more of him finding out.

It was during the time Gladiator 2 was on pause due to some production issues so Paul had decided to visit and spend the week with you in New York, this is about 3 months of you guys dating. For context you love Pedro and have such a close bond with each other that you have keys for each other and know everything about each other. What you didn’t think was him being back in New York as well and assuming he was on the West Coast or anywhere but New York. So you and Paul had just obviously given the time apart..had sex since being reunited and ordered pizza, after you showered and he was currently in the shower while you picked out a movie. The doorbell rang assuming it was the deliveryman going to answer shocked seeing Pedro there instead of holding the pizza and letting himself in.

“Luigi’s Pizza you know how to plan a dinner, I have so much to talk about Malta and Morrocco,” Pedro says and the immediate fear on your face and before you could stop the nuclear bomb that was about to go off as the familiar voice of the man you were with and an oddly familiar voice to Pedro comes from down the hall.

Paul comes around the wall with the confidence of a man who just got laid still wet from the shower only dressed in very loose sweats that hung sinfully low on his hips, “Baby did the food show u—” His words cut off as he see Pedro standing there with equally wide eyes as his gaze darts from both you and Paul the pieces quickly coming together.

Paul takes your hand placing a kiss on the back of it right as the car in front of you pulls up about to be next in line, “Ignore what they say. None of it matters, it’s just us and our friends celebrating an amazing night together.” You take in his words before nodding in agreement right as the car pulls up. Paul flashes you a smile before pressing a light kiss to not ruin your makeup.

“Ready?” He asks and you nod giving an assured smile and he returns with an even wider smile. A knock on the car before the door unlocks and the muffled sounds of the fan and the red carpet get louder. The door opens fully and Paul steps out and the crowd of fans screech he turns grabbing your hand as you scooch to the open door. Grabbing Paul’s hand you immediately see the uproar as you exit the car the scream of fans in their section. Waving at them together as your managers guide you towards the little waiting area before the red carpet. It wasn’t long until you were called next to walk the carpet.

“Ready?” You ask Paul and he smiles pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Let’s go.”

Shouts and flashes of both yours and Paul’s name as you posed for solo shots. Over the scream of photographers, your gaze always finds itself back to Paul who was looking over at you too.

“Paul! Y/n! Let’s get a photo together,” A photographer shouts and it’s instant the shouts for you two to pose together and questions thrown at the pair of you. It’s easy to find one another his hand keeping a reassuring contact on your waist as you smile at the cameras. Your managers have to practically drag you two off the carpet as the paparazzi keep yelling more comments and get final photos.

“A few interviews then we’ll get you guys inside for the ceremony,” Your manager says and you nod as both you and Paul are brought to different networks to conduct interviews.

“Y/n so nice to meet you,” The interviewer from E! News greets warmly, “You look stunning tonight!”

“So nice to me you and thank you so much!” You respond holding the microphone between your hands as you speak to her.

“It seems you have caught the attention of many people tonight for one of your first Emmy nominations, especially at your age! If you win tonight, you will have become the youngest winner in your category at twenty-three, just a year younger than past winner Zendaya, who also happens to be presenting tonight for that award,” she says, and you give a nervous smile.

“I am definitely nervous now that you mentioned it,” You cringe making the both of you laugh, “But I’m so honored to be nominated, there are so many talented actresses in this category that all deserve this award. I really couldn’t tell you who it’s going to.” You speak honestly.

“Well, we’re hoping for the best for everyone tonight and even if you aren’t taking home an award you aren’t leaving empty-handed. It seems you have graced all of us who have been dying to see you and your partner in public.” She says and you laugh, “Anything to say on that?”

“Well, Paul and I are very grateful for all the support our friends, family, and lovely fans have given us.” You say a small smile. You truly were grateful for all the support those close to you have given especially with how crazy the industry is and how on-air every moment of your life has been. “Paul has also just been an amazing support in my life I’m so blessed to have known him.” You keep your piece on Paul short and sweet knowing you would ramble off on how amazing he is as a person and actor, just going off on a complete tangent.

“That is so sweet, you two are amazing together I’m sure he’ll enjoy your praise,” The interviewer coos and you chuckle.

“He’ll probably try to one-up me in the compliments he’s too humble at accepting them and so will dish a plentiful of compliments,” You retort making the pair of you laugh.

“If I see him I’ll be sure to pass off your message,” She smiles, “Thank you so much, enjoy the rest of your night, and best of luck.” You thank her before your manager guides you off to do a couple more interviewers since you are nominated in a category. As your manager leads you to the next interview you spot a very familiar figure speaking to another person.

“Lux!” You call out and she turns spotting you amongst celebrities and managers as you make your way past people quickly accepting the embrace from her. “You look gorgeous tonight!” Your praise has her smiling and she rests her hands on your shoulders looking you over.

“Says you! You look stunning and where is the lucky man?” Lux asks looking over your shoulder expecting your partner somewhere near.

“I think still doing interviews, if we didn’t meet up during the interviews we both would just head inside,” You say looking around yourself but for a different person.

“If you’re looking for Pedro he’s over there with Vanity Fair,” She points a finger over and you spot the back of his curly head, “He’s be antsy looking for you and Bella tonight.” You smile thanking her with a quick hug and plan to meet inside before having your manager already used to your antics and guide you over to Pedro. Luckily he hadn’t noticed you and his manager spots you with a friendly smile seeing the mischievous look on your face also used to your antics from the Mandalorian.

“I’m excited for tonight not even for the nomination just to be able to see friends and coworkers of mine I haven’t seen since we wrapped films,” You hear Pedro say as you slowly walk into view of the camera and interviewer who spots you. You drop your mouth and point at Pedro who is in front of you.

“Oh my god is that Pedro?” Pretending to fangirl as you mouth with faux awe. The interviewer chuckles and you don’t see Pedro’s confused expression until he turns around and sees you there with a cheesy grin.

“Pedro I’m such a big fan you are literally so zaddy!” Your voice is all shaky fanning back fake tears and the belly laugh that comes from him as he pulls you into a hug with his free hand pressing a kiss to your crown.

“Ah, father and daughter reunited!” The interviewer says as Pedro pulls out of the hug a still shocked look on his face as he takes in your outfit. “Y/n pleasure to meet you!”

“You look so beautiful!” Pedro’s praise warms you up and you flush waving him off.

“You look great too! Giving very professor vibes with the sweater and glasses,” You point at the large frames covering his face. He snorts rolling his eyes.

“Like a professor that got his ass whooped.” He says shrugging his sling arm making you and the interviewer laugh. “Thought I was gonna miss you on the carpet until we got inside.”

“Ran into your sister and she pointed me in your direction,” You say and you see your manager pointing at her watch and you send a brief nod, “Well I better head before Paul sends a search party. Nice to meet you!” You say to the interviewer who repeats the sentiments. A quick hug from Pedro with a kiss on the cheek before waving them off.

“See you soon chiquita.”

“Bye P! I’ll see you inside!” You wave him off before you and your manager continue your trek once more inside.

“Alright you are all good on interviews and photos, I will see you after the show enjoy the night, and good luck!” Your manager says looking over her to-do list for tonight and you give a nervous smile, “You’ll be alright you win great, you don’t, no biggie you’re young and have plenty of opportunities,” She squeezes your hands. She looks a bit past you before she continues,

“I’m sure he’ll keep reminding you. You too have fun.” You feel an arm snake around your waist pulling you gently to lean against his chest, feeling your nerves slip away. Your manager waves before walking off joining Paul’s manager and you turn looking up at him already seeing the look on his face.

“I know…I know stop stressing and enjoy my night.” You roll your eyes and he hums satisfied with you already knowing what he is going to tell you.

“You love me.” He smirks taking your hand and guiding you to the line of celebrities waiting to be ushered to their seats. You scoff your words holding no weight.

“Ugh, you wish.”

It’s easy to find your seats finding yourself near actors and actresses you’ve heard of but glad to see you were put in seats near Pedro and Bella. Bella sat in the row in front of you and Paul with Pedro and Lux sitting behind you guys. The show went on accordingly with the categories going through cheering for the nominees and winners of each category. When the category for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama Series Pedro had you and the audience in laughter.

“It’s my shoulder, not my arm and I’m here to set the record straight,” He says so plainly, “Kieran Culkin beat the shit out of me.” You almost choked on your spit at his comment your laughter only growing louder seeing Kieran’s reaction so serious before him and Pedro break with laughter as the award is presented. When the award for Best Actor in a Drama Series was announced you reached your hand back feeling Pedro’s hand grab you as each actor is called out. Cheering loudly when his name was announced with a quick snippet of his character in ‘The Last of Us’. While his name wasn’t called out you still smile squeezing his hand before clapping for Kieran Culkin who goes up to accept the award.

“Now presenting the award for Best Actress in a Drama Series, Zendaya and Jodie Foster!” The announcement comes through the speakers immediately filled with nerves feeling Paul’s hand resting on your thigh drawing circles and calming you slightly.

“And now for the nominees,” Zendaya says into the microphone and you clap as each actress is announced.

“Sarah Snook; Succession, Sharon Horgan; Bad Sisters, Melanie Lynskey; Yellowjackets, Elisabeth Moss; The Handmaid's Tale, Bella Ramsey; The Last of Us,” You clap a cheer extra loud for them and then continue calling out the nominees, “Keri Russell; The Diplomat, Y/n L/n; The Mandolrian” You hear the cheering around you as your name along with small clips of your character Tiya is shown on screen. In your peripheral, you can see the camera capture your reaction as Paul grabs your hand squeezing it. You don’t dare move your gaze from Jodie Foster and Zendaya as they speak.

“And the Emmy goes to,” You watch Jodie Foster open the card your hand probably cutting the circulation out of Paul’s hand. Zendaya smiles before she speaks.

“Y/n L/n, The Mandalorian.”

The roar of cheers from all around you as you sit there frozen for a second before it registers to you.

You won.

You stand up as the others do looking over at Paul who has the widest grin, “Holy fuck I won!” You say to him who nods enthusiastically and you can’t help but kiss him. It’s such a quick kiss but it means everything to the two of you as you pull away turn to Pedro who is cheering loudly and instantly pulling you into a hug pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m so proud of you!” He mumbles as you pull away Lux smiles widely at you as you quickly hug Bella who’s practically jumping with joy before finally walking down the aisle as your fellow actors applaud for you. It’s an almost out-of-body experience climbing up those steps and accepting the award from Jodie Foster and Zendaya who give you brief hugs before you stand before the microphone the heavy award in your hands.

“Hi..oh my god I didn’t plan at all what to say,” That makes the audience laugh your gaze sweeping through the crowd of people finding your group. “I want to thank my amazing team who got me this job, my friends and family back at home I love you so much, to the Mandalorian Team, Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni thank you for giving me this opportunity to bring Tiya to life, there are so many people I want to thank uh Pedro,” You gaze locks with him. You already see him getting teary-eyed making your words shaky.

“I’ve worked and grown with you over five years, you’re my second dad I love you so much. I also want to thank my partner, Paul,” Your gaze moves to Paul who has the proudest look on his face and you can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes, “I love you so much, you are my rock, my best friend, I’m so grateful you are in my life I could keep rambling on until they drag me off.” That makes Paul and the crowd laugh. “Alright, I’m gonna go before I start crying.” Your voice is already shaky enough as the audience cheers hearing loud whistles from Pedro as Jodie and Zendaya guide you off. Once you disappear backstage seeing allowed paparazzi taking photos of the three of you. Your manager already backstage pulls you into a hug and you let out a shaky exhale.

“No tears or René will have my head for letting an Emmy winner ruin her makeup,” Her words make you laugh leaning your head back and blinking back tears, “Alright we’ll get some quick photos and interviews before you’ll be set to head back for the ceremony.”

It’s a blur of heading to where the other winners are to get their photos taken. You probably have the widest grin as you hold your Emmy up. The flash of cameras as they shout congratulations and where to look at. Then it was the interviews with various media outlets each hungry for the latest news of your career this Emmy win special now being the youngest female Emmy winner in your category. During a commercial break, you were ushered back to your seats a cheesy grin across your face when your friends spot your return. You’re shuffling as face as you can in your dress and heels immediately welcomed with hugs and kisses of second congratulation.

“I completely blacked out up there did I make a fool of myself?” You ask seriously making Lux and Bella laugh as you all sit down.

“Not at all. You had Pedro crying like a baby with you up there,” Bella states and you laugh leaning against Paul.

“I was not!” Pedro still red with tears defends himself and Lux shakes her head.

“It was pretty bad,” Paul says and Lux gives him a look.

“Don’t act all innocent I saw a few tears from you too mister,” She pokes his shoulder and Paul flushed with embarrassment, “I got the whole video of both of their reactions with Pedro crying and your boyfriend all teary-eyed.”

“Awww you two getting all sappy,” You tease poking your partner and making him roll his eyes, “You do love me.”

“Of course I do,” Paul scoffs looks at you and your teasing smile softens seeing the pure adoration and love in his eyes.

Bella makes a disgusted sound, “You too are so cheesy it makes me sick,” That makes you all laugh and over the speakers, it’s announced the commercial break would be ending now. As the ceremony returns with the audience applauding your hand grabs Paul giving it a squeeze that he returns.

With the awards over it was such a whirlwind of afterparties and receptions, Pedro, Lux, and Bella were going to the HBO Reception Party while you and Paul were headed to the Disney Reception Party. It was so exciting taking group photos with all the winners at the Emmys Ceremony before you all left living on that high of winning. Your thumb traces the engraving of your name on the plaque still in awe as you and Paul ride back to the hotel room.

“Congratulations!” Your teams cheer confetti bursts from party poppers as your team hollers and cheers as you and Paul enter. You smile brightly seeing some recording as you hold up your Emmy bouncing with excitement.

“I won a fucking Emmy!” You shout and your teams cheer and laugh at your very animated reaction.

“Alright!” Your manager calls out drawing all of your attention, “We got two afterparties to attend now let’s get you both all set up so you can fully enjoy your win tonight.” Both your teams quickly get to work Paul is taken to change into his after-party attire and you to change into another Alexander McQueen archival piece from the same collection. This a much shorter beautiful baby blue draped dress you wear over an ivory satin button-up jacket with a shawl collar that feels cool on your skin, paired with Givenchy ivory kitten heels. Both Elvira and René work efficiently revamping your hair and makeup when Paul comes out in his afterparty attire. It was the same outfit beside his button-down and tie replaced with a loose white scoop neckline tank showing off his collarbones. He smirks seeing you drink in his appearance from your chair as René reapplies your lipstick and he throws you a wink making you flush looking forward.

“All pretty and ready,” René puts down the setting spray looking you over with a smile.

“Thank you Elviraaaa. Thank you Renééééé.” You cheese as you stand and reapply your favorite perfume on your wrists and neck.

“We’re ready when you are, Emmy winner.” Your manager says and you check your appearance one last time in the mirror before grabbing your clutch and award.

“Ready!”

The Walt Disney Awards Party was a fun time being united with other Star Wars costars and seeing some of the other winners in other categories. Attending felt more obligational given it was the company your show was a part of it was mainly small talk and photos taken with the other winners from your network. After some time a perfectly timed call from Pedro who was heading over to the Netflix Afterparty with the others asking when Paul and you were heading over.

The van hits a pothole but that doesn’t distract the two of you preoccupied in the backseat. Thank god for the privacy divider. Paul practically devours you with his lips barely able to get a breath in. One hand is deep in the nape of his neck pulling him closer the other clutching to his bicep that is wrapped around your waist keeping you flush against him.

“You have…no idea how beautiful…you looked tonight,” Paul mutters between kisses, your award digging into your waist but you pay no mind. His other hand cups your face to pull away to catch your breath before pulling your right back in.

“Paul we’re almost there,” You try to say as he keeps kissing you only one thought on his mind.

His lips are soft and warm but fierce as he bites your lip drawing a sharp gasp and allowing him to slip his tongue inside. Your body is searing, your heartbeat in your ears letting him complete control gripping his coat tighter.

“If we didn’t have to go there are so many things I want to do to you,” His words light your body on fire a light whimper comes from the back of your throat as he pulls back letting you catch your breath. “But,” He starts pressing another kiss to your lips.

“I want you to enjoy tonight you deserve.” He pulls back looking down at your flustered appearance chuckling slightly fixing your hair slightly, “I think I took it a bit too far…” He gives a sheepish look and your jaw drops seeing the stain of your lipstick on his lips quickly whipping out your phone and seeing your smudged lips.

“Paul Colm Mic-” You start but he quickly kisses you mumbling ‘I’m sorry baby,’ and you quickly pull away opening up your clutch and pulling out travel makeup wipes and the lipstick shade, “You are so lucky you’re hot Paul,” You say using a wipe to clean his face before he takes it himself to allow you to fix your lips. He chuckles slightly at the pout as you clean yourself up and reapply your lipstick. Thank god René gave you an extra lipstick. He had to have known you’d do something stupid like makeout with your ridiculous attractive boyfriend before going to a party.

“I love you Y/n.” He says pressing a kiss with his clean lips against your temple as you give a final swipe of color to your lips. He moves to press another kiss to your lips but you swerve pressing a finger to his lips.

“Yeah no…you are like banned the entire night from kissing me and messing up my makeup more.” You see him pout and at that moment the car stops having arrived at the party.

“Seriously?” He asks and you give him a look saying ‘I’m so serious,’. He groans letting his head fall back on the headrest but quickly fixes himself as the door opens and he’s quick to plaster a forced smile as you both exit the car.

This afterparty was a lot more freeing allowing yourself to let loose, one hand was your award the other a drink as you stood beside Lux who had her drink of choice watching Paul dance with Bella twirling them around, Pedro off somewhere to mingle or getting himself into trouble. Paul catches your gaze his face reading to spare him but you only raise your glass as a toast making him throw his head back with a sigh before returning his focus to Bella.

“What’s got him looking like a dog in the doghouse,” Lux asks as you both take sips of your drinks.

“He fucking ruined my lipstick on the car ride over so he’s now banned for the rest of the night.” You explain and Lux bursts into laughter at the confession.

“The car ride over you naughty girl,” She slaps your shoulder and you flush gulping your drink and feeling the alcohol settle in your stomach.

“Chiquita!” You hear Pedro's voice call out easily spotting him as he heads over, “Look who I found!” You smile widely seeing Giancarlo Esposito following behind Pedro.

“There’s the winning lady!” Giancarlo says as he hugs you, pressing a kiss against your cheek, and you return one. “Alright, let's see it.” You smile before showing off the award, and he lets out a whistle, and Pedro gives a small whoop.

“Congratulations you deserve this with all your hard work.” He praises and you return a sincere smile from his compliment not just from a coworker but a well-esteemed actor.

“It looks like a party,” Bella says, bounding over and grabbing her drink from the hightop you all stood around. Following behind is Paul, who smiles and slides to be at your side.

“Ah, the infamous boyfriend. You know I’m basically her uncle,” Giancarlo says, shaking Paul’s hand, which makes you snort and roll your eyes.

“Real funny guys,” You say making them all laugh as Giancarlo bids goodbyes to you all. Paul’s arm is over your shoulder drawing circles into your arm while taking a sip from his drink.

With a sigh, you rest your award on the table, “God this thing is heavy as fuck. I’m supposed to carry it around all night,” You groan.

“If you’re giving it away I’ll gladly take it,” Pedro creeps towards it and you bat his hand away.

“Klepto! I don’t need you stealing more of my shit,” You point at him and he holds his uninjured hand in the air in defense.

“It was one time!” He retorts not wanting to go down this rabbit hole of a conversation again. A new song comes over the speakers making Bella perk up recognizing it.

“I love this song, who’s joining?” Bella the youngest of the group holds their hand out looking at each of you expectedly. Pedro groans grabbing his shoulder in fake pain.

“Ah my old bones can’t take a dance,” Bella rolls their eyes moving to the next person there Paul holding his hands up having already been subjected to dancing. Lux rolls her eyes finishing her drink and taking Bella’s hand who smiles widely.

“Come on leave the old men to their groveling,” She holds her hand now out to you expectedly and you chug your drink needing the liquid courage to dance will many people potentially watching you.

“You old men have fun,” The sudden rush of alcohol makes you giggle as you lean up quickly pressing a kiss to Paul. You slip away before he can deepen the kiss he’s been craving laughing as you join Bella and Lux on the dance floor. You let the young actor twirl you around having to bend slightly to turn under Bella’s arms Lux laughing recording the pair of you on her phone. The two men watch at the table where the drinks and your award are seeing the enjoyment from all of you.

“You’re good for her you know,” Pedro says suddenly making Paul look away from you dancing under the colored lights to look at the older man.

Paul shrugs at the compliment swirling his drink with a self-deprecating tone, “I try not to mess things up.”

“Mess things up? You’re perfect for her, Paul. I’ve seen her in relationships where she wasn’t happy and this is far from that. You too are honestly nauseating with how into each other you are,” Pedro groans making Paul laugh slightly both their gazes focused on the dance floor where you are. The pair cringe at your very bad dance moves but you don’t seem to care, completely focused on the music and being with Bella and Lux.

“I appreciate that Pedro,” Paul says genuinely, “She looks up to you a lot, and always finds a way to mention you somehow.” That makes Pedro chuckle slightly but feel all warm inside at the information.

“Seems like she has a habit of always talking about the men she cares for in her life,” Pedro responds, “She’s always gushing over you like some lovesick teen.”

Paul flushes at that taking a sip of his drink to quell his nerves. “I only hope I can keep making her as happy as she makes me.” There was so much he wanted to do with you in his life. Maybe a few things that still needed time but had he already pictured them yes now just waiting for the right moment. Pedro rests his hand on his shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze.

“You are,” He says before raising his drink in a toast, “To you guys and your futures together.” Paul smiles clinking his glass against Pedro’s both looking back at you cheering on Bella as they dance your gaze darts to Paul a smile naturally crawls up your face as you mouth to him, ‘I love you,’ which he responds in turn with his own.

‘I love you more,’

The night quickly wanes to a close as you bid goodbye to your friends barely stifling back a yawn the liquor tiring you out. You give Bella a big hug that they return with equal amounts.

“When you are back in New York we’ll try to meet up,” You say and they nod excitedly but still a bit tired. You then move onto Lux who hugs you pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Bye, pretty lady.” You smile at Lux’s comment before moving over to Pedro as he easily scoops you in his free arm his warmth making your eyes droop.

“Night P, I’ll you in a few days.” You say and you hear him hum pressing a kiss to your head.

“Looking forward to whatever you have planned for SNL chiquita,” He pulls back chuckling as you blink slowly grinning.

“It’s gonna be sooooo good,” You slip into the valley girl's vocal fry making him belly laugh giving you a final hug and sending a look over at Paul who holds your award in one hand. He comes over coaxing you off Pedro as you rest against his side stifling a yawn.

“Bye, guys love you!” You give your last bits of energy as they wave you and Paul off as you head to your ride to the hotel. Your head rests in the crook of Paul’s neck during the car ride home his hand tracing circles into your scalp only making you doze off even more. Paul has to guide you through the hotel as you try waking up enough to get to your hotel room.

Once back in your room the energy from the whole day completely wipes you, standing in the middle of the room with your eyes closed. Paul laughs seeing you sleeping while standing up.

“Come on let’s get you ready for bed,” He says guiding you to the bedroom and helping you with your nighttime routine. You give him a sleepy smile as he helps from taking off your shoes to removing the pins in your hair and groaning as he massages your scalp with your hair now free from the updo. You’d fix yourself completely tomorrow with a shower letting your hair be a mess. Sitting on the bathroom counter you lean into his touch he uses a cloth with makeup remover to take off your makeup.

“You’re amazing you know that,” You mumble as he gently wipes your eyeshadow off your face his other hand holding your chin to keep you steady. He hums as he removes the last of it pressing a kiss to your tired lips.

“You can say that more often,” He smirks even in your tired state you still roll your eyes at his comment. He’s a godsent going through your nighttime skincare his hands soothing and delicate as he goes through each of your steps. Guided out of the bathroom he helps you out of your clothing with soft hands and kisses along your shoulders as he dresses you in one of his shirts and a pair of your shorts before settling you into bed. It’s almost instant as you knock out the events of the day draining and the bed quickly drawing you to sleep.

You blink open still seeing it dark from the digital clock on the nightstand reading almost four am. Rolling over to cuddle with Paul you find his side empty and cold. Sitting up vision is still blurry trying to wake up fully to find your boyfriend when you spot the curtain covering the balcony door moving slightly in the breeze.

Paul leans against the balcony railing letting the smoke rest in his lungs before slowly breathing it out, tapping away the ash from the cigarette. Despite the time the streets still seem busy the roads filled with lights of car traffic.

“You’re up late,” Your voice drifts through the night as he glances behind him seeing you stand there rubbing your bare arms from the slight chill in the air. He holds his arm out and you come over instantly feeling the warmth from him as he holds you close. It’s quiet between you two as he continues to smoke with you in his arms.

“Are you alright?” You ask looking up at him a bit of concern in your eyes that he finds comforting.

“I’m good just a few things on my mind,” He says before taking another hit letting his hand with the cig rest against the railing. He doesn’t fight you as you take it from him taking your hit and letting it rest in your lungs before blowing it out into the Los Angeles night.

“Anything I can help with,” You ask looking up at him. He can’t help the slightly anxious look to cross his features that have you perking up in concern turning to fully face him your hand holding his face, “What’s up?”

Paul lets out a shaky breath, taking the cig and getting a much-needed hit before speaking, “I’m so proud of you and I’m still so grateful to call you mine.” You smile softly at his words letting him take his time to process each thing he was to say.

“Just seeing you up there I didn’t want that high for you to ever end. I want to be there for every win, every award show, every moment,” He grabs your hand rubbing circles with his thumb a habit he’s done often.

“I want to be there for you too,” You respond honestly and he smiles at that.

“I love you,” He blurts the phrase familiar but with such a heavy meaning, “So much, probably more than I should or more than you do.” You give him a look at his words.

“Anyways I know we haven’t been together long and I was gonna ask when we were,” His words start making you anxious about what he’s trying to say.

“I was wondering well wanting..” He stumbles over his words cursing his inability to just speak.

“You’re making me nervous Paul,” You can’t help but laugh nervously, “Just tell me.”

“Will you move in with me?” He catches you off guard as you both stand in silence taking in his words.

“Move in with you…” Paul can’t help but anxiously nod but you have a small smile growing on your face.

His cheeks flushed. “Yeah. I know it’s… a lot. But I love being with you, Y/n. Every minute. And I can’t imagine not waking up next to you every morning.”

You kiss him and he eagerly accepts feeling his nerves slip away his hand cupping your face as you pour your love and all your feelings into it. You pull back still close the smoky taste and lingering alcohol on the both of you.

“I’d love to move in with you.” You smile widely and he can’t help but kiss you again with a promise of forever between you too, “Where’d we live?” You’re mind already running off what’d you both do, how’d you live together, what it would look like?

“We’ll figure that all out as long as I’m with you.” He says and your heart bursts with joy wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulder the cigarette long forgotten and burnt out. The only focus was on each other and your plans for the future together.

#paul mescal #paul mescal x y/n #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal fanfic #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #lucius verus #lucius versus x reader

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rosierin · 14 days ago

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detour to nowhere │ atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; a road trip, a wrong turn, and a secret lagoon.

what starts as a simple detour turns into an impromptu adventure—featuring questionable navigation, an ice-cold betrayal, and a car full of sunburnt idiots just trying to make it home.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The summer heat clung to the car like a second skin—thick, sticky, and unrelenting. With the windows rolled down, the scent of pine and warm asphalt drifted in, offering little relief. Upbeat music hummed from the speakers, a lively contrast to the sluggish, suffocating air.

(Y/n) sat in the front seat, absentmindedly twirling an ice pop against her tongue, hoping the sweet chill would provide some respite from the relentless sun. In the backseat, Suna had resorted to fanning himself with an old magazine he’d fished out from under Osamu’s seat, his efforts half-hearted at best. The crinkling pages stirred weak gusts of warm air against his face.

“This is useless,” he muttered, dropping the magazine onto his lap with a sigh.

“This is all yer fault,” Osamu grumbled, glaring at his twin through the rear-view mirror. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “If ya hadn’t insisted on takin’ the ‘scenic route,’ we wouldn’t be stuck on these mountain roads in the middle of nowhere.”

There was an unusual bite to Osamu’s words—one that almost made Atsumu wince. He wasn’t wrong, though. They’d been driving for hours, with seemingly no end in sight. And, worst of all—

“I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

(Y/n) spluttered a laugh.

Ah. There it was.

“Uh oh. Someone’s hangry,” came Suna’s voice from the backseat, his smirk audible.

Osamu exhaled sharply but didn’t deny it.

“Relax, 'Samu! Look at this view!” Atsumu leaned forward from the passenger seat, gesturing dramatically toward the horizon. The mountains stretched endlessly ahead, rolling into the distance beneath a sky so blue it looked almost unreal. “Quit bein’ a drama queen, yer not gonna starve.”

“I might.”

(Y/n) chuckled as the brothers bickered, but then caught Osamu’s not-so-subtle side-eye—or rather, the way his gaze kept flicking toward her almost finished ice pop.

Smirking, she held it out. “Want the rest?”

“Yer an angel.”

Snorting, she handed it over, and Osamu took it with a newfound glimmer in his eyes.

Behind them, Atsumu let out a dramatic groan. “That's disgustin'.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. Osamu scoffed, swirling the ice pop around his mouth like it was fine wine. “Don’t act like ya wouldn’t do the same.”

“Think that’ll keep you goin’ for the rest of the drive?” (Y/n) asked, amused.

Osamu hummed against his sugary lifeline. “For now.”

Then—

Thud.

A series of grunts sounded around the car as the tires bumped over something big—a rock? A log? Osamu winced like it had physically wounded him.

“My car ain’t built for these damn roads,” he lamented with a fake sob. “If I scratch it—"

"Your car’s already scratched," Suna interjected, chin propped against his palm.

Osamu shot him a glare.

"That ain't the point.”

Like a supportive parent, he gave the dashboard a reassuring rub. “Don’t listen to ‘em, girl. Yer perfect.”

A firm smack followed as he gave his car one last affectionate slap—earning quiet chuckles from (y/n) and Suna.

“Can you believe this car gets more action than any of ‘Samu’s girlfriends?” drawled Suna.

Atsumu wheezed.

Osamu—forever the bigger person—exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Ya say that like I’ve had many to begin with.”

“Do I detect sadness?” (Y/n) teased.

Osamu shook his head. “Nah. I’m happily single, thanks.”

(Y/n) nodded in approval. “Period.”

Atsumu and Suna exchanged a glance.

Somehow, their faces read: We can’t relate.

After that, the conversation settled into a lazy, familiar rhythm, filling the car as they climbed higher into the mountains.

The winding roads grew steeper, the lush greenery growing denser around them. Every so often, the tires crunched over loose gravel, the car revving in protest as Osamu navigated the uneven terrain.

“How high up are we goin’?” Atsumu asked, peering out the window.

(Y/n) stretched her arms over her head, rolling her shoulders. “Feels like we’re driving straight into the clouds.”

"More like straight into nothing," Suna murmured, eyeing the empty stretch of road ahead. The further they drove, the more deserted it felt—no signs, no houses, nothing but trees and the occasional hawk circling overhead.

Then—just as the thought settled in—

A break in the trees.

And beyond it—civilisation.

A small village nestled between the rolling hills, tucked away as if hidden from the rest of the world.

Osamu let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, her eyes wide with curiosity. “I thought we were in the middle of nowhere. How is there just...a whole village up here?”

Atsumu made a show of rubbing his eyes. “Are we hallucinating? Maybe the heat finally got to us.”

Suna hummed. “Either that, or this is some weird fever dream.”

Osamu pulled the car off to the side of the road, turning off the engine. "Might as well check it out."

With a collective stretch and a few cracking joints, the four of them climbed out of the car, the mountain air crisp and still around them. They stood for a moment, taking in the unexpected sight before them.

The place was quiet, exuding a slow-life charm. There were no cars, only the occasional cow lazily meandering through the streets. Wooden houses with slanted roofs lined the narrow roads, their paint faded with age. The air carried the scent of fresh bread and burning wood, curling gently through the open space.

“This looks like something out of a movie,” (y/n) murmured, watching an elderly woman sweep her doorstep. She nodded politely as they passed.

“Where is everyone?" Atsumu muttered, craning his neck. "It’s like a ghost town."

"They’re probably inside,” Suna guessed, lazily scanning the quiet streets. “Unlike us, they’re smart enough to stay outta the heat."

Osamu sighed, stretching out his back. “Well, ghost town or not, they better have a restaurant or somethin’.”

They wandered deeper into the village, taking in the quiet. It was a stark contrast to the bustling city they’d left behind—peaceful, almost dreamlike. No honking cars, no flashing billboards. Just the occasional chatter of locals and the soft clatter of wooden shutters swinging in the breeze. Time felt slower here, like modern life hadn’t quite reached this little pocket of the world.

A quiet grumble broke through the calm.

(Y/n) blinked, placing a hand over her stomach. Huh. She’d been too caught up in their surroundings to realize how hungry she was.

Then—a scent.

Rich, warm, mouth-watering. It curled through the air like a siren call, waking her up instantly.

“Samu, look!” She grabbed his sleeve, pointing ahead. “There’s a restaurant!”

On cue, Osamu’s eyes lit up, practically sparkling as he spotted the quaint little pizza place down the road.

“Homemade pizza?” His voice was almost reverent. “We’re goin’ there.”

Drawn in by the inviting scent of freshly baked dough and melted cheese, Osamu quickened his pace, dragging (y/n) along with him. Atsumu and Suna exchanged a glance before following, amused by how easily food perked the duo up.

Inside, they were greeted by a bearded man with flour-dusted hands, his apron tied snugly around his broad frame. His voice was rich and warm, thick with an unmistakable Italian accent.

“Benvenuti! Welcome, my friends!” he boomed, a bright grin stretching across his face. “Come, come—this way!”

His large hands gestured toward a table by the window, where the air was cooler, and the gentle hum of the village provided the perfect backdrop.

“Will this suit you?” he asked, his tone as friendly as his smile.

(Y/n) nodded sweetly, pulling out her chair. “This is perfect.”

The man beamed. “Fantastico! Give us a shout when you’re ready to order!”

“Grazie!” she replied effortlessly.

His eyes twinkled with delight. “Oh, di niente!” he said, visibly charmed.

From across the table, Suna arched a brow. “Look at you,” he mused, leaning back. “Showin’ off.”

(Y/n) feigned modesty, waving a hand dismissively, though the smug look on her face betrayed her. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.”

Not one to be outdone, Atsumu leaned forward, smirking.

“She ain’t the only one who knows Italian,” he announced. Then, clearing his throat, he straightened up, turned to (y/n), and confidently said—

“Ciao, bella, sei single?”

Suna snorted first, jerking a thumb toward him. “Get a load ‘a this guy.”

“Since when can ya speak Italian?” Osamu asked sceptically.

Atsumu, looking far too smug, shrugged a casual shoulder. “My Italian fans love me.”

Rolling her eyes, (y/n) shook her head. “And has that ever worked on anyone?”

A wink. A cocky grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Sleaze.”

“Jealous?”

(Y/n), refraining from stabbing him with a fork, simply scoffed, brushing off his nonsense as she had a thousand times before.

Then—before the conversation could escalate—

The waiter returned.

Four pizzas landed on the table, the air instantly thick with the rich scent of fresh basil, tomato, and mozzarella.

After that, their laughter melted into the cosy rhythm of the village, filling the space with an easy warmth. It was moments like these—bantering over a meal, teasing each other over the smallest things—that made everything feel so effortless.

By the time their plates were empty, the sun had begun to dip, casting a golden glow over the quiet streets.

Their waiter returned with the bill, a younger man this time, his expression relaxed and knowing.

“Are you local?” the waiter asked, still smiling as he placed the receipt on the table.

“Nah, just passin’ through,” Osamu replied, stretching his arms over his head.

The man grinned. “Well, if you’re looking for something to do, there’s a lagoon not far from here. It’s hidden, but it’s beautiful. Hardly anyone knows about it.”

Four pairs of eyes flicked toward each other.

Atsumu leaned in. “A secret lagoon??” His grin was already forming. “Are we allowed to swim in it?"

The waiter chuckled. “Yeah, of course! I’d recommend going before sunset—it’s honestly magical at this time of day.”

Osamu stood first, smiling, but not before slipping the man a generous tip. “Guess we’ve found our next destination.”

And just like that, their next adventure was set.

The group ventured through dense greenery, the sun casting long shadows as they wove their way down an overgrown path. The further they walked, the quieter it became—no roads, no houses, just the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of unseen birds.

Then, they found it.

The lagoon stretched out before them, a hidden oasis in the middle of nowhere. The water was crystal-clear, shimmering beneath the afternoon sunlight that trickled through the leafy canopy. The air smelled fresh, clean, untouched. Cliffs framed the lagoon, their rocky surfaces casting echoes of their voices back at them like their own private amphitheatre. It was secluded, a hidden paradise in the middle of nowhere.

“Holy shit,” Atsumu breathed, taking in the view. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Who’s jumpin’ in first?” he challenged, already tugging his shirt over his head.

“Not me,” (y/n) said quickly, eyeing the water warily.

Osamu bumped her shoulder playfully. “Go on, (y/n). You know ya wanna.”

She took a step back. “I really don’t.”

“Suit yourself,” he sang, tossing his shirt aside.

(Y/n) suddenly blinked. “Wait—are you guys just gonna swim in your boxers?”

Atsumu, completely unbothered, grinned. “Yeah. Unless ya want us to take ‘em off, too.”

Her scoff was instant. Her eyes shot to literally anything else—the sky, the trees, the dirt beneath her feet—anywhere but the three idiots undressing beside her.

The moment was short-lived.

With a loud whoop, Atsumu took off running before launching himself off the cliff’s edge.

His voice boomed as he fell, cutting through the stillness before his body sliced through the water below.

A beat of silence. Then—

He resurfaced with a sharp gasp, shaking droplets from his hair as he laughed breathlessly.

“FUCK, it’s freezin’!”

Osamu snorted. “Idiot.” But he was already stepping forward, egged on by his brother. He jumped—and his startled yelp before he hit the water was enough to send (y/n) into a fit of laughter.

When he popped up, gasping, his face was priceless. Hair clung to his skin, his mouth hung open like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He took a moment to process. Then, grinning like an idiot—

“Holy shit, 'Tsumu's right—it’s freezin’!”

From below, both twins turned their eyes to (y/n).

Expectant. Eager. A little too excited.

“Yer turn!” Atsumu called.

She hesitated at the edge, peering down at the water. "It's so high, though..."

Then, she turned to Suna, her voice as sweet as honey. “Will you jump with me?”

“Sure,” he said easily. Too easily.

She should’ve known.

The second they stripped down (thankfully, she was wearing something decent that day), she braced herself at the edge, steeling her nerves. The drop wasn’t massive, but high enough to twist her stomach.

From below, Atsumu smirked. “C’mon, scaredy-cat.”

“Don’t make me push ya,” Osamu added.

"If you drown, we’ll bring ya back up," Suna said flatly, smirking beside her.

(Y/n) took a deep breath.

I’ve got this.

"One...Two..."

On three—she barely had time to react.

A hand firmly shoved her forward.

Her legs walked on nothing.

SPLASH.

The world went dark. A shock of icy water swallowed her whole. Every nerve in her body lit up. She resurfaced gasping—then laughing, the adrenaline mixing with the cold.

“Rin, you dick! You pushed me!”

Suna was already cackling, hands on his hips as he looked down at her.

"Whoops. Hand must’ve slipped."

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes.

She didn’t have to say it. The twins were already looking at her, grinning like foxes.

The thought passed between them silently.

Seconds later, all three of them were climbing back up the cliff.

Suna’s eyes flicked between them, suspicion creeping into his expression.

He took a step back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Too late.

The twins grabbed his arms.

(Y/n) pushed his back.

"Don’t you dare—"

The trio cackled, wicked grins plastered across their faces.

Nobody listened.

Suna fought back, wriggling against their vice-like grips—but he was outnumbered.

“Rinrin’s goin’ swimmin',” Osamu announced.

(Y/n) delivered the final shove.

Suna’s arms flailed wildly as he spiralled off the edge—

His yell briefly echoed before—

SPLASH.

It was, by far, the most satisfying sound of the day.

The trio howled, shoving each other around like teenagers, tears in their eyes as they watched Suna emerge from the water, thoroughly betrayed.

"You bunch of assholes," he spat, hair plastered over his face like a drowned rat.

It was impossible not to laugh.

Atsumu clutched his stomach, wheezing for air. Osamu wiped tears from his eyes. (Y/n) doubled over, face buried in her hands.

Suna sighed, rubbing his hands over his face like he was reconsidering all his life choices.

Still catching his breath, Atsumu looked down at him and grinned.

"One more time?"

"Go fuck yourself."

They stayed at the hidden lagoon for a while longer, basking in their discovery like it was their own private paradise.

Atsumu, forever overconfident, took it upon himself to teach (y/n) how to dive.

“Like this—watch.” He climbed onto a rock and launched himself into the water with a dramatic flourish.

(Y/n) blinked. “That was just a normal jump.”

Atsumu resurfaced, grinning. “Yeah, but it looked cool.”

Osamu snorted, stretching out on a flat rock as the sun warmed his skin. “Tsumu, ya don’t even know how to dive properly.”

“Shut up, scrub. I’m teachin’ here.”

(Y/n) tried, failed, belly-flopped spectacularly.

The splash sent ripples across the lagoon.

Atsumu, gasping between wheezes, smacked the water with his palm. “That was fuckin' BEAUTIFUL!”

(Y/n), still underwater, reached for his ankle and yanked him down.

Suna hummed approvingly from his perch on a rock. “Deserved.”

The afternoon stretched on, filled with laughter, splashing, and lazy floating.

And when the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and lilac, the warmth of the day finally began to fade.

Goosebumps pricked against damp skin as the breeze rolled in.

They hauled themselves out of the water, barefoot and shivering, gathering their clothes with sluggish, sun-kissed movements.

Osamu’s car was a welcome refuge—the seats still warm from the day’s heat, the air thick with lingering traces of saltwater and sunscreen.

The soft hum of music filled the space, blending with the steady purr of the engine.

Suna was the first to crash, head resting against the cool glass of the window, breathing slow, even.

(Y/n) barely made it five minutes before sleep tugged at her limbs, head dipping onto Atsumu’s shoulder.

Atsumu, already half-asleep himself, leaned into her without thinking—his head resting against hers, snoring softly.

Osamu glanced at them through the rear-view mirror, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

The road stretched before them, winding lazily through the mountains, the stars beginning to blink awake in the deepening sky.

They drove home, tired, warm, full, and happy.

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pandapetals · 5 months ago

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The Wedding

You and Logan get married!

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

also thank you to @coocoocachewgotscrewed for the idea of logan keeping the pen reader gave him and using it to write his vows.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"It'll be a small wedding," Logan grumbled, scratching the back of his neck with that familiar, slightly awkward air he got whenever something made him uncomfortable. He stood in the middle of the living room, looking like a bear that had wandered into a tea party, completely out of place.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the pile of bridal magazines scattered across the coffee table. "Small? Logan, there's at least a hundred people living at the mansion alone," you said, your voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. "It’s not exactly going to be 'small' with that kind of guest list."

Across from you, Jean nodded, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a wedding planning book perched in her lap. "My wedding had three hundred guests, remember Logan?" she chimed in helpfully, flipping through a page on flower arrangements.

"Our wedding," Scott corrected from the armchair beside her, not even looking up from the paper he was reading.

Logan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly why we should skip all this crap and just get hitched already," he muttered, his voice low and gruff.

You shot him a playful look, shaking your head. "What happened to 'you can do whatever you want, darlin'?" you asked, mimicking his gravelly voice with a teasing smile.

Logan’s mouth twitched, almost into a smile, but then his eyes flicked back to the growing mountain of wedding plans, suggestions from friends, and magazines full of over-the-top ideas. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he stood just a little too rigid like he was bracing for an attack.

Truth be told, you were feeling the weight of it too.

At first, you had been excited—three months of engagement bliss, giddy over every little detail. The idea of a big, beautiful wedding had seemed like a dream. But now? Now it felt overwhelming. Everyone had an opinion, from the color scheme to the type of cake to the seating arrangements. You loved your friends, but the constant suggestions had turned into something else, something bigger than you and Logan. It had started to feel like the wedding wasn’t really yours anymore.

Jean leaned in, holding up a sample invitation. "Oh, and I was thinking," she began, clearly not picking up on Logan’s discomfort. "You could have this gorgeous ice-blue theme with silver accents—it would match the winter season perfectly."

Logan shot you a look—one of those looks that said I’m two seconds away from walking out of here. You couldn’t blame him. The more Jean talked, the more you realized something had shifted inside you. Somewhere along the way, you’d gotten caught up in making the perfect day, and forgotten what this wedding was really about: you and Logan.

Not the flowers. Not the guest list. You two.

Logan cleared his throat, trying once more to gently steer the conversation. "Listen, all this sounds real nice," he said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration, "but what if we just kept it simple? Y’know, courthouse, couple of rings, call it a day."

Jean blinked, clearly baffled. "A courthouse? Logan, this is your wedding! It’s supposed to be a special day, something beautiful."

You opened your mouth to agree with Jean, to defend the idea of having a "proper" wedding. But then, you looked at Logan again. His eyes—those deep, hazel eyes—were watching you closely like he was waiting for you to decide. Not just about the wedding, but about what you wanted, deep down.

Suddenly, it clicked. You realized that Logan was right. You didn’t need a grand affair. You didn’t need three hundred guests or ice-blue color scheme or a designer dress. You didn’t need all the noise and spectacle. What you needed—what you wanted —was something that felt like the two of you. Something real. Something simple.

You smiled softly, the decision made. "You know what?" you said, standing up from the couch and tossing the magazines aside. "I think Logan’s right."

Jean’s eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Scott finally looked up from his paper, equally surprised.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his usual gruff skepticism tinged with curiosity. "Really?"

You nodded, crossing the room to stand in front of him, resting your hand on his arm. "Yeah," you said, your voice quieter now, more certain. "I don’t need the big wedding. I don’t need all the fuss. All I need is you. " You smiled up at him, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders as the words came out. "Let’s just get married. Just us."

For the first time in days, you saw Logan’s shoulders relax. He let out a low breath, his lips twitching into that half-smile that always made your heart skip a beat. "You sure?"

"Absolutely," you said, your hand slipping down to intertwine with his. "Let’s get hitched."

A week later, you found yourself standing outside the courthouse, the sun just beginning to set in the late afternoon sky, casting a warm glow over everything. It was quiet, just the way you wanted it. No crowd, no elaborate decorations, and no endless chatter. Just you and Logan, and the soft hum of the world around you.

You looked down at the simple dress you’d chosen—nothing fancy, just something that made you feel good, made you feel like you. Logan, dressed in his usual button-up, looked handsome in that effortlessly rugged way only he could pull off. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, a teasing glimpse of his chest visible, and his hair styled in those little tufts as always, the white streaks more visible.

"Ready?" you asked, your heart fluttering in anticipation.

Logan’s eyes met yours, steady and calm. "More than ready."

As you both stepped inside, the courthouse was quiet. There was no fanfare, no grand entrance—just the two of you, walking hand in hand, a quiet sense of peace settling over the moment.

The ceremony itself was simple, just like you’d wanted until Logan surprised you. He cleared his throat, looking a little awkward as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"I, uh... I’ve got somethin’ for you," he muttered, his voice rough but filled with something soft underneath. From his pocket, he pulled out a pen. Not just any pen.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was your pen—the one you’d given him two years ago when he had started his first-day teaching history at Xavier’s. A "good luck" charm, you had called it, but it had become something meaningful to Logan.

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as Logan handed it to you with a small smile. From the same pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper, slightly crumpled, like it had been carried around for a while.

"I wrote somethin'," he said, his voice low as he unfolded the paper, his eyes flicking nervously to yours. "Figured you deserved more than just... y’know, me wingin’ it."

He cleared his throat, glancing down at the paper. Then, with that same rough tenderness that was so purely Logan, he began to read.

"I ain’t great with words, darlin'," he started, his voice softening. "But I figure you already know that. So, I’ll keep it simple. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I ain’t perfect... never will be. I swear to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life doin’ whatever it takes to make you happy, keepin’ you safe, and showin’ you that you’re loved. 'Cause you are, more than I ever thought I’d love someone."

By the time he finished, your vision was blurred with unshed tears. You didn’t need any more words. You didn’t need anything grand or fancy. In that quiet courthouse, with Logan standing before you, holding the pen you had given him long ago, you had everything you could ever want.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, "I love you. I never thought I could be this happy, but every day with you... you show me something new. You make everything better."

He smiled then, a real, full smile that softened the lines of his face and reached his eyes—a rare sight, but one you cherished every time. He stepped closer, his hand warm and rough as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch grounding you in the moment.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that sent warmth spreading through you, just like the way his presence always did.

You held each other's gaze as the quiet world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you standing there. Together, you exchanged rings—simple gold bands that glinted in the soft light, but they felt like so much more.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushed yours, sealing the vows with a soft kiss. It was as steady and certain as the love you had found with him. It was simply perfect.

#fluff #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x you #x men wolverine #x men logan #logan x reader #james logan howlett #marvel #mcu #days of future past #professor logan #professor reader #wedding #fluff and humor #fluff and romance #hugh jackman

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tokutaiseichan · 7 months ago

Text

B's-LOG October Issue's Tokyo Debunker Character Interview Translations

It's finally done~~~!!!! Me and @kurosagileo worked hard on it so I hope everyone can enjoy it too! Also big thanks to @tzutako for providing the raws of the interview!

Credits:

Translation: @kurosagileo (Frostheim, Vagastorm, Sinostra), @tokutaiseichan (Jabberwock, Hotarubi, Obscuary, Mortkranken) Raw Provider: @tzutako

FROSTHEIM

Jin

Incantation: Bianerus Effect: Commands have compelling power over others.

Q: What is your favorite subject? A: People who don’t understand Anomalous Information Studies have no right to talk about anomalies. That’s all.

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: …. If you’re talking about the mission, contact Tohma.

Q: What’s your favorite place on campus? A: The dorm balcony. Having a smoke there is especially nice.

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: Should I go to my vacation home in Niseko and take a nap? …. It’s not impossible. Hey Tohma, get the helicopter.

ーーーーー

Tohma

Incantation: Argeas Effect: Vibrations can be transferred to distant places through materials like walls and floors.

Q: What is your favorite subject? A: I’m very sorry, but nothing in particular. Darkwick’s subjects are a bit unique, so I can just barely keep up.

Q: What is good about your house? A: It’s thoroughly cleaned and furnished to be pleasing to the eyes. Also, the elegant Frostheim students, perhaps.

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: With the assistance of a uniquely talented master and the perceptive juniors, there are no concerns at all. The captain isn’t feeling well? No, that won’t be a big deal.

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: If I get an R&R permit approved…… let’s see. For example, how about going out to a nearby mountain and going trekking. That’s surprising? Hahaha…… Of course I mean it.

ーーーーー

Luca

Incantation: Iggnaim Effect: Invokes an invisible barrier.

Q: What is good about your dorm? A: The atmosphere is similar to my hometown and it’s comfortable. And then, the air on the premises is so clear that at night there are times when you can see the Aurora. If I’m here, I feel like my soul is in harmony with nature.

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: Actually, I want to be sent on a higher ranking mission. I train every day to make that wish come true. Definitely someday…… I will be able to subjugate a demon with my hands.

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: I want to go to a restaurant that Kaito said “All the Japanese boys like.” If I remember correctly…… it was called Jiro style ramen. Since there’s not a restaurant like this in my hometown in England, I’m really looking forward to it.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: From the day I transferred to this school, Kaito was my first friend and has been a really good friend to me. I’m also very grateful to Tohma for all the help. Now, all that’s left is for Jin to fulfil his duties, but….

ーーーーー

Kaito

Incantation: Unknown Effect: Unknown

Q: What is good about your house? A: Hm…… my house, on the surface, is a symbol of authority! Or that’s what’s said. Honestly, commoners like me feel out of place… they’re all always trying to get the upper hand, I can’t stand it.

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: Nonono, firstly I’m concerned that the mission itself even exists!? I just want to live a peaceful and fun school life!!

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: Um… wait a sec. I think it was featured in Men’s An’a*, but…. ah, yeah yeah! The number 1 for classic dating spots ranked…….. the Tokyo Skytree!!! [*Possibly a parody of An An magazine]

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: Hm…… the captain and vice captain honestly feel like they live above the clouds….. Rumor has it the two of them are colluding with Darkwick, I heard they’re doing something nasty. Eh? Luca? …… I don’t know that bastard with an unrivaled face.

ーーーーー

VAGASTORM

Alan

Incantation: Yagsal Olbasa Effect: Specifics unknown. It seems to be a very dangerous ability.

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: ……The path he chose, will it lead closer to the truth? I keep asking myself that.

Q: What’s your favorite place on campus? A: A fishing spot. Since it’s in the forest, no one usually comes there. How do you get there from the main building……? ….. I won’t know until I go back to the dorm.

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: Mount Hotaka. Ah, it’s in the Northern Alps. It’s definitely far from here, but…… I’d take the car so it’s not a problem.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: We’re just some random people who obtained power by chance. But, clawing their way up like their life depends on it…… those guys have that kind of nature.

ーーーーー

Leo

Incantation: Haxs Effect: It can enhance hearing, allows far away sounds and sounds being shielded to be heard.

Q: What is your favorite subject? A: No~thing. You just have to memorize the textbooks. It’s so easy it’s boring. I had high hopes because it was supposed to be specialized study of anomalies.

Q: What’s your favorite place on campus? A: The bath. When I enrolled, there wasn’t even a bath in my dorm’s shower room. I had to use my own money to remodel. It’s honestly ridiculous, right?

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: The club. Since I entered Darkwick, I haven’t been able to go out at all. I’m so stressed I’m gonna go insane.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: No matter how you look at it, Cap is a himbo. Eh~, Sho…….. he’s my slave, I guess♡

ーーーーー

Sho

Incantation: Spurno Effect: Unknown

Q: What is your favorite subject? A: Nothing really……. ah, but Anomalous Combat is still better. Since I get to move my body, it’s a good stress reliever, y’know?

Q: What is good about your house? A: What’s good about it? …… Since there’s a garage, bike maintenance is easy. That’s it.

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: There’s a famous restaurant in Nakame that’s famous for its delicious broth. It seems like a creative Japanese restaurant. I’d like to go there once.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: Ah…. Leo’s the kind of guy you just can’t get rid of. How should I put it… we’ve just been hanging out together for some reason since middle school. Mido-senpai…… I never know what he’s thinking. That guy, he’s the type that doesn’t have enough words, right?

ーーーーー

JABBERWOCK

Haru

Incantation: Bahnti Effect: Can freely reduce gravity effects on his own body.

Q. What is good about your house? A. You can feel healed and refreshed by numerous adorable anomalous animals! You'll even get a full hospitality service from Jabberwock's very own handsome ghouls!! What do you think, dearest customer? Would you like to come and try?!

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. Hmm... I don't mind going for missions but there's no one to watch my kids while I'm gone. Even when I tried using an automatic feeder, the less domesticated critters just won't get used to it...

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. That reminds me! Recently Ren told me that I "looked like someone who wanders around Don Quijote late at night." When I looked it up, apparently it's a store chain that sells various useful appliances! Now that's music to my ears~

Q. What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. Both Ren and Towa have a nice build so I think it's better if they try to make use of it. If they make the most out of those muscles, they'll be much more reliable... Hm? This sound......... Oi, Towa! Hoooold your horses~~~~~~!!

ーーーーー

Towa

Incantation: Unknown Effect: Unknown

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. ~~~~? ~~~~!

Q. What’s your favorite place on campus? A. ~~~~𝅘𝅥𝅮

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. ~~~~~~~~𝅘𝅥𝅮

Q. What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. ~~~~𝅘𝅥𝅮 ~~~~!!

ーーーーー

Ren

Incantation: Raothtas Effect: Specifics unknown. According to Ren himself, it's a rather useless power.

Q. What is good about your house? A. Nothing. It smells... and it’s gross too... I'm the one who wants to ask if there's anything good to say about this sorry excuse of a dorm.

Q. What’s your favorite place on campus? A. At Darkwick, the only place where I can just lounge freely and do my own thing is my room... Well, it's nothing out of the ordinary; I'm just playing some mobile games and watching some movies...

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. I have a lot: Sagara is being too loud, Sagara is being too pushy, and Sagara is being too. Damn. Loud.

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. Anywhere as long as that clown isn't there is great...... Oh, right. There's also this movie theatre in Shinjuku called Musashinokan. I want to go there... Huh? I'm going alone of course. Isn't that obvious.....

ーーーーー

SINOSTRA

Taiga

Incantation: Malab Effect: Unknown

Q: What is good about your house? A: Ah~? It’s getting money out of greedy small fry customers and unskilled dealers, isn’t it? Gyahaha!

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: Whenever I go on one, I get hungry right away…

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: Macao.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: Lulu gets so angry every day, I could never get bored of it~ …… Ah~? Shinjo? Who the fuck is that?

ーーーーー

Romeo

Incantation: Tiris Effect: Can turn objects into bombs.

Q: What is good about your house? A: This casino that can barely keep running has no good points. At best, it’s just a place to make a little money

Q: Do you have any concerns with missions? A: Hmph, that WTWUT, isn’t it obvious!? Wall to wall useless trash!

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: When I have some free time, I want to go to South Korea. Ha……. if I don't earn more, there won’t be enough funds for that………..

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: I’m fed up with my boss. No matter how often I say the same thing, it’s a WOE. Ha? “Waste” “of” “effort” obviously. Then, as for Shinjo, I’ll be giving him a thorough education from now on, and we’ll see how he turns out.

ーーーーー

Ritsu

Incantation: Acimo Effect: His body becomes as hard as steel and heavier.

Q: What is your favorite subject? A: There’s something to learn from every subject, but my best subject is, of course, Anomalous Law. Instead of the basic Six Codes, the subject deals with special cases, like how the Anomalous Investigation Institute and Darkwick regulations handle legal proceedings surrounding anomalies.

Q: What’s your favorite place on campus? A: There’s no location in particular, but the restaurant on campus called the Mystery Diner is a good choice. Since it is always deserted, it is a good location for client meetings.

Q: Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A: If I get permission to go out, I would like to go to the opera. Before entering this school, I often went to the New National Theatre in Tokyo with my mother. Bizet’s “Carmen” is recommended for beginners. Do you understand French?

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A: I have come to the conclusion that it is futile to try to change the violent behavior of the captain, Taiga Hoshibami, as well as the vice captain, Romeo Scorpius Lucci. From now on, I will defend them and certainly win the Laurel Crown.

ーーーーー

HOTARUBI

Subaru

Incantation: Talnandio Effect: It's said to be a power that allows him to communicate with the "Tsukumogami" that resides in objects, but...?

Q. What's your favorite subject? A. Favorite subject... I guess you could say I like Anomalous Biology the most. Professor Hyde's lectures are always so interesting, I can't help but to be all ears whenever he talks...

Q. What’s your favorite place on campus? A. Lately I've been enjoying my lunch at the second floor terrace of the main school building. It's an easier place to stay for me compared to the ever-crowded cafeteria.

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. Hotarubi normally doesn't really have many chances to go through difficult missions so I don't really... Oh, but if I must say, perhaps I rely too much on Haku... I feel awful for being such an undependable captain.

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. Shibuya...... I suppose? I've been living all my life in Tokyo but the truth is, I've never been there. Not even once. O-oh, no! Please don't mind me! I really just mean that I hope I'll get the chance to go some day......! I'm… not too good with crowds.

ーーーーー

Haku

Incantation: Unknown Effect: Unknown

Q: What is good about your house? A. Let's see... It feels humid everyday thanks to the rain and the building is so old that it’s probably on the brink of collapsing. Haha... I guess it's always easier to complain, huh. Despite everything, this place does give me a sense of tranquillity. Perhaps because the atmosphere is similar to my family's home.

Q. What’s your favorite place on campus? A. Can I choose a place from our dorm? Then I'd recommend the open-air porch of our guest room. Enjoying a cup of hot tea while your eyes feast on Hotarubi's esteemed garden一it's one of a kind experience.

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. I don't really have any particular complaints... scratch that. There's one. Our dorm is a little understaffed. Well, I guess there are some who can help out—but asking them would be a little troublesome. We already have someone who can keep this place lively, you see.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. Another difficult question, huh. Let's see... Subaru is a very capable leader. His only flaw is that he always tries to carry everything by himself. As for Zenji... how do I say this... being around him cheers me up. I'm grateful to him for that.

ーーーーー

Zenji

Incantation: Unknown Effect: Unknown

Q: What is good about your house? A. I'm so glad you asked! As a matter of fact, our esteemed Hotarubi house is an ensemble of chic, peaceful, and artistic boys and girls!

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. Uh-hmm? Let's see... Concerns, concerns... if I must say something then I suppose it's how Haku seems to like working all by himself? Oh, but it won't be a problem! I'll simply put more work to help him...... from the shadows, that is.

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. Of course! Immediately to the left side as you start ascending Natsume-zaka from the Waseda intersection一there, proudly stands a black granite monument inscribed with the words "The Birthplace of Soseki Natsume"... It's my dream to be able to touch that monument.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. If I were to describe Subaru as anything then... he's someone with a heart of glass... On the contrary, I can't help but notice Haku's tactless conduct. He ought to learn to be more mindful if he's going to call himself my manager.

ーーーーー

OBSCUARY

Edward

Incantation: Unknown Effect: Unknown

Q: What is good about your house? A. There are a lot. For starters, it's far removed from the boisterous campus and nobody dares to interfere with these grounds. But the best part is how there's no sunlight. I'm a vampire, you see. So a dorm that is always engulfed in night time is a comfortable place for me to live in.

Q. What’s your favorite place on campus? A. My own room would be the best place, after all. I can watch Youtube anytime and the Nishikawa bed that Rui picked is exceptionally cozy. What do you think? Would you like to try sleeping on it with me?

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. I have no such concerns since I don't go on missions. Cough cough..... Aah, pardon me. The cold I caught last month still hasn't gone away, you see. Will it be okay to excuse myself soon?

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. I'm envious of how those two are so young and full of energy. When I was around their age, I....... oh dearie me. It's quite an old tale so I have completely forgotten about it.

ーーーーー

Rui

Incantation: Unknown Effect: By blowing a kiss, he can send a wave of energy with anesthetic effect一temporarily relieving pain and fatigue of the target.

Q. What's your favorite subject? A. Ehh~~~? I haven't been going to classes though~~~...... I don't even remember what subjects they’re teaching here. I try not to go to the campus building as much as possible, after all.

Q: What is good about your house? A. Most of the room interiors are hand picked by yours truly so I can recommend all of them~.... Ah! But only cute girls are allowed to stay the night!

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. Hmm~.......... If I can go out without worrying about curfew then I'd like to go shopping at Daikanyama and then go home after enjoying a pleasant meal at Yebisu Garden Place Tower~☆ Well, I can't really go out into crowded places though, so everything is just a pipe dream! Ahaha!

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. It's such a pain how Ed barely has any life skills to save himself. I'm practically nursing him at this point......... As for Lyca~..... Huh? That one is pretty much like taking care of a kid.... Oh, c'mon! What do they take me for?!

ーーーーー

Lyca

Incantation: Ramsochisa Effect: Allows him to know the location of his target and follows them no matter where they go一provided that he recognize their scent beforehand.

Q. What's your favorite subject? A. Hmm.... I don't really understand but everything is so fun!

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. I told everyone that I'm fine doing missions on my own but they keep worrying about me.

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. .... I want to see Neros. I still don't know where he is though...

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. Exactly what I call them: a Moth-Eaten Casanova and a Blond Gigolo. I'm a human too so why won't they put me in the same house as Suba and his friends?!

ーーーーー

MORTKRANKEN

Yuri

Incantation: Agnihaet Effect: Hyperstimulates his brain cells so that it allows him to solve complex calculations and logically process informations in a matter of seconds.

Q: What is good about your house? A. Hmph! Other than the fact that it houses this genius doctor, Yuri Isami, do you really think there’s any other redeeming qualities about this house… No, about Darkwick at all?! Of course not!

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. Thanks to all those brute germs from other houses destroying each and every anomaly, I never have enough specimens to use for my experiments!

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. Now that we’re talking about it, it’s almost time for me to buy clothes for the next season. Where am I going to buy them? Why, at the Nihombashi Takashimaya Shopping Center of course!!

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. Are you referring to Jiro, assistant and patient to the genius Yuri Isami? Well, he still needs a lot of training, you see. He lacks knowledge, skills, experiences, and education. That is to say, he’s 100 years too early to become a doctor of my caliber.

ーーーーー

Jiro

Incantation: Unknown Effect: Unknown

Q. What's your favorite subject? A. Anomalous Medicine, I suppose. But since I specialize in infectious disease, I usually research papers and materials that aren't included in the curriculum on my own.

Q. Do you have any concerns with missions? A. If I were told about the mission schedule in advance, I can prepare to increase my medication dosage from the day before. Oh, but everything will be fine as long as Yuri is there to give me immediate treatment if something happens.

Q. Where would you like to go if you have your R&R permit approved? A. Nowhere in particular. Or rather, I don't really know where I should go.

Q: What do you think about the ghoul(s) in your house? A. Okay... The only other ghoul is Yuri, though. He's my attending doctor. If it wasn't for Yuri, I may be as good as dead now. I feel grateful to him, to put it simply.

#tokyo debunker #tkdb info #tkdb ref #b's-log magazine #b's-log translations #my translations #Partially!!!

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months ago

Text

How finfluencers destroyed the housing and lives of thousands of people

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

The crash of 2008 imparted many lessons to those of us who were only dimly aware of finance, especially the problems of complexity as a way of disguising fraud and recklessness. That was really the first lesson of 2008: "financial engineering" is mostly a way of obscuring crime behind a screen of technical jargon.

This is a vital principle to keep in mind, because obscenely well-resourced "financial engineers" are on a tireless, perennial search for opportunities to disguise fraud as innovation. As Riley Quinn says, "Any time you hear 'fintech,' substitute 'unlicensed bank'":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

But there's another important lesson to learn from the 2008 disaster, a lesson that's as old as the South Seas Bubble: "leverage" (that is, debt) is a force multiplier for fraud. Easy credit for financial speculation turns local scams into regional crime waves; it turns regional crime into national crises; it turns national crises into destabilizing global meltdowns.

When financial speculators have easy access to credit, they "lever up" their wagers. A speculator buys your house and uses it for collateral for a loan to buy another house, then they make a bet using that house as collateral and buy a third house, and so on. This is an obviously terrible practice and lenders who extend credit on this basis end up riddling the real economy with rot – a single default in the chain can ripple up and down it and take down a whole neighborhood, town or city. Any time you see this behavior in debt markets, you should batten your hatches for the coming collapse. Unsurprisingly, this is very common in crypto speculation, where it's obscured behind the bland, unpronounceable euphemism of "re-hypothecation":

https://www.coindesk.com/consensus-magazine/2023/05/10/rehypothecation-may-be-common-in-traditional-finance-but-it-will-never-work-with-bitcoin/

Loose credit markets often originate with central banks. The dogma that holds that the only role the government has to play in tuning the economy is in setting interest rates at the Fed means the answer to a cooling economy is cranking down the prime rate, meaning that everyone earns less money on their savings and are therefore incentivized to go and risk their retirement playing at Wall Street's casino.

The "zero interest rate policy" shows what happens when this tactic is carried out for long enough. When the economy is built upon mountains of low-interest debt, when every business, every stick of physical plant, every car and every home is leveraged to the brim and cross-collateralized with one another, central bankers have to keep interest rates low. Raising them, even a little, could trigger waves of defaults and blow up the whole economy.

Holding interest rates at zero – or even flipping them to negative, so that your savings lose value every day you refuse to flush them into the finance casino – results in still more reckless betting, and that results in even more risk, which makes it even harder to put interest rates back up again.

This is a morally and economically complicated phenomenon. On the one hand, when the government provides risk-free bonds to investors (that is, when the Fed rate is over 0%), they're providing "universal basic income for people with money." If you have money, you can park it in T-Bills (Treasury bonds) and the US government will give you more money:

https://realprogressives.org/mmp-blog-34-responses/

On the other hand, while T-Bills exist and are foundational to the borrowing picture for speculators, ZIRP creates free debt for people with money – it allows for ever-greater, ever-deadlier forms of leverage, with ever-worsening consequences for turning off the tap. As 2008 forcibly reminded us, the vast mountains of complex derivatives and other forms of exotic debt only seems like an abstraction. In reality, these exotic financial instruments are directly tethered to real things in the real economy, and when the faery gold disappears, it takes down your home, your job, your community center, your schools, and your whole country's access to cancer medication:

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/jun/08/greek-drug-shortage-worsens

Being a billionaire automatically lowers your IQ by 30 points, as you are insulated from the consequences of your follies, lapses, prejudices and superstitions. As @[email protected] says, Elon Musk is what Howard Hughes would have turned into if he hadn't been a recluse:

https://mamot.fr/@[email protected]/112457199729198644

The same goes for financiers during periods of loose credit. Loose Fed money created an "everything bubble" that saw the prices of every asset explode, from housing to stocks, from wine to baseball cards. When every bet pays off, you win the game by betting on everything:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everything_bubble

That meant that the ZIRPocene was an era in which ever-stupider people were given ever-larger sums of money to gamble with. This was the golden age of the "finfluencer" – a Tiktok dolt with a surefire way for you to get rich by making reckless bets that endanger the livelihoods, homes and wellbeing of your neighbors.

Finfluencers are dolts, but they're also dangerous. Writing for The American Prospect, the always-amazing Maureen Tkacik describes how a small clutch of passive-income-brainworm gurus created a financial weapon of mass destruction, buying swathes of apartment buildings and then destroying them, ruining the lives of their tenants, and their investors:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-05-22-hell-underwater-landlord/

Tcacik's main characters are Matt Picheny, Brent Ritchie and Koteswar “Jay” Gajavelli, who ran a scheme to flip apartment buildings, primarily in Houston, America's fastest growing metro, which also boasts some of America's weakest protections for tenants. These finance bros worked through Gajavelli's company Applesway Investment Group, which levered up his investors' money with massive loans from Arbor Realty Trust, who also originated loans to many other speculators and flippers.

For investors, the scheme was a classic heads-I-win/tails-you-lose: Gajavelli paid himself a percentage of the price of every building he bought, a percentage of monthly rental income, and a percentage of the resale price. This is typical of the "syndicating" sector, which raised $111 billion on this basis:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-housing-bust-comes-for-thousands-of-small-time-investors-3934beb3

Gajavelli and co bought up whole swathes of Houston and other cities, apartment blocks both modest and luxurious, including buildings that had already been looted by previous speculators. As interest rates crept up and the payments for the adjustable-rate loans supporting these investments exploded, Gajavell's Applesway and its subsidiary LLCs started to stiff their suppliers. Garbage collection dwindled, then ceased. Water outages became common – first weekly, then daily. Community rooms and pools shuttered. Lawns grew to waist-high gardens of weeds, fouled with mounds of fossil dogshit. Crime ran rampant, including murders. Buildings filled with rats and bedbugs. Ceilings caved in. Toilets backed up. Hallways filled with raw sewage:

https://pluralistic.net/timberridge

Meanwhile, the value of these buildings was plummeting, and not just because of their terrible condition – the whole market was cooling off, in part thanks to those same interest-rate hikes. Because the loans were daisy-chained, problems with a single building threatened every building in the portfolio – and there were problems with a lot more than one building.

This ruination wasn't limited to Gajavelli's holdings. Arbor lent to multiple finfluencer grifters, providing the leverage for every Tiktok dolt to ruin a neighborhood of their choosing. Arbor's founder, the "flamboyant" Ivan Kaufman, is associated with a long list of bizarre pop-culture and financial freak incidents. These have somehow eclipsed his scandals, involving – you guessed it – buying up apartment buildings and turning them into dangerous slums. Two of his buildings in Hyattsville, MD accumulated 2,162 violations in less than three years.

Arbor graduated from owning slums to creating them, lending out money to grifters via a "crowdfunding" platform that rooked retail investors into the scam, taking advantage of Obama-era deregulation of "qualified investor" restrictions to sucker unsophisticated savers into handing over money that was funneled to dolts like Gajavelli. Arbor ran the loosest book in town, originating mortgages that wouldn't pass the (relatively lax) criteria of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. This created an ever-enlarging pool of apartments run by dolts, without the benefit of federal insurance. As one short-seller's report on Arbor put it, they were the origin of an epidemic of "Slumlord Millionaires":

https://viceroyresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Arbor-Slumlord-Millionaires-Jan-8-2023.pdf

The private equity grift is hard to understand from the outside, because it appears that a bunch of sober-sided, responsible institutions lose out big when PE firms default on their loans. But the story of the Slumlord Millionaires shows how such a scam could be durable over such long timescales: remember that the "syndicating" sector pays itself giant amounts of money whether it wins or loses. The consider that they finance this with investor capital from "crowdfunding" platforms that rope in naive investors. The owners of these crowdfunding platforms are conduits for the money to make the loans to make the bets – but it's not their money. Quite the contrary: they get a fee on every loan they originate, and a share of the interest payments, but they're not on the hook for loans that default. Heads they win, tails we lose.

In other words, these crooks are intermediaries – they're platforms. When you're on the customer side of the platform, it's easy to think that your misery benefits the sellers on the platform's other side. For example, it's easy to believe that as your Facebook feed becomes enshittified with ads, that advertisers are the beneficiaries of this enshittification.

But the reason you're seeing so many ads in your feed is that Facebook is also ripping off advertisers: charging them more, spending less to police ad-fraud, being sloppier with ad-targeting. If you're not paying for the product, you're the product. But if you are paying for the product? You're still the product:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#adfraud

In the same way: the private equity slumlord who raises your rent, loads up on junk fees, and lets your building disintegrate into a crime-riddled, sewage-tainted, rat-infested literal pile of garbage is absolutely fucking you over. But they're also fucking over their investors. They didn't buy the building with their own money, so they're not on the hook when it's condemned or when there's a forced sale. They got a share of the initial sale price, they get a percentage of your rental payments, so any upside they miss out on from a successful sale is just a little extra they're not getting. If they squeeze you hard enough, they can probably make up the difference.

The fact that this criminal playbook has wormed its way into every corner of the housing market makes it especially urgent and visible. Housing – shelter – is a human right, and no person can thrive without a stable home. The conversion of housing, from human right to speculative asset, has been a catastrophe:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

Of course, that's not the only "asset class" that has been enshittified by private equity looters. They love any kind of business that you must patronize. Capitalists hate capitalism, so they love a captive audience, which is why PE took over your local nursing home and murdered your gran:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

Homes are the last asset of the middle class, and the grifter class know it, so they're coming for your house. Willie Sutton robbed banks because "that's where the money is" and We Buy Ugly Houses defrauds your parents out of their family home because that's where their money is:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/#homevestor

The plague of housing speculation isn't a US-only phenomenon. We have allies in Spain who are fighting our Wall Street landlords:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#fuckin-aardvarks

Also in Berlin:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/16/die-miete-ist-zu-hoch/#assets-v-human-rights

The fight for decent housing is the fight for a decent world. That's why unions have joined the fight for better, de-financialized housing. When a union member spends two hours commuting every day from a black-mold-filled apartment that costs 50% of their paycheck, they suffer just as surely as if their boss cut their wage:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/13/i-want-a-roof-over-my-head/#and-bread-on-the-table

The solutions to our housing crises aren't all that complicated – they just run counter to the interests of speculators and the ruling class. Rent control, which neoliberal economists have long dismissed as an impossible, inevitable disaster, actually works very well:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

As does public housing:

https://jacobin.com/2023/10/red-vienna-public-affordable-housing-homelessness-matthew-yglesias

There are ways to have a decent home and a decent life without being burdened with debt, and without being a pawn in someone else's highly leveraged casino bet.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/22/koteswar-jay-gajavelli/#if-you-ever-go-to-houston

Image: Boy G/Google Maps (modified) https://pluralistic.net/timberridge

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