#photoshoots can be tiring | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bernardsbendystraws · 26 days ago

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𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Nick has been your best friend for so long, but you can’t seem to get a long with his brother—Chris. You try to mess with Chris and it backfires….badly….

Warnings: illegal street racing, stupid driving, tension, smut with so much plot it hurts, street racer Chris, BIG MASSIVE SHLONG CHRIS, size kink, bulge kink, dick-wad Chris, p n v, raw sex, riding (wink), and more....

A/N: THIS IS OVER 5.2K WORDS. THIS IS NAWT A QUICK READ. Now, get in the car bitches, we're getting HORNYYYYYY!!!!

With love and bigs tits, Rose

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“Hey, cute jeans!” I wave, my lips curling into a grin as I squint my eyes at him—Chris. He rolls his tongue, shaking his head as he stalks off further down the street. Ha.

It’s one of those rare occurrences—I’m here—at his street race, for god knows what reason.

All I ever do is mock him. In fact, that’s why I call him cute jeans. The first time Nick and I had shown up at one of these dumb things, Chris thought I was a stranger from behind—and my jeans? Damn.

He had to be a real asshole and hit on me.

That night was fun for more than one reason. It sparked something—something I didn’t know existed.

After that, my teasing only got worse. Chris’s ego couldn’t handle staying silent, he always had something smart to say.

“Come to watch me again, huh? Gonna record it for later, I bet,” Chris winks. My mouth snaps shut as I go to say something back. He’s already gone—not giving me a second to respond before shutting the door to his car and speeding down the road.

Typical.

It’s still bright out. The sun sinks lower into the horizon as more people crowd the deserted street by the minute.

“Okay, let’s just take a couple more pics and then we’ll go. I know you hate this,” Nick huffs, adjusting the leather jacket he’s wearing—the same coat that inspired this whole photoshoot. But you couldn’t blame him, he did look hot as fuck.

Even if his looks resemble a certain idiot lurking nearby.

Part of me is burning with spite. I hate letting Chris have the last word. But my brain sparks with an idea, a brilliant idea.

How much would it cost him if I stayed around?

Those stupid bets were always placed in his favor. No one could deny he was good—really good. He drove on the street like he owned it and he never even seemed nervous.

“I kinda wanna stay—” My words are interrupted as I feel an arm rest down on my shoulders. I look over to see Beck, a girl I love seeing.

She’s vibrant—especially with her signature red lip that seemed to draw all eyes to her. I always blossom off her confidence, loving to sit next to her when she showed true female power all with one swing of that stupid flag in the air.

“How are ya, girlie? Haven’t seen you in months,” she puffs, hugging me a little bit closer before dropping her arm back to her side.

I smile over at her. “Pretty good, you still stomping on egos?” I question, the glint of mischief in her eyes reflecting back as she gives me a slow nod.

“Oh, always. Especially Chris—and it’s just for you.” She boops my nose as her words drag through the wind, the sound of tires screeching starting to muffle the chaotic hum of the crowd forming.

Nick stares down at the camera lens, scrolling through the pictures I had taken of him—the reason why we were here, pretty much. “Actually, I think we got enough. But are you sure you wanna stay? I can come back and get you later—”

Beck brushes on Nick’s shoulder. She scrunches her nose at me while licking over her teeth. “I got her, Nick. Go home and post those pics, I’ll return her to you safely after tonight, don’t worry.”

“Alright…” Nick sighs, reluctantly hugging me and wandering back towards his car to head home.

“So why’d you wanna stay? Finally like cars?” Beck interrogates.

I shake my head vigorously, laughing as she smiles at me. “Fuck no, I just—”

“You’re gonna mess with him, aren’t you?”

Her question rings through the air as a speeding car flies by—racers already warming up.

My eyes trace towards the track, seeing a sleek red sports car in the distance doing donuts. Of fucking course. Chris was always doing some dumb shit—illegal street racing or doing fucking donuts while the other racers were repeatedly drifting around the corners or fixing up their cars.

He’s so cocky.

I whisper back to her as I watch his car tires mark the pavement. “Damn right.”

___

Chris is already fed up—I can tell by the way his jaw clicks and his nostrils flare when I catch him in the corner of my eye.

And I’m looking directly at him, a stupid smile covering my face as I put my money on the bet table. It’s twenty bucks, but it was twenty bucks I was willing to spend, or rather waste. Chris hasn’t lost in a while—honestly I’m not sure if he ever has.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chris huffs, pulling me by the arm as he drags me to the side of the road by his car.

He roughly shoves me. The feeling of his car pressed up against my backside leaves my eyes twinkling with pride—I’m really getting to him. Just like I planned.

I shrug. “Just placing my bets. Isn’t that what everyone does at these—”

“Why are you here? Why’re you–,” as his eyes stare into mine, his rough tone falls silent, his scowl curling into a smirk as he analyzes the subtle twitch of my nose. “Huh—just comin’ to watch, right?”

I nod to his question, my pride sinking to my feet as I try to stand up tall. Chris presses his body against mine, making my weight lean against the car once more. I swallow thickly as his hand drops from my arm.

What is he doing?

“You know, I meant it, right?” he tuts, his eyes tracing your figure with no shame. “These jeans… baby, they look so good on you.” His voice gets deeper, his head falling forward as his lips graze my ear. “-bet they’d look better off though, hm?”

Fuck.

I wish it didn’t make something inside the pit of my gut burn—but it did. God, it really fucking did. My heart is hammering against my chest, the pulse in my neck pounding in my ears as slight butterflies in my stomach make it harder to breathe.

Shoving my body quickly, I manage to escape his hold. “Shut up. You’re such a cocky prick,” I spit, my arms folding across my chest as I try to keep a stern expression.

Chris lets out a dry laugh, grinning like he’s already won. He takes a couple steps forward, letting his hand travel into the ends of my hair, “And yet, you love it. I can practically hear how nervous I’m makin’ you, it’s a real ego boost,” he husks.

“You don’t make me—” My lips fall open further, motionless as his hand moves to my neck, his cold fingers brushing against my pulse as my eyes go wide.

“Not nervous, huh…” His head leans towards the side as he stares all over my face. His eyes linger on my lips as I try to look away.

But it’s impossible. Chris swerves his head, not letting my eyes leave his as he just stares at me.

“Chris, stop—”

“Why? Do I make you too nervous?” he urges, licking over his teeth and letting his hands drop down to his sides.

I feel a wave of heat caress up my spine and over my shoulders. “Don’t you have some stupid race to lose?”

The taunt seems humorous to him, the last resolve of my dignity peeking through mumbled words as he wipes over his mouth.

“Alright, alright. Guess I’ll go try to lose, but—I might need your help.” He shrugs, walking off with a wink.

Uh oh.

Help?

___

I can’t tell what the fuck is going through his brain. Part of me regrets staying—but another part of me is sickly invested in whatever this twisted game is.

Nearly all bets had been placed. Stacks of money rested on the plastic table with a heavy bais—most were betting on Chris.

It had to be at least two grand.

He wouldn’t give up two grand for some petty argument with me, right? No—that would be insane. Absolutely bonkers.

…right?

I watch as Beck stands in the middle of the dark street, the only glow coming from the blue streetlights above. The sun had set quickly, the stars and moon doing nothing compared to the headlights from all the cars.

My legs hurt. I didn’t realize I had been clenching every muscle for the entirety of the countdown to the actual race. The cold bleachers sting against my skin in the night air—maybe I would’ve dressed warmer if I thought I was gonna stay. But no—I was stuck shivering in jeans, a purple lace bra peeking from under my black top, and a letterman jacket.

The front row gave the best view, but I had no one to shield the bitter breeze. But it was worth it. This way I got to sit by Beck the entire time.

“Racers ready?” she shouts, her voice prominent over the reviving engines as she holds the flag in the air.

Chris is on the side closer to me, his boyish smile apparent as I stare at the side of his face. The other guy was one of the better ones—the bets had some sort of hope in him, a large stack of bills showing that he had a decent amount of skill.

My mouth waters as I see Chris run a hand through his hair, his head turning and his eyes catching mine. Holy fuck. He looks absolutely dreamy—there’s not an ounce of anxiety, pure confidence radiating from him.

And it makes it so hard to look away.

“Wait, I got one more bet I gotta place,” Chris announces.

What?

My brows furrow, my face scrunching as I watch Beck relax the flag back down to her side. “Make it quick.”

Chris nods at her words, my stomach flutters as he stares directly back at me, leaning his head out his window while licking over his lips. “Wanna make a bet, sweetheart?” he asks.

I look around me, my shoulder sinking slightly as I take in the amount of people staring at me.

He’s holding up the race to embarass me. Fuck.

As I stare back at him with squinted eyes, he clicks his tongue on the side of his mouth. “If I win, I get to take you for a drive. Deal?”

“What?” I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as I motion to the bet table, “Why the hell would I agree to that—”

“You bet against me, remember?” he points.

My lips smack shut, the lump in my throat gathering thicker as I try to swallow. “I’ll even give you the chance to make sure I lose a round. We gotta bet or not?” he questions, his eyes twinkling as the blue lights illuminate his sharp features.

If he had to lose one of the three rounds, that put more hope into the other racer. And if the other race won, I’d be more than content. Getting to call him a loser would definitely irk him more than anything—especially if it was true.

I hear boos chant around me. “Hurry up and race!” someone says from behind me.

My body stiffens as I hear the chorus of disapproval. “Deal!” I shout, biting on my inner cheek.

Chris looks at me with a daunting grin, his hand squeezing on the wheel as he nods. “A’right—ready. Sorry for the hold up.”

Beck rolls her eyes, holding up the flag once more.

“Racers ready?” she glares at Chris, continuing on as he revs his engine in response, “3—2—-1, GO—”

My heart drops as I watch the smoke from the tires scratching the street float around Beck. She saunters over, settling beside me as I lean forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watch them race side-by-side.

As the car rounds the corner and starts nearing the finish line, Chris’s car zooms just slightly in front of the other vehicle, only seconds of a difference.

I can’t wait to call him a fuckin loser.

Beck walks back out, the flag raising in the air as both cars position once again. “Alright, race two. Ready, set—”

“Hey!”

Stomping her heels on the pavement, Beck scowls at Chris as he shouts towards my direction. I look over, my face burning as I feel the crowd stare down at me.

I didn’t know much about racing, but I knew enough. This wasn’t normal—this was the prime way to piss people off.

As I go to ask what he wants, Chris curls his finger, motioning for me to come closer.

The fuck?

I hesitantly stand up, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso as I walk up to his car window. Chris stares up at me with devious eyes. He obnoxiously chews a piece of gum, his jaw bone protruding with each movement.

“What the fuck do you want?!” I whisper-yell, catching angry eyes boring onto me as I take a quick glance over my shoulder.

Oh, these people are mad—fucking furious, even.

“Kiss me.”

I do a double take, my eyes blinky slowly as I watch him lick over the bottom ridges of his teeth, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“What?” I breathe out, a dry laugh heaving from my lips.

He can’t be serious…

“However long you kiss me is however long I’ll wait to start drivin’. Didn’t you want me to lose? C’mon pretty girl, you saw the bet table—use your head, alright? It’s just a kiss,” he taunts.

This is how he was gonna give me the chance to make him lose a round—I should’ve known.

I shake my head, cringing as I hear the boo’s from the crowd get louder.

“I’m startin’,” Beck says, holding up the flag. “3—”

“Yes or no? It’s up to you,” he shrugs, his eyes drawing over my face as my lips smack open and shut.

“2—”

The noise of his engine revving makes my anxiety settle. This is my chance—my only chance at that.

“Fuck it,” I murmur, taking a long stride towards him.

“1—GO!”

I crash my lips onto his, my hands on either side of his jaw. His lips meet mine with a hard urgency, the rhythm of my movement panicked and rushed.

My breath hitches in my chest—I don’t know if it’s because I forgot to breathe or if it’s from the feeling of his hand traveling up and tangling around the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer as he slips his warm tongue into my mouth.

I nearly forget everything, gasping for air as I pull back quickly, moaning as I feel his mouth hungrily chase mine.

Never in my life had I been kissed like this—so passionately and rough.

“Hey! This gotta be breakin’ some rules–”

Fuck.

The person yelling from the crow makes me pull back into reality. I stand up, watching as Chris slowly flutters his eyes open at me with a grin so cocky my hand twitches with the urge to slap him.

Why did that feel so… good?

Before anyone can say a thing, the other car slowly halts back to the starting line.

Had we really been kissing that long?

My fingers mindlessly float up to my tingling lips, my head feeling lighter as the surroundings start to spin a bit. It’s like he put some drug in his mouth that immediately became addicting. I want more.

“See? I kept my word,” Chris points out, “Now—you gonna keep your word if I win? Lemme take you for a drive?” I swallow thickly, nodding slowly. “Good. Now go sit down and cheer for me real loud, alright?”

I don’t have time to respond before Beck interrupts with the same question, starting to count down. I quickly stumble back towards the bleachers, a sigh of relief pushing through my lips as my head bobbles between my shoulders while I sit down.

The loud cars barely register in my brain. All I can focus on is how light everything feels, how my lips are swollen and pulsing.

“C’MON!!!”

Chants behind me draw my attention back to the road. What the fuck? It’s not even close—Chris is speeding around the corners way smoother than the first round, almost as if he had been—

Oh fuck.

He was holding back.

I tried to mess with him and he played me with ease.

Part of me should be mad as he races near the finish line—but all I feel is excitement—anticipation.

My teeth clench into my lower lip as I watch him storm past the line, not even waiting for the other racer to finish before stepping out of his car and walking over.

Is he…?

My eyes bulge as he walks in front of me, holding his hand out as an offer. “C’mon, you promised, yeah?” he urges.

I nod slowly, sliding my hand in his. He drags me to his car, opening the passenger door and shutting it after I climb in.

“Chris! The money—”

Beck’s words fall on deaf ears as Chris slides into the driver seat, pressing his foot on the gas hard.

“You didn’t even get the money—what’re we doing?” I ask, looking behind my shoulder to see a crowd of people turned to our direction as we speed off further down the road.

“You know, it’s not nice to try and tick me off,” he huffs, quickly glancing at me with a harsh stare.

Oh.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ abou–”

Chris lets out a vocal sound of disbelief, cutting me off, “Yeah, you do. Fuckin—bettin’ against me, tryna get me to lose and shit. For what? Don’t have a boyfriend to give you any attention, huh?” he asks, his hand reaching over and grasping onto my thigh.

He knows I don’t have a boyfriend—I know he’s aware of that fact.

I stare down at his large hand squeezing my jean-clad leg. Something about his rough grip makes me shift in my seat, my thighs clutching together as I feel a wave of warmth settle into the pit of my stomach.

“You like my hand on your thigh, don’t you?” he says, smirking wider as I watch the blue streetlights cast a subtle glow on his cheekbones.

“I—”

“You like it. Admit it.”

There’s no room to argue as he trails his hand up further, his fingers tracing dangerously high as he gives me a rough squeeze. Fuck his hands feel good on me.

“Chris what’re you—”

“Do you know how it feels to constantly see you and know I can’t touch you?” he starts, the car rolling to a stop by the side of the road as he rushedly shifts gears to park, “-you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me—bein’ a damn brat and I have to keep my hands to myself,” he grits, shaking his head as he stares down at me.

I swallow thickly as I shift in the seat. “Chris, I–”

“No. None of that bullshit. You’re always tauntin’ me. Why’d you stay, hm? Why?” he questions, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as his eyes deepen with intensity and dominance.

Silence. I can’t fathom any words to say, my pulse drumming quicker as Chris pats his lap, adjusting his chair back.

“Over here. Now.”

“Chris, what are we doing?” I ask, hesitantly starting to climb over the center console.

His hands wrap around the underside of my thighs, pulling me quickly while I let out a slight yelp as he sits me down in his lap. His hands are firm on either side of my hips. “I’m done playin’ these stupid fuckin’ games. I just—”

The air is quiet. His eyes fall to my lips, his hands grasping just a little bit tighter around me. I can still feel the lingering sensation from his lips on mine earlier, the slight tingle still buzzing on the soft muscle as I let myself lean in closer.

“We should stop,” Chris breathes, his tongue sliding between his lips as his eyes flicker up towards mine.

“Why?”

The question rolls off my lips with ease, my palms flattening against his chest as I lower my mouth to his neck, breathing over his pulse.

“Because–” He lets out a hiss. I place my lips on his neck, sucking gently as I massage my hand over his shoulder. “Shit—we gotta stop, baby—this, this–” His jaw goes slack as I find his sweet spot. His hands dig into my hips, the slight bulge growing beneath me making my lips curl into a smile as I gently grind myself on top of him.

“Why do you wanna stop, Chris?” I ask, nibbling the bottom of his ear, “What’s got you so tongue-tied, hm?”

“You’re killin’ me,” he points, his gaze trained on me as he tangles his hand through my hair, pulling me back just enough to look at him, “-fuckin’ so annoying, so pretty and horrible, I just—I don’t know how much I can hold back–”

“Don’t,” I whisper, my hand gathering the material of his shirt in a fist as I watch him bite on his lower lip. His eyes trace over my face, one of his hands slowly tracing underneath my shirt, callusing beneath my bra.

“Yeah? Don’t want me to hold back, hm?” he remarks, his hips adjusting in the slightest, my mouth falling open as I feel him rut against me through the fabric of our clothes.

Fuck. I can’t take this.

I lean forward, crashing my lips against his once more. Chris hums into my mouth. He furiously helps me peel off the bulky letterman jacket, the cold air feeling like relief compared to my burning skin.

“Holy fuck, slow down, baby,” he husks, his hands falling to my hips as I shameless grind myself against his hard bulge. But I can’t get enough. “-’m not going anywhere—gonna stay and make you feel so good. Promise.”

My heart drops as I feel his hand delicately caress over the purple lace covering my breasts. His nimble fingers trace around my hardened nub, a slight moan falling through my lips as I feel him smirk against me.

“Take those cute jeans off, c’mon. Be a good girl for me—just this once, alright?” he grins.

I nod slowly, awkwardly shifting as I pull down the denim while kicking off my shoes. Chris gets impatient, yanking the clothing to his own accord before planting me back on his lap, his jacket now discarded.

“Holy fuck, look at these legs—would look so good wrapped around me,” he whispers, brushing my hair to the side as his lips graze my neck, “-while I fuck you deep and hard.”

Oh my god.

My mind is numb, every inch of my skin pulsing with a hot sensation of greed. Chris stares at me with lust, his hand moving in the corner of my eye. “Want me to touch you? Right….here,” he breathes, the pad of his finger resting directly over my bundle of nerves.

I nod slowly, looking at him with hooded eyes as he starts to slowly circle the digit with a light, feathery touch.

“More,” I moan, pulling his shirt into my fists as I watch him smile at me.

“Yeah? What do you want, hm? Want my big dick in you? Want me to stretch you out and make you cum over and ov—

“Please,” I whisper, my hips moving for me as I struggle to stay still.

Chris looks down, gesturing for me to take control. I hesitantly fumble with his jeans, pulling out his hard length as my mouth starts to water.

Fuck. He’s big. No—he’s huge.

As I go to pull my underwear to the side, Chris stops me, placing his hand around my wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, “-take ‘em all the way off—wanna see all of you when I fuck your guts.”

My thighs tense from his words, my hands quickly sliding the fabric down my thighs and discarding them without a single care. Chris pets over the top of my thighs, his eyes hungrily staring down between my legs. “Fuck—are you sure you want this? I…god, I can’t believe this is happening…”

I grab his hardness in my hand, spitting and dragging the lubricant up and down his shaft. Chris grits his teeth. His hands pinching into my sides as he lets out a deep groan. “You’re so big,” I whisper, mostly talking to myself.

My eyes bulge as I feel Chris lift me with his hands on either side of my waist, placing me so my dripping entrance is directly aligned with his tip. His eyes bore into mine with dark passion. His jaw tense as he leans forward, kissing along my neck.

“You gonna take it all f’me?” he dares, massaging my sides but keeping me from sinking down onto him.

“Chris, please–”

“Gotta promise to take it all, sweetheart. Been teasin’ me all day already, I don’t need anymore of that, alright? Just—just gotta promise to let me stuff you full,” he purrs, sucking on the sensitive part of my neck just below my ear.

“I promise, just—mmphf—” He slowly loosens his grip, letting me lower myself. I feel his tip nudge past my entrance, the stretch of his size making my body tense as my legs tighten to a halt.

“Thaatt’s it, doin’ so good, just—just relax,” he praises, brushing my hair behind my ear, “-gotta be a good girl and keep your word again, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, slowly starting to take more of him. A broken cry falling through my lips as I feel my body stiffen again.

Chris is patient. His eyes are trained on my face as his hands massage over my body. “You got it, c’mon—just—holy fuck,” his hand lingers down to my stomach, my top so messed up that it’s bunched over my breasts. He’s not just admiring the skin, he’s worshipping the bulge—the distinct imprint of him inside of me as I hover over the last bit of his length.

“Look at that, sweetheart, I mean—fuck—”

I shriek as I feel him lift his hips upward, burying himself inside of me completely. My hands grasp onto his shoulders, my eyes teary as I watch him bite on his lower lip. “God—such a good girl, takin’ me so good,” he compliments, slowly helping me as I start to ride him.

I feel him reach deep inside of me, my eyes staring up at the ceiling of the car while my body tenses with a wave of pleasure collapsing over every beating pulse of my skin. This is even better than that damn kiss. I’ve never felt like this before. Not ever. It’s like an adrenaline rush, so overbearingly good that it feels addicting.

“How’s that, baby, hm?” he hums, smiling down at the sight of his length plunging into my guts with each thrust as my movements quicken.

“I–it’s, I—”

What the fuck was I saying?

Everything feels so light, so impossible.

“That’s it, fuckkkkk—look so good ridin’ me like this, keep—-shit!” he seethes. My walls tighten around him, my nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt as he lifts his hips to meet my movements.

His lips parted with pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, I,” My words are cut off my a moan.

Chris laughs dryly, his grip becoming tighten as he really puts in the work—using me like a ragdoll as he furiously fucks himself into me. “Mmmm, th-ere,” he rasps, smiling as I let out small shrieks and moans between each snap of his hips.

He’s so deep. I’d never felt this good in my life. There’s a buzzing in my ears, spots in my vision as I feel my body ruthlessly convulse with the overwhelming sensations.

How the fuck is he so deep?

How the hell is he hitting against the perfect spot over and over and over—

“You cumming already?”

His question pulls me back to reality. I nod dumbly, my mouth drawing open as I let out a long moan, my thighs quivering as I rock myself against his movement.

“Oh—I—”

“My name, sweetheart, wanna hear my–my name, c’mon,” he urges, the squelches getting louder as I feel my body burn with euphoria.

“Chris, Chris, I–I—my god,” I cry out, my hips slowly rolling to a stop as I feel him pause his motions.

I don’t have time to react—nor to recover. I feel Chris hold me tightly, flipping me over so my back hits the seat—his cock brutal as he drills himself inside of me.

“Take it, fuckin—fuckin’ take it,” he chants.

My hands scramble into his hair. I pull his face into my neck, letting my teeth sink into his shoulder. Every rut of his hips leaves me breathless, my body seizing as I feel his hardness drive into me over and over again while his pelvis slaps against my clit.

“I’m gonn—”

“Wait. Wait for me, I’m—’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close—”

I clench around him, the buildup becoming too much as he continues to drown every inch of my body with pleasure. His desperate tone lingers in the air, his breaths shaking as his hips lose slight momentum.

“Wher–-where do you—”

“In-inside, please, just—just let me cum,” I plea.

Chris huffs, his thrusts becoming erratic and somehow deeper. “Cu-cum with me, I—shittttttttt, so fuckin’ good, so… so fuckin’ good,” he seethes, a warm sensation flooding inside of me as I feel my body convulse once more.

My limbs fall lifelessly. Our motions fall lazier, eventually pausing to a halt. Chris gently removes himself, pulling me into his arms tightly and positioning back into the seat with me on his lap.

His hand finds the back of my head as I lean onto his shoulder, petting through my hair as we both try to catch our breath.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. I let out a light laugh, flinching as I feel my stomach burn from soreness. “You good there?” he asks.

Nodding into the crook of his neck, I lift myself to stare at him once more. My eyes trace from his sweat ridden face, seeing a clear imprint of his hand on the fogged-up car window. My nose crinkles as I inhale deeply. “It smells like sex, I’m sorry,” I let out.

Chris stares at me incredulously. “Sorry? That was fuckin’ perfect—better than the money if you ask me. I mean… I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself anymore,” he teases, flashing me a grin as he combs my hair behind my ear.

My lips curl with excitement. “Oh really? You like takin’ me for rides?”

He nods firmly, biting on his lower lip. “Mhm. And you seemed to really like ridin’.”

I let out a light laugh, shrugging my shoulders before ruffling his hair playfully. “Only with you.”

Chris cocks an eyebrow at me, “Only me, huh?” I nod shyly, letting out a brief hum. His eyes linger on mine before falling back to my lips. “You do ride good. Maybe you should be the racer,” he taunts.

“Maybe,” I whisper, “-maybe…”

“Let’s get you back in those cute jeans though, yeah?”

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fnoemine · 5 days ago

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Long Day Ahead (Male Reader x Yooyeon)

Synopsis: You are the Road Manager of tripleS, Accompanying Yooyeon for a day as she did all of her schedule.

Time Background: Around NXT Arrival

Genre: Rough Sex, Body Worship, Lactation, Thigh Fucking, Oral Fixation, Scent, Teasing, Lap-sitting, Missionary

Words: 6.6k++

It’s early—too damn early—but you’re already at the radio station, parked in the waiting room with Yooyeon, tripleS’s resident cool girl. She’s sipping an iced coffee you grabbed for her, looking fresh despite the 6 a.m. call time, her long legs crossed, headphones dangling around her neck.

The day’s first gig is a live interview, some bubbly DJ duo hyping up tripleS’s latest comeback. Yooyeon’s fine at first—chill, even—smiling that small, practiced smile, answering questions like “How’s the new song coming?” with her usual smooth vibe. “It’s fun, we worked hard on it,” she says, voice steady, glancing at you through the glass booth like you’re her anchor.

The DJs keep it light for a while—favorite foods, dorm stories—but then one of them, a guy with a too-loud laugh, pivots. “So, Yooyeon, fans always talk about your visuals—any pressure to keep up that ‘perfect’ image?” It’s innocent enough, but you catch the flicker in her eyes, the way her smile tightens just a fraction.

She’s used to this shit—idols get asked dumb stuff all the time—but it still lands weird. “Uh, not really,” she says, shifting in her seat, fingers tugging at her sleeve. “I just do my thing, y’know?” Her tone’s still calm, but there’s an edge now, a little discomfort she’s brushing off like a pro.

The other DJ, a woman with a sharp grin, doubles down. “Come on, you’ve got to feel something—all those eyes on you, calling you the ‘face’ of tripleS!” Yooyeon laughs, short and forced, brushing her hair back. “Sure, it’s flattering, I guess. Can we talk about the music?” She’s deflecting, steering it back, and the DJs take the hint, moving on.

You’re leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed, watching her handle it—uncomfortable but tough, keeping that cool mask up. She’s got this, no doubt, but you can tell it’s chipping at her mood, the first crack in what’s about to be a long-ass day. You haven’t stepped in yet—she doesn’t need you to—but you’re ready, clocking every shift in her vibe as the interview wraps.

=================

The radio gig’s done by 9 a.m., and you’re back in the van, driving Yooyeon across Seoul to her next stop—a midday photoshoot for some fashion mag. She’s quiet on the ride, slouched in the passenger seat this time, staring out the window with her earbuds in, scrolling her phone.

You glance over—she’s still got that cool, composed look, but her jaw’s tight, her thumb flicking a little too fast. “You good?” you ask, keeping it casual, eyes on the road. She shrugs, popping an earbud out. “Yeah, just—whatever. Long day ahead.” Her voice is flat, tired already, but she forces a small smile, like she’s trying to convince herself more than you.

You pull up to the studio, a sleek warehouse setup with lights and racks of clothes everywhere. Yooyeon’s ushered in, transformed with makeup and a flowy outfit—high fashion, all sharp angles and bold colors. She’s a pro, hitting poses like it’s second nature, tilting her head just right, giving the camera those piercing looks she’s famous for. For a while, she’s killing it—directors nodding, photographers muttering “perfect”—and you’re leaning against a wall, arms crossed, proud she’s pushing through.

But then the director, some wiry guy with a clipboard and too much energy, starts piling on. “Yooyeon, more intensity—lift your chin higher—no, softer now—turn left—hold it—now jump, but make it natural!” It’s request after request, nonstop, and you see her falter, her shoulders stiffening, that cool mask slipping as she tries to keep up.

She’s still giving her best, but it’s too much—her moves get sharper, less fluid, and her eyes flick to you for a split second, a silent help. That’s your cue.

You step forward, clearing your throat, cutting through the chaos. “Hey, Director-nim,” you say, firm but polite, “can we ease up a bit? Yooyeon’s got a packed schedule today—radio, this, fan stuff later. She’s killing it, but let’s not burn her out, yeah? Gotta keep her mood solid.”

The director blinks, annoyed, but he knows you’re right—idols aren’t machines. He grumbles, “Fine, five-minute break,” waving her off. Yooyeon exhales, stepping aside, mouthing a quick “Thanks” to you as she grabs a water bottle. Her face is still tense, but there’s relief there, and you nod back—got her back, always.

The photoshoot drags on for another hour after your intervention, but Yooyeon powers through—poses sharp, eyes fierce, even with the director dialing it back. You’re watching from the sidelines, arms crossed, noting how her jaw clenches tighter with every flash, how her hands flex like she’s holding it together by a thread.

Finally, the director claps his hands, yelling, “Cut! That’s a wrap!” and it’s like a switch flips. Yooyeon doesn’t even wait for the crew to thank her—she’s done. She storms off the set, yanking at the heavy accessories pinned to her outfit, her face a mess of exhaustion and irritation.

“Get this things off me,” she mutters, loud enough for you to hear, ripping off a chunky necklace and tossing it onto a table, the clatter echoing. She’s peeling away the photoshoot glam—earrings, bracelets, some glittery sash—dumping it all as she marches toward the exit, her heels clicking hard against the floor.

Her makeup’s still perfect, but her expression? Pure fuck this—lips pressed thin, eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed from hours of holding it in. You grab her bag and jacket, jogging to catch up as she barrels out the studio door, not looking back.

She hits the fresh air outside and stops, hands on her hips, breathing heavy like she’s shedding the whole damn day. “Yooyeon,” you say, stepping up beside her, holding out her jacket.

She glances at you, exhales sharp through her nose, and snatches it, shrugging it on. “I’m so over this,” she snaps, voice low but shaky, rubbing her temples. “They act like I’m a doll—pose this, do that, smile prettier. Get off.” She’s blabbering now, exhaustion spilling out, and you just nod—letting her vent, knowing she’s been a trooper but even Yooyeon’s got a limit.

You’re standing outside the studio with Yooyeon, her jacket half-on, hair a little messy from tearing off the shoot gear, her face still flushed with that mix of exhaustion and piss-off. She’s pacing a little, like she’s trying to shake the day off her, and you step closer, hands in your pockets.

“Yooyeon,” you say, voice calm, testing the waters. “You wanna take a break? Grab a coffee, hit a restaurant—something to catch your breath before the fan sign? You’ve been going nonstop.”

She stops pacing, looks at you sharp, like she’s weighing it, then shakes her head quick. “No,” she says, firm, brushing her hair back with a tired hand. “I just wanna get this over with. Finish the damn schedule so I can crash early and not deal with anyone.”

Her voice is clipped, resolute—classic Yooyeon, pushing through even when she’s running on fumes. She zips her jacket up, exhaling hard, and nods toward the van. “Let’s go. Fans are waiting, right?” You catch the flicker of determination in her eyes—she’s beat, yeah, but she’s not about to slack off now.

You nod back, respecting it, and head to the driver’s side. “Alright, your call. Fan sign it is.” She climbs into the passenger seat, slumping down, staring out the window again, already bracing herself for the next round. You start the engine, knowing she’s tough as hell but wondering how long she can keep this up before she really breaks.

=================

You pull up to the venue—a small event hall buzzing with fans clutching albums and lightsticks, the air thick with excitement. It’s the last stop: a fan meet-and-sign, tripleS’s usual group thing, and Yooyeon’s finally not alone. She’s with the other members now—Hyerin, Yubin, maybe a few more—chattering and laughing as they pile out of the van, their energy a stark contrast to her drained silence.

You’re hoping they’ll lift her up, pull her out of that sour funk she’s been stewing in all day. The girls usually tease Yooyeon—she’s the cool, aloof one, easy to poke fun at—and normally she rolls with it, smirking back. Maybe they’ll cheer her up, you think, trailing behind with her bag.

But it doesn’t go that way. The event kicks off, fans screaming as the members line up on stage, waving, signing albums, playing their usual games. Yooyeon’s there, forcing smiles, pen in hand, but you can see it—she’s brittle, barely holding on.

The members don’t clock it; they don’t know she’s been through hell today, the radio digs, the photoshoot grind. Yubin starts it, leaning over with a grin, “Yooyeon-unnie, you look like you’re ready to nap through this—did you stay up gaming again?” The crowd laughs, Hyerin piles on, “Yeah, she’s probably mad her KDA fly last night!” It’s their usual ribbing, lighthearted to them, but Yooyeon’s not laughing. Her jaw tightens, eyes darken, and she mutters, “Hilarious,” under her breath, but it’s sharp, not playful.

The teasing keeps going—another member flicks her hair, “Unnie’s too cool to smile today!”—and that’s it. Yooyeon snaps. She drops her pen mid-signature, stands up abruptly, chair scraping loud, and walks off stage without a word.

The fans gasp, the members freeze, mid-laugh, staring after her like what the hell? Yubin calls out, “Unnie, come on, it’s just a joke!” but Yooyeon’s already gone, disappearing behind the curtain, leaving them to play it off awkwardly. You’re by the sidelines, watching it unfold, knowing she’s not being dramatic—she’s just done, the day’s bullshit piling up ‘til she couldn’t take one more hit.

=================

Yooyeon’s off stage, vanished behind the curtain, leaving the fan sign in awkward chaos—the members scrambling to keep the energy up, fans whispering, the whole vibe off-kilter. You’re about to follow her, check if she’s okay, when your phone buzzes.

It’s management, a text that hits like a punch: One more schedule for Yooyeon tonight—collab shoot with a content creator, 9 p.m. Pays big. She’s free all day tomorrow to rest.

You stare at it, gut sinking. Another fucking thing? Today’s already been a meat grinder for her—radio, photoshoot, fans piling on, and now the members tipping her over the edge. You hate this part of the job, being the bearer of bad news, especially when she’s clearly frayed to the breaking point.

You slip backstage, finding her slumped in a folding chair, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Her jacket’s half-off, hair a mess from running her fingers through it, and she doesn’t even look up when you step in. “Yooyeon,” you start, voice low, hesitant, “you okay?” She huffs, not moving.

“Do I look okay? I’m done with today.” Her tone’s biting, frustration spilling out, and you can’t blame her—she’s been a trooper, but everyone’s got a limit.

You shift your weight, dreading what’s next. “Yeah, I get it. Rough as hell out there. But, uh… management just texted. They added one more thing tonight—a shoot with some content creator, 9 p.m. Pays good, though, and you’re off all day tomorrow.”

She snaps her head up, eyes narrowing like you just slapped her. “You’re kidding, right?” she says, voice low but venomous, standing up fast. “Another fucking schedule? Today?” Her hands ball into fists, and you hold yours up quick, trying to soften it.

“I know, I know—it sucks. I hate telling you this. You’ve been through enough already.” She stares at you, breathing hard, then turns away, kicking the chair leg with a sharp thud.

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get it done,” she mutters, resigned but pissed, grabbing her bag. You feel like shit, trailing after her, knowing she’s running on fumes and you’re the one dragging her back into the fire.

=================

You pull up to the shoot location at 8 p.m., a small studio decked out with lights and a green screen, the crew already buzzing to prep for this last-minute gig. Yooyeon’s in the passenger seat, silent the whole ride, her grumpy face set in stone—lips pressed thin, brows furrowed, arms crossed tight.

You park, grab your clipboard, and lead her inside for the briefing. It’s a quick collab with some hotshot content creator—30-minute record, plus setup and wrap, one hour total.

She flips through the script you hand her, scanning lines with a scowl, muttering under her breath, “Stupid… so stupid.” She’s enduring it, barely, the promise of a full day off tomorrow the only thing keeping her from walking out right then.

You’re running through the rundown with the crew—basic Q&A, some goofy poses—when the clock ticks past 9 p.m. The content creator’s late. Five minutes turns to fifteen, then forty-five, and Yooyeon’s patience—already razor-thin—snaps.

She’s pacing now, heels clicking hard, tossing the script on a table. “Where is the guy? I’m not here to wait around,” she spits, voice loud enough to make the crew flinch. You try to smooth it, “He’s stuck in traffic—almost here,” but she just glares, “Yeah, sure,” and slumps into a chair, tapping her foot like a bomb timer.

Finally, the dude rolls in—some smug YouTuber type, all apologies and charm—and she doesn’t even look at him, just stands up, ready to get it over with.

The shoot goes off, miraculously smooth despite the delay. Yooyeon’s a pro—nails the lines, hits the marks, even fakes a laugh or two—but it’s mechanical, no heart in it. The creator’s hyped, oblivious, cracking jokes she doesn’t bite at.

The second the director calls “cut” at 10:15, she’s done.

No goodbyes, no “nice work”—she grabs her jacket, shoves her bag over her shoulder, and storms out, heels echoing as she beelines for the van.

You’re left nodding at the crew, “Uh, thanks, she’s just tired,” before jogging after her. She’s already in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, not a word, like she couldn’t give less of a damn about the shoot, the pay, or anything but crashing the second she’s home.

=================

You slide into the driver’s seat, the van door slamming shut behind you as Yooyeon sits there, rigid in the passenger seat, staring out the windshield like she’s plotting someone’s murder. The shoot’s done, the night’s finally over, but the air’s thick—her silence louder than any rant.

You start the engine, pulling out of the lot, the hum of the road filling the quiet. She’s got her arms crossed, jacket pulled tight, and her face is still that grumpy mask, exhaustion etched deep in the lines around her eyes. You steal a glance—she’s Yooyeon, tripleS’s ice queen, but right now she’s just a tired girl who’s had enough.

“Freaking clown show,” she mutters after a minute, breaking the silence, voice low and bitter.

“Forty-five minutes late, and he’s grinning like it’s fine. I should’ve just left.” She’s talking more to herself than you, but you nod anyway, keeping your eyes on the road.

“Yeah, that was bullshit,” you say, casual but firm, agreeing without pushing. “You did good, though—nailed it, even pissed off.” She snorts, a half-laugh, half-scoff, uncrossing her arms to rub her temples. “Good? I was on autopilot. Hope he chokes on the footage.”

You let the quiet settle again, streetlights flickering past, then try something softer.

“Day’s done now. Crash tomorrow—all day. You earned it.” She shifts, glancing at you for the first time, her expression softening just a notch—not much, but enough. “Yeah,” she says, quieter, leaning her head back against the seat. “Gonna sleep ‘til I forget today happened.”

A beat passes, then she adds, dry but almost playful, “You’re not off the hook, though—management’s still your fault.”

You smirk, “Fair. I’ll take the hit.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile, and for a second, the tension cracks—just you two, the road, and her thawing out, one grudging word at a time.

=================

The van’s rolling through Seoul’s quiet streets, the city lights smearing past as Yooyeon slumps deeper into the passenger seat, her head lolling against the headrest. She’s still got that worn-out edge, but the sharp bite in her voice has dulled, softened by the promise of rest.

You keep your hands loose on the wheel, glancing over at her. “Hey,” you say, breaking the hum of the engine, “wanna stop somewhere first? Grab some food, maybe hit a convenience store—whatever you’re feeling?” It’s an olive branch, a chance to unwind before crashing.

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares out the window, then shakes her head slow. “No,” she murmurs, voice raspy, shifting to sit up a little.

“I’m not hungry. Just—pull over somewhere, okay? I need a massage.” She rolls her shoulders, wincing slightly, and you can see it—the day’s tension knotted up in her neck, her back, all those hours of posing and faking smiles. You raise an eyebrow, half-smirking.

“A massage? What, you think I’m a spa on wheels now?” She shoots you a look—grumpy but almost amused. “You’re my manager, figure it out. I’m stiff as hell.”

You chuckle, spotting a quiet side street up ahead and easing the van over, parking under a dim streetlamp. “Alright” you say, killing the engine, turning to face her. “Where’s it hurt?” She points at her shoulders, then her neck, slumping back with a groan.

“Everywhere. Just—do something, I don’t care.” She’s exhausted and demanding, and now you’re her impromptu masseuse, stuck in a parked van with a job you didn’t sign up for—but you’re not complaining, not really.

You shift closer, sliding behind her seat, hands hovering over her jacket. “Alright, let’s see,” you mutter, starting safe, pressing your thumbs into her shoulders, kneading the knots there. She’s stiff as hell—muscles tight, locked up from the day—and she barely reacts, just tilts her head back, eyes closed, letting out a tired, “Harder.”

=================

You dig in deeper, working her traps, but your hands slip lower, testing the waters, brushing her chest, then squeezing her boobs over the fabric, bold and reckless. She doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even open her eyes. “Yooyeon—uh, is this… good?” you ask, half-expecting a slap, but she just sighs, voice flat.

“Yeah, whatever. They’re stiff too—everything hurts. Do what you want, just make me relax.” Her boobs are firm, tense like the rest of her, and she’s sitting there unbothered, giving you free rein.

You’re thrown—heart pounding, dick stirring—but you roll with it, squeezing harder, massaging her chest like it’s part of the deal, trying to ease the tension there. “Dammit,” you mutter under your breath, hands working her over, feeling her softness through her shirt, her bra.

She exhales slow, a little softer now, sinking into the seat. “That’s… better,” she mumbles, still deadpan, like you’re not groping her, like it’s just another massage trick. You push further, sliding a hand under her shirt, skin-on-skin, cupping her bare tit—warm, heavy, her nipple stiff against your palm. She doesn’t care, just shifts slightly, letting you.

“Anything, huh?” you say, voice low, and she nods, barely audible, “Anything. Just… do it.” You’re in deep now, kneading her chest, her shoulders, whatever it takes—her rules, her exhaustion, and you’re the one making her unwind, no limits, no fucks given.

You’re behind Yooyeon now, the van’s dim interior closing in, her body sinking into the seat as your hands work her chest—thumbs circling her stiff nipples under her shirt, kneading her tits hard, feeling her soften under your grip.

She’s still got her eyes closed, breathing slow, that grumpy wall cracking as she starts to relax. You lean in closer, face brushing her hair, and catch her scent—vanilla, sweat, a hint of her perfume from the shoot. It hits you, primal and sharp, and you can’t stop yourself—burying your nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling deep, her warmth radiating against your skin.

She tilts her head slightly, giving you more space, and that’s your cue. Your lips graze her neck, then you bite—soft at first, teeth sinking in just enough to mark her, tasting the salt of her skin.

She gasps, a low, shaky “Ahhh…” slipping out, but her eyes stay shut, body melting further into you. Your hands don’t stop—rubbing her boobs harder, squeezing, feeling her nipples pebble under your palms, her bra shoved up now, bare skin yours to claim. You bite again, sharper this time, sucking the spot, and she moans—quiet, raw, her shoulders loosening, tension bleeding out.

“Yooyeon,” you mutter against her neck, voice rough, sniffing her again—addicted to her smell—while your hands roam, possessive, relentless. She’s limp in your hold, starting to relax, not caring how far you take it.

“Keep going,” she whispers, barely audible, head lolling back against you, and it’s clear—she’s letting go, trusting you to unravel her completely, no matter how messy it gets.

You’ve got Yooyeon pinned against the seat, your mouth still on her neck—kissing, biting, sucking—her skin hot and salty under your lips, her scent flooding your senses.

One hand’s cupping her neck, thumb brushing her pulse, feeling it race, while the other’s under her shirt, playing with her boobs—squeezing, rolling her nipples between your fingers, her bra long pushed aside.

=================

She’s starting to let go, body slumping against you, but her mouth’s running now, words spilling out in a messy, tired rant. “Fucking listen to me,” she mumbles, voice slurry, eyes still shut tight. “I’ve been working my ass off all day—radio, photos, fans, that dumbass creator—so fucking hard, and I’m done.”

She shifts, pressing her chest harder into your hand, like she’s demanding more, her breath hitching as you bite her neck again, harder this time.

“You’re my manager, right? You do what I say—every damn word,” she slurs, half-moaning, half-ordering, her fingers gripping your arm. “I’ve earned this—earned a fucking break—so make me relax, now, however you want, just—fuck—do it.” She’s blabbering, a mix of exhaustion and need, she is unloading all her frustration while you’re working her over, her tits soft and heavy in your grip, her neck marked red from your teeth.

You pull back just enough to mutter against her skin, “Yeah, I hear you—worked too damn hard, huh?” then dive back in, sucking harder, hands roaming—squeezing her chest, tracing her curves—obeying her every slurred command.

She groans, “Yes—fuck, like that,” head tipping back, finally relaxing, giving in completely, trusting you to take the reins and melt her stress away, no matter how rough or reckless it gets.

Yooyeon’s still rambling, her voice a tired, needy mess—“Fuck, just keep going, I deserve this”—while you’re sucking her neck, hands kneading her tits, feeling her unwind under you.

But then she shifts, sudden and bold, twisting around in the seat to face you. Before you can react, she’s swinging a leg over, climbing onto your lap, straddling you—her thighs clamping tight around your hips, her chest pressing against yours. Her hands snake up, wrapping around your shoulders, fingers digging into your back as she locks eyes with you, dark and wild, exhaustion mixing with raw want.

She doesn’t wait—she crashes her lips onto yours, hard and messy, kissing you like she’s unloading every second of her shitty day into it. Her mouth’s hot, desperate, tasting faintly of mint from some gum she chewed earlier, and she’s not holding back—tongue shoving in, sloppy and hungry, moaning into you as her hands grip tighter.

You kiss her back, just as fierce, one hand sliding up her back, the other still cupping her boob, squeezing hard through her shirt. “Fuck, Yooyeon,” you mutter against her lips, but she doesn’t stop—deepens it, biting your bottom lip, grinding her hips down on you, her shorts riding up as she presses herself closer.

Her boobs are mashed against your chest now, soft and heavy, and she’s rocking into you, friction building, her breath hitching between kisses. “More—,” she gasps, pulling back just to yank her shirt up over her head, tossing it aside, leaving her in just a bra that’s barely holding on. She grabs your hands, slamming them back onto her tits, “Touch me,” and dives in again, kissing you harder, tongue wrestling yours, her whole body trembling but alive—she is on your lap, demanding you unravel her completely, no limits, no stopping.

Yooyeon’s on your lap, her shirt gone, bra barely clinging to her chest as she kisses you raw—tongue clashing, lips bruising, her hands tugging your hair. She’s grinding down hard, her shorts shifting, thighs flexing, all heat and need.

You break the kiss, panting, and drop your mouth to her chest—yanking her bra down, freeing her tits, full and heavy, nipples already stiff. Latching onto one, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast over the bud. She gasps sharp—“Ahh, yes, like that!”—arching into you, her hands gripping your shoulders, urging you on.

You suck harder, relentless, teeth grazing her nipple, and then it happens—a warm, faint trickle hits your tongue, sweet and unexpected. Milk.

She’s lactating, and she doesn’t flinch—just pats your head, soft but firm, like she’s guiding you. “Keep going—milk me,” she moans, voice low and wrecked, her hips still rolling against you. You don’t stop—sucking deeper, pulling the thin stream into your mouth, the taste mixing with her skin, her scent, driving you wild. Your other hand squeezes her free tit, coaxing more out, a bead forming, dripping down your fingers as you work her over.

She’s trembling now, panting, her hands sliding to your neck, petting you like you’re her damn pet, her body shuddering under the release. You switch nipples, sucking just as hard, milk flowing freer now, wetting your lips, your chin, her chest slick with it.

She’s straddling you in this van, letting you drain her, her exhaustion turning into something raw and primal—patting you, moaning, completely lost in it as you milk her dry, no boundaries left between you.

Yooyeon’s straddling you, moaning as you suck her nipples dry, milk dripping down your chin, her hands petting your head while her tits tremble in your grip. She’s a mess—panting, half-gone—but you’re not done.

You grab her waist, sudden and rough, lifting her just enough to flip her down onto the car seat. She yelps, “Fuck!” as you pin her flat on her back, the leather creaking under her. You snatch her arms, yanking them up over her head, pinning them there with one hand, her wrists trapped in your grip. She squirms, but she’s too tired, too into it, to fight back.

And there they are—her armpits, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, the ones fans lose their minds over in comments, thirsting for a glimpse. Exposed now, bare and raw, they’re yours.

You dive in, no hesitation—tongue flat, licking a slow, hungry stripe up her left pit. It’s sweet, salty, a sharp tang of her natural scent hitting you hard—unfiltered, musky, pure Yooyeon.

“Shit—!” she gasps, twitching under you, but you don’t stop, licking again, deeper, tasting her, the mix of sweat and skin driving you fucking crazy. Her body odor’s intense, primal, and it’s got you hooked, your dick throbbing harder in your jeans.

She’s pinned, helpless, her tits still leaking faintly, her chest heaving as you lick her pit clean, then switch to the other—sucking this time, burying your face in it, her scent overwhelming, dizzying. “You’re fucking insane,” she breathes, voice shaky, but there’s a thrill in it, her arms flexing against your hold, not to escape but to feel it more.

You growl against her skin, “You said anything—just relax,” and keep going, licking, tasting, losing yourself in her, she is sprawled out under you, her glistening pits the star of this wild, unhinged moment.

You’ve got Yooyeon pinned to the car seat, her arms still locked above her head, her pits slick from your tongue, her tits heaving as she catches her breath.

You’re too far gone now—hands dropping to her jeans, yanking the zipper down fast, tugging them off her hips with a rough pull. Her panties come next, a quick rip down her legs, and there they are—her tight, toned thighs, smooth and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, flexing slightly as she shifts under you.

It’s too much—your cock’s straining, aching, and you can’t hold back anymore. You fumble with your jeans, freeing yourself, hard and throbbing, and slide it right between those perfect thighs.

“Fuck—Yooyeon,” you groan, pressing her legs together, trapping your dick in that tight, warm gap, starting to thrust—rubbing against her skin, the friction insane, raw and kinky.

She hesitates, eyes flickering open, a little thrown. “You can just fuck me, y’know,” she says, voice shaky, still dazed but offering, her thighs parting slightly like she’s giving in.

But you shake your head, grinning dark. “No—want this first. Neck, pits, thighs—then we’ll get there.” You’re hooked on the build-up, the weird, wild shit—her neck bitten red, her armpits licked clean, now her thighs squeezing you as you fuck them hard, the leather seat creaking under the motion.

She’s not used to this, sprawled out, jeans off, letting you use her body like this. She doesn’t stop you, though—just lies there, breathing heavy, thighs flexing instinctively as you thrust between them, pre-cum slicking her skin. “You’re fucking weird,” she mutters, half-amused, half-exhausted, but she doesn’t fight it—lets you have your way, her hesitation fading as she relaxes into it, trusting you to chase whatever kinky high you’re after before the real deal.

You’re thrusting between Yooyeon’s tight thighs, her skin slick with sweat and your pre-cum, the friction driving you wild as her legs flex around your cock. The van’s rocking slightly, windows fogging up, the air thick with her scent—neck, pits, now this—and she’s just lying there, letting you use her however you want.

Her jeans and panties are bunched at her ankles, her thighs trembling from the pressure, and you’re grunting low, “Fuck—feels so good,” hands gripping her hips to keep her steady as you fuck harder, faster, chasing that edge.

She’s watching you now, eyes half-open, still dazed but curious—her breath hitching every time your cock slides close to her pussy but doesn’t go in. “You’re really into this, huh?” she says, voice raspy, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself.

She shifts her thighs, squeezing them tighter around you, and it’s like a goddamn vice—your head spins, hips jerking, the heat building too fast. “Yeah—love it,” you mutter, one hand sliding up to squeeze her tit again, still wet from her milk, the other pinning her thigh in place. She moans soft, “Weird… but okay,” relaxing more, letting you grind into her, her hesitation gone.

Your cock’s throbbing now, trapped between her thighs, brushing her pussy lips with every thrust but not entering—not yet. You lean down, biting her neck again, tasting her sweat, her pulse racing under your tongue, and she gasps, “Shit!” Her hands grab your shoulders, not pushing, just holding on, nails digging in as you fuck her thighs raw, the kinky rush—neck, pits, now this—pushing you closer to losing it completely. She’s limp under you, pliant, letting you take her apart piece by piece, and you know the real fuck’s coming soon—but this? This is the appetizer, and you’re savoring every second.

You’re still fucking Yooyeon’s thighs, her tight, sweaty skin gripping your cock as you thrust, her moans soft and ragged under you. But you want more—want her to feel it all.

You pull back, hands rough, yanking her panties the rest of the way off her ankles, tossing them aside. There it is—her pussy, pink and wet, glistening in the dim van light, lips swollen and begging. She’s sprawled out, thighs spread, chest heaving, and you can see it in her eyes—she’s ready to finally let go, to relax into you completely.

You shift, grabbing your cock—hard, slick with her sweat and pre-cum—and slide it down, rubbing the tip against her pussy mouth, slow and deliberate. Not in yet—just teasing, tracing her slit, brushing her clit, watching her twitch every time you graze it. “Ahh..” she breathes, voice breaking, hips lifting slightly, chasing you, wanting it.

You smirk, keeping it light, dragging your cockhead through her wetness, coating it, making her squirm. “Relax, Yooyeon,” you mutter, low and rough, “gonna feel good soon,” and she whimpers, “Please—just do it,” her hands clutching your arms, nails biting in.

She’s tense, needy, her pink pussy dripping, and you’re loving it—rubbing yourself against her, feeling her heat, her slickness, drawing it out ‘til she’s panting, desperate. You bite her neck again, sucking hard, one hand squeezing her tit, the other guiding your cock, teasing her entrance, dipping just the tip in then pulling back. “Just—stop teasing!” she gasps, half-laughing, half-pissed, her body trembling under you, and you know you’ve got her right where you want—unraveling, begging, ready to take you and finally relax after this hell of a day.

You’ve got Yooyeon trembling beneath you, her wet, pink pussy slick against your cock as you tease her entrance, her please—“Stop teasing!”—ringing in your ears.

Enough games—you’re done holding back. You grab her hips, hard, yanking her up just enough, and thrust in—deep, rough, no warning, burying your cock all the way in her tight heat.

She cries out, “Shit—!” back arching off the seat, her nails clawing your arms as you slam into her, fast and relentless, the van rocking with every stroke.

Her pussy’s gripping you, hot and wet, squeezing tight as you fuck her hard—none of that slow buildup now, just raw, brutal need.

“Fuck—yes, like that!” she moans, voice breaking, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper. You don’t stop—hips snapping, skin slapping skin, her thighs quaking, her tits bouncing with every thrust. You lean down, biting her neck again, sucking hard enough to bruise, one hand pinning her wrist above her head, the other digging into her hip as you pound her into the leather seat unraveling completely under you.

She’s loud—gasping, cursing, “Harder—fuck me, harder!”—and you give it to her, slamming in so deep she’s shaking, her pussy clenching, soaking you as you rail her without mercy. The air’s thick—sweat, sex, her moans filling the van—and you’re grunting, “Gonna relax now, huh?” She nods, frantic, eyes squeezed shut, “Yes—fuck, yes!” and you feel her starting to break, her body giving in, tension snapping as you fuck her rough and fast, no teasing, just taking her hard ‘til she’s gone.

You’re slamming into Yooyeon, rough and fast, her pussy tight and soaking around your cock, the seat creaking under the force of every thrust. She’s a mess—moaning, shaking, her legs locked around you—and you don’t let up, one hand sliding down between her thighs, fingers finding her clit.

You rub it hard, fast circles, matching the brutal pace of your hips, and she jolts like she’s been shocked, “Fuck—, yes!” her voice raw, head thrown back as you fuck her senseless, grinding her clit under your thumb, driving her wild.

She’s losing it—body tensing, pussy clenching tighter, and then she cums, hard and sudden, a sharp “Shit—!” ripping from her throat. Her squirt gushes out, hot and wet, soaking your cock, your hand, dripping down her thighs onto the seat, breaking apart under you, trembling, gasping as it hits her.

But you’re not done—your dick’s still rock hard, pulsing, and you keep going, thrusting deep through her climax, her warmth wrapping you tighter now, slicker, hotter from her release. “Fuck—so hot down there,” you grunt, feeling her pussy quiver, still gripping you as you pound her relentlessly.

She’s whimpering now, oversensitive, “Fuck, I—” but you don’t stop, hips snapping, clit still under your fingers, rubbing ‘til she’s twitching, her squirt making everything slippery, messy.

You’re close, heat building fast, her wet, shuddering pussy pushing you to the edge, but you hold on, fucking her through it, chasing your own finish while she’s sprawled there, wrecked and panting, totally at your mercy.

You’re hammering into Yooyeon, her pussy drenched and pulsing around you, clit twitching under your fingers as you fuck her hard, her squirt still slicking everything. She’s a wreck—whimpering, shaking, oversensitive—but you’re teetering on the edge, heat surging, cock throbbing, too close to hold back.

“Fuck—gonna cum,” you growl, and in that split second, you pull out—her pussy gaping, wet and hot, her thighs trembling as you leave her empty. She gasps, “What—!” but you’re already moving, fast, grabbing her head, yanking her up toward you.

You shove your cock into her mouth, no pause—rough, deep, hitting the back of her throat. She gags, eyes watering, but doesn’t pull away, lips wrapping tight around you as you thrust once, twice, and then it hits.

“Shit—!” You cum hard, hot spurts flooding her mouth, pulsing down her throat as you grip her hair, holding her there. She’s, taking it all—moaning around you, swallowing fast, her tongue flicking against you as you empty yourself, every last drop. You pull out slow, her lips slick with spit and cum, a string dangling as she coughs, panting, staring up at you, dazed but sated.

You collapse back, breathing ragged, cock slick and softening, while she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, slumping against the seat. The van’s a mess—sweat, cum, her squirt soaking the leather—and she mutters, “Finally relaxed,” voice hoarse, a tired smirk tugging at her lips. You grin back, spent, knowing you’ve just wrecked her in the best way after her hell of a day.

=================

You’re slumped back in the driver’s seat, chest heaving, the air heavy with sweat and sex, Yooyeon sprawled beside you—lips still glistening with your cum, her breathing slowing as she wipes her mouth, smirking that tired, satisfied smirk. The van’s a disaster—leather wet, windows fogged—and you’re cooling down, adrenaline fading, but your cock? Still hard, big and heavy, twitching like it’s got a mind of its own. She notices, glancing down, and you catch her eye, grinning dark.

You grabbing your dick—thick, slick from her—and lean over, spanking her face with it, a light slap-slap against her cheek. She jolts, eyes widening, then laughs, low and hoarse, “Wh—what the hell?”

You do it again, harder, the wet smack echoing in the tight space, and say, “Good girl, Yooyeon—real good today.”

Your voice is rough, praising her, and you drag your cock across her lips, teasing, leaving a faint streak of cum and spit. She doesn’t flinch—just smirks wider, sticking her tongue out a little, licking the tip like it’s nothing.

“Worked hard, took it all—proud of you,” you add, tapping her face one last time with it, then leaning back, cock still up, unapologetic.

She’s flushed and wrecked, chuckling soft, “Thanks, I guess,” as she adjusts her bra, pulls her shorts up, still dazed but clearly pleased. The tension’s gone—she’s relaxed, fucked out, and you’ve capped it with this dirty, playful little encore.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #tripleS smut #yooyeon #triples yooyeon smut

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faebled-stories · 5 months ago

Text

Home is Where I'm Enough

Poll winner: Praise Kink (Kinkvember Debut Fic)

IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male reader

6.5k words

The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of Y/N’s computer. He sat hunched over his desk, the screen’s gentle glow casting an ethereal light across his face as he polished the final touches of his latest graphic design project. He’d been in the zone for hours, the kind of intense flow only a passionate creator knows, dreading any interruption. But as the night grew late, fatigue crept in like an unwelcome guest, blurring the vibrant colors and shapes on his screen and drawing him into a hazy exhaustion.

Just as he stretched back in his chair, letting his arms rise above his head to shake off the dull ache in his shoulders, the front door creaked open. Though faint, the sound pulled his attention immediately, stirring a gentle flutter in his chest. He knew who it was: Wonyoung.

She stepped inside, her silhouette soft against the dim hallway light. Her usual radiance had dimmed, replaced by a look of deep exhaustion. Strands of hair framed her face, loosely tousled, hinting at the long hours she’d endured. Dressed in her favorite oversized sweater, slipping off one shoulder, and paired with comfy shorts, her cozy ensemble contrasted starkly with the glitz of her public persona. Tonight, she looked as if the weight of the world had finally settled on her delicate frame.

Her gaze drifted across the room, her steps heavy as she gravitated toward him, perhaps unconsciously drawn by the promise of comfort. When their eyes met, she offered a small, tired smile—a gesture that seemed automatic, though the usual warmth was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted in a warm, low voice, breaking the quiet of the apartment with gentle concern. “Long day?”

Wonyoung let out a soft, tired breath, her smile persisting but not quite reaching her eyes. “Yeah… you wouldn’t believe how exhausting today was. Promotions, photoshoots, fan meetings… I don’t even know how I’m still standing.” Her words, though calm, carried an unmistakable weight, each syllable laced with unspoken exhaustion.

He rose from his desk, the scrape of the chair against the floor seeming louder in the stillness, closing the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, his embrace both protective and tender, inviting her to let go of whatever she’d been carrying. She melted against him, her body softening as she leaned fully into his warmth, the tension in her shoulders easing as if hoping to dissolve into him.

“You’ve been working so hard, princess. You deserve to rest,” he murmured, gliding a hand over her back in soothing circles, tracing gentle patterns over the soft fabric of her sweater. Each stroke was meant to ease her, to remind her that she didn’t need to be strong right now.

Wonyoung sighed, resting her head against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat become an anchor, grounding her. “I don’t even know if I can relax,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, carrying an edge of vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. “Everyone always asks me for things, but no one ever asks me what I need. I feel like I’m always giving, and no one’s there to just… take care of me.”

Her words tugged at his heart, and he tightened his embrace, listening fully, letting her be exactly who she was. Tonight, she wasn’t Wonyoung the idol; she was just his girlfriend, stripped of the weight of expectations.

Brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, he murmured, “Tonight, I’m here to take care of you. You don’t need to worry about anything. How about we keep it quiet? I could make some dinner—whatever you’d like?”

She smiled softly but shook her head. “No, thank you… I’m not really hungry. Just too tired to eat, I think.”

He nodded, adjusting his suggestion. “Maybe a massage? Help you relax and ease those tired muscles?”

Wonyoung considered it, then sighed, her gaze drifting. “That sounds nice, but I don’t think I can even sit still long enough. I’d probably fall asleep halfway through.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over her shoulder in a light caress. “Fair enough. How about a movie, then? We could just put something on, snuggle up on the couch, and you can zone out as much as you need?”

A flicker of warmth crossed her face at the thought, but she shook her head again. “That sounds nice too, but I don’t think I’d even be able to focus. My mind’s just… elsewhere.”

He paused, sensing that none of his suggestions had quite hit the mark. Sliding a gentle hand to her cheek, he met her gaze, his voice tender. “Then tell me, Wonyoung. Whatever you need, just say it. I’m here.”

The world around them seemed to hold its breath, caught in the tender pause that enveloped the pair. Wonyoung, usually so composed and commanding, now appeared as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, her usual confidence momentarily abandoned. It was in this rare instance of uncertainty that she found the courage to voice her deepest desire.

"Oppa ," she began, her voice a whisper of its usual strength, carrying a hesitance that was seldom heard. "Can we just… be together? Just us."

His response was immediate and heartfelt. A gentle smile graced his lips, his heart warmed by the sincerity of her request. "Of course, Wony. We can just spend time together, no pressure, no work, just us."

The vulnerability in her eyes was palpable, yet it was accompanied by a spark of mischief that hinted at an unexpressed longing. As she stepped closer, her fingers traced an unsteady path along his arm, her touch betraying her nervousness. Oblivious to the full extent of her yearning, he leaned in to bestow a tender kiss upon her forehead, his words a soothing balm to her unspoken needs.

"Just us, no distractions, okay?" he affirmed, his voice a comforting promise.

Wonyoung's fingers anxiously toyed with the hem of his shirt, her courage wavering for but a moment before she mustered the resolve to voice the true nature of her request. With a shy smile that barely contained her anticipation, she looked up at him, her words laced with a boldness that belied her gentle demeanor.

"Oppaa... I-I meant... can we... have... sexy time?"

The surprise that registered on his face was genuine, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in the conversation. He had been prepared to offer her a sanctuary of relaxation and companionship, but this... this was an invitation to a different kind of connection, one that was both intimate and thrilling.

As the initial shock subsided, his gaze softened, and he saw her in an entirely new light. The playful glint in her eyes, the delicate blush that graced her cheeks—it all painted a picture of Wonyoung that was both endearing and alluring. She stood before him, her hands fidgeting with a mixture of nervousness and desire, her lips parted in quiet anticipation of his response.

Understanding dawned on him, and with it came a smile that reflected his deep affection for her. "Ah, Wony," he said with a gentle chuckle, his fingers brushing away a stray lock of her hair. "You want us to... I see, of course baby"

Her affirmation was shy but resolute, her voice barely above a whisper as she laid bare her innermost wishes. "I... I've been really stressed, and I just... I just want you. Just us."

A deep warmth rose within him as he gazed at the woman in his arms, a warmth that radiated through every fiber of his being. She was here with him, stripped of the expectations and perfection the world demanded of her, showing him the truest parts of herself. Her request, so simple yet so vulnerable, spoke volumes about the bond they shared, and he felt his heart swell with love and admiration. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled her closer, his hands finding their place around her waist, fingers pressing into her softly but with purpose. He tilted his head to capture her lips in a kiss that promised everything she might need, murmuring against her mouth, "Whatever you want, just tell me."

With that, the world around them dissolved into a soft blur, distant and forgotten, as Wonyoung melted into his arms. The room was bathed in a warm, golden glow, the light spilling over their entwined bodies and casting shadows that highlighted her delicate curves. He traced his fingers slowly along her back, feeling the subtle tremors beneath her skin, the way her body softened by degrees, her tension easing under his touch. Each stroke coaxed a little more trust from her, even as she wrestled with the restraint that held her in check, a habit formed over years of needing to be perfectly in control.

As his hands began to unfasten the layers of her clothing with gentle care, he could feel her vulnerability like an unspoken word between them. To the world, she was grace personified, a vision of poise and elegance, an idol untouchable in her perfection. Yet, here and now, she was a woman grappling with the desire to shed the weight of that polished image, to surrender the mantle of perfection she wore so effortlessly in the public eye. His fingers moved with the gentleness of someone who understood her inner struggle, his touch a balm, offering her the quiet assurance she needed to let down her guard.

He sensed the battle playing out within her, an invisible tug-of-war between the person she had to be and the one she longed to become in this private space. His lips brushed over her neck, his voice low and soothing. "Wony, it’s okay if you don’t see it yet," he murmured, pressing soft kisses along her jawline, "but you’re perfect in all the ways that matter. You bring so much beauty and strength into my life."

A shuddered breath escaped her lips as his words settled over her, each one unraveling a bit more of her control. Her hands tightened in the bedsheets, twisting the fabric as she balanced on the razor-thin line between control and surrender. His hands traced over her sides, strong and steady, each movement slow and deliberate, designed to comfort and ignite. "Let go for me, baby, it's okay," he coaxed, his voice a deep, resonant sound that seemed to settle right at the core of her, calling to her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

The endearment lingered in the air, a plea and a promise wrapped into one, coaxing her closer to that edge. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as she fought the rising urge to surrender completely, to release everything she held back. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words came out as a fragile whisper, the vulnerability in her voice breaking through. "I don’t… I don’t know if I can," she admitted, her voice quivering, her brows furrowed in a fleeting expression of frustration and fear, the tension of her resistance etched across her face.

His response was instant and tender. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, a gesture of unwavering support that steadied her. "You can, Wony," he assured her, his gaze holding hers, brimming with sincerity. "I see how much you keep it together out there, and that makes me appreciate even more the way you open up with me. It’s such a privilege to be the one who gets to see this side of you." His words were a gentle nudge, affirming his commitment not just to her pleasure but to her peace, his hands holding her as if promising to anchor her.

Trust shone in her eyes as she took a deep, steadying breath, his words filling her with a sense of security that was as powerful as it was freeing. Slowly, she let herself relax, allowing him to guide her, his hands continuing their slow, purposeful journey across her skin, each caress a reminder of his deep affection. The pleasure within her built steadily, a growing ache, a tantalizing invitation that beckoned her toward release. Yet, even as she teetered on that edge, the remnants of her control clung to her, a practiced restraint born of habit, a habit he was patiently helping her unravel, piece by piece.

His fingertips traced her skin with a deliberate gentleness, painting a path that left her body flushed, every inch hypersensitive to his touch. The way he moved over her was worshipful, reverent, each stroke of his hand along her curves as if he were discovering her for the first time. She twitched beneath him, her back arching to meet his touch, her breaths shallow and filled with anticipation. Every caress was a testament to how he saw her—not just an idol, but a masterpiece, a person to be cherished in all her vulnerability and strength.

His mouth moved down to lavish her jawline with tender, lingering kisses. He traveled along the column of her throat, the warmth of his breath igniting her senses and sending cascades of goosebumps across her skin. With her head tilted back, she exposed her neck, an unspoken surrender in the tilt of her head, a silent invitation for him to continue. The softness of his mouth, the slow, careful rhythm, filled her with a thrill of arousal she could barely contain, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pressed herself closer to him, wanting more yet barely able to voice it.

Their lips met then, a slow, searching kiss that unfolded with a blend of tenderness and raw emotion. His mouth moved against hers with a gentle ardor, savoring each moment, each connection, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she drew him closer, letting herself melt into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside faded entirely, leaving only the two of them suspended in a quiet dance, a sacred exchange of love and vulnerability that allowed her to shed every mask she wore. Here, wrapped in his affection, she found the courage to set down the armor she held so tightly, to accept the freedom he offered.

His mouth trailed lower, each kiss slower, more deliberate, as he left a line of warmth down her body, his fingers pressing gently into her hips to steady her. The closer he came to her core, the more intense her anticipation grew, her breath catching as he settled between her thighs. She felt the tension building inside her, excitement and vulnerability intertwining in equal measure. But as his lips neared her center, a flicker of hesitation stirred within her, a whisper of insecurity breaking through the haze of arousal.

She tensed slightly, her mind rushing to the imperfections she imagined, the things she couldn’t control. In front of him, she felt bare, unfiltered, not the polished, pristine version she presented to the world. Right now, she wasn’t perfect, wasn’t flawless, wasn’t prepared. The thought made her hesitate, and she tried to subtly shift away, her hand moving instinctively to shield herself. “It's not…I’m not—” she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush.

But he paused, sensing the change in her, his gaze lifting to meet hers with a gentleness that held her in place. He brushed a comforting hand over her thigh, the touch steady and reassuring, his voice low and soft. "Hey… don’t worry. Right here, you’re exactly as you should be. You don’t need to be anything but yourself with me." He placed a tender kiss on her inner thigh, his words imbued with an acceptance that quieted her worries, the unconditional affection in his gaze anchoring her.

With a breath, she nodded, the tension easing as she allowed herself to relax, feeling the weight of her expectations melt in his presence. His hands settled on her thighs, grounding her, as he placed a soft, reverent kiss at her center, his lips warm and gentle, easing her slowly back into the moment. As his tongue began to trace delicate, slow circles, she felt herself letting go, her hesitations fading beneath the steady rhythm of his movements.

He continued with a tenderness that felt like a vow, his mouth exploring her as though reminding her that she was already perfect to him. Each touch, each gentle press of his mouth, was a wordless reassurance, a reminder that she could be vulnerable here, could let herself be imperfect without fear. His fingers stroked over her skin, guiding her back to herself, and the pleasure started to overtake the remnants of her self-doubt.

Finally, her body began to respond instinctively, hips pressing forward as her breath grew shallower, soft sounds spilling from her lips as she surrendered to the sensation. His mouth continued its worshipful rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to the edge until she could no longer think of anything but the waves of pleasure that built within her, each one stronger than the last. Her hand found its way into his hair, gripping softly as her control slipped, her voice a soft, pleading whisper in the quiet.

In this sacred space, Wonyoung found the courage to relinquish her hold on perfection, to embrace the imperfect beauty of being truly seen and wholeheartedly loved. His unwavering presence and the sanctuary of his affection were the keys that unlocked the gate to her unbridled self. Here, in the sanctity of their bond, Wonyoung was not just an idol, but a woman fully immersed in the depths of love and the freedom it brings.

He paused and replaced his mouth with his fingers. Her warm, moist folds pulsing around his digits, slowly he leaned towards her. The voice that caressed Wonyoung's ears was a balm to her soul, a soft, soothing timbre filled with quiet strength. "It's okay, Wony. You don't have to try to be perfect. I love you just as you are, you’re perfect to me." The words, imbued with unconditional acceptance, were a gentle command that resonated deep within her core.

Wonyoung, the idol worshiped by millions for her flawless poise and ethereal beauty, found herself gasping as the first wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her fingers, once graceful and composed, now gripped the sheets with an urgency that betrayed her facade. The pleasure was a sudden heat, a surge of sensation that ignited her senses and sent ripples of ecstasy coursing through her body. Each pulsating surge overwhelmed her with a delicious thrill, her body instinctively arching towards the source of her bliss, yet her moans remained soft and restrained—a delicate symphony of need barely rising above a whisper.

The world outside ceased to exist. The contrast between the poised idol she presented to the world and the vulnerable girl who yearned to unravel in his arms was stark and dissonant. The weight of expectation, a constant pressure to maintain the image of perfection, loomed over her. Yet, in the sanctity of their embrace, a different desire flickered to life—a longing for the freedom to embrace her innermost yearnings without fear or restraint.

The pleasure surged once more, its potency wrapping around her like a tantalizing embrace. Wonyoung's heart raced, her breath hitching in her throat as she inhaled sharply. The waves of sensation enveloped her, swallowing her whole while her thoughts swirled chaotically, tinged with a subtle desperation. Would he understand the storm of emotions raging within her? Would he cherish both the idol and the girl beneath the surface?

With every pulse of pleasure, she teetered on the edge of release, a dizzying dance between her public persona and her private self. The fear of disappointment clawed at her, but his gentle fingers spoke a language of love that was both soothing and comforting, coaxing her closer to the precipice of surrender. As she hovered on the brink, her body taut as a bowstring, his lips found her ear, and he whispered words of devotion.

"You're so beautiful, so perfect. Let go, my love. Cum for me." The sensual cadence of his words wrapped around her, an undeniable invitation, and she felt the last of her walls tremble, cracking under the weight of his praise. Her body responded instinctively, arching into his touch as he coaxed her closer to the edge. She could feel it building, a molten tension winding tighter with each pulse of pleasure that surged through her, threatening to unmoor her entirely.

Then, with a choked cry, her resolve shattered. The pleasure that swept through her was intense, potent enough to make her gasp, her core clenching rhythmically around his fingers as ecstasy surged, each wave cresting and crashing through her. She trembled, her breaths coming in rapid bursts as she teetered in that blissful space. But even as the release overtook her, rippling outward with undeniable force, there was still a sliver of herself she held back, a trace of resistance lingering at her core, keeping her from fully dissolving into pleasure. It was as if her body had surrendered, yet her heart still lingered, guarded, hovering just beyond the reach of complete vulnerability.

Wave after wave of sensation left her body limp and shivering, her skin flushed, her breaths ragged. And yet, even as she lay in his embrace, reveling in the aftershocks of her release, something deep within her remained untouched, still holding on, as though daring her to surrender wholly next time. She felt the intensity of her release—a vivid, powerful testament to how much she wanted to let go, yet how much further she could fall if only she allowed herself.

Tenderly, he gathered her in his arms as she shuddered through the aftershocks. "That’s it, baby. You’re amazing. So responsive, so trusting. I couldn’t be prouder of you." He rained kisses over her face, her neck, his words a soothing salve to her soul. She clung to him, dizzy and disoriented from the maelstrom of emotions, yet cherished beyond measure. In this moment, she wasn't a fantasy or a fetish, but a woman truly seen and adored for all that she was—a duality of strength and vulnerability, perfectly entwined in the arms of love.

"You're doing so well," he whispered, his hands continuing their gentle caress. "You're amazing, Wony." His words, soft as a summer breeze, carried the weight of his admiration and tenderness.

She sighed, her breath still shaky as she came down from the first climax, a testament to the passion they shared. Yet, there was a lingering frustration in her, a shadow of doubt that marred the perfection of the moment. She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. "I don't know why I can't just fully… let go," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I feel like I'm still holding on…"

He shook his head gently, his fingers deftly brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "That's okay baby," he said softly, his voice full of understanding. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for. You've done so much already, I know you trust me, baby, please show it to me." His words, a soothing balm to her troubled heart, seemed to ease the tension from her body.

Her eyes softened at his words, her chest rising and falling with deep, labored breaths. She gave a small nod, her lips curving into a hesitant smile, though there was still a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. He didn’t let go. His hands moved over Wonyoung again, softer this time, each touch deliberate and careful, as though every stroke carried a promise. "Do you have one more for me, princess?" he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. "Just trust me, Wony. I'm going to help you let go. You don't have to hold anything back."

Wonyoung's breath caught in her throat as she nodded. The tension in her body, so tightly wound, began to loosen under his careful touch. His hands roamed with purpose and pure, unhurried affection. The way he touched her wasn't just intimate; it was reverent, as if he was worshiping every part of her. His whispered praises filled the air between them like a balm, soothing the parts of her that had felt raw for so long. His lips trailed slowly down her neck, then lower, placing gentle, lingering kisses on her chest. He paused, his mouth grazing her nipple, his warmth sending a shiver through her as he focused on the stiff nub.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmured, his lips returning to her neck. "The way you keep going, even when things get tough, it's amazing to watch."

With each word, Wonyoung felt her defenses begin to crumble, the walls she had built around herself slowly breaking apart, leaving her exposed. Her breath hitched as her body responded, but even as she surrendered, a small, aching hesitation remained, a part of her still clinging to control. She wanted to let go, to feel fully, to be vulnerable, yet something held her back—an invisible tether keeping her from completely surrendering.

"I don't know if I can, I don't know how to…" she whispered, her voice shaking, not from fear, but from the overwhelming vulnerability that swelled inside her. She had always been the strong one, the composed one—the one in control. But here, in his arms, she didn't have to be any of those things. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye.

His eyes, warm and filled with love, never left hers. "Honey, I know how hard you work to be strong every day, and I see how much you carry. But here, with me, you don’t have to keep it all together," he whispered, his voice so soft, "I love every side of you—your strength, yes, but also the parts that need tenderness and care. You’ve been strong for so long; it’s okay to let yourself rest and lean on me. I’m here to hold you, no matter what. You’re safe with me, completely, and I’ll always have your back. Let go, even if just for a moment. You’ve earned it, and I’ll be right here through it all."

Something deep within Wonyoung shifted, a missing piece falling into place in a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed. In that charged, breathless moment, her last defenses dissolved. The barriers she had clung to splintered into dust, leaving her bare and vulnerable, her emotions raw and beautiful. Her body softened under his touch, yielding, pressing close, every line of her molding to him as if they’d been designed to fit together. Her heart—her most precious, guarded part—opened entirely, like a flower surrendering to the kiss of the morning sun. Years of hidden hurt and buried longing spilled forth, leaving her exposed and breathless, every nerve alive with sensation.

Her breaths quickened, shallow and uneven, as he pulled her closer, his touch igniting something deep within her, something that had been waiting, yearning to be released. She let out a soft, needy sound, a whispered “Oh…” as his hand traced her spine, sending a delicious shiver down her back. The heat spread through her, coiling tightly, winding up like a spring. His hands roamed over her skin, each stroke a spark, each caress an invitation to let go. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and another soft moan escaped her, higher, pleading. “Mmm… please…” she breathed, the anticipation winding up within her until she could hardly bear it.

As the pleasure built, her voice trembled, rising with each sensation that took her closer to the edge. “Ah—” she gasped as he found that spot, her entire body arching into him. “Yes, I’m cumming” she whimpered, her moans spilling freely, no longer shy, each sound a testament to the rawness of her surrender, the depth of her need. When release finally claimed her, it crashed over her like a tidal wave, an all-consuming flood that left her gasping, body trembling as she clung to him. She let out a keening cry, her voice breaking into soft, shuddering moans, her fingers curling against him as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through her, leaving her breathless and dazed.

The pleasure was pure, untainted by guilt or hesitation, a dizzying blend of bliss and vulnerability. She felt herself come undone, a thousand stars scattering behind her closed eyelids, each pulse of pleasure brighter than the last. She gasped, her voice a whisper as her senses dissolved, leaving her floating, utterly open and alive in his arms.

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she lost herself in the moment, in him. His hands never stopped their slow, sensual caress, letting her enjoy every last bit of her release. His lips never stopped their sweet murmurs of praise as he held her, supported her, guided her through the waves of bliss that crashed over her again and again.

When she finally stilled, panting and spent in his arms, Wonyoung felt something she hadn't in years—free. Free to be herself, free to feel, free to love. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, a smile spreading across her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her cries of pleasure. "Thank you for helping me let go."

He just smiled, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You never have to thank me for that, baby," he murmured, his arms tightening around her. "I'm always here to help you, no matter what."

In the stillness of the night, two souls lay intertwined, wrapped in the embrace of intimacy and comfort. For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the rhythmic cadence of their breaths, akin to a gentle melody that enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth. Wonyoung felt a profound sense of peace that had eluded her for far too long, nestled snugly against his chest.

He looked down at her, marveling at the sheer beauty of the moment as the golden rays of the setting sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow around them. The tender strokes of his fingers dancing along her back were like a soothing balm, a gentle reminder that she was cherished, easing the weight of her worries and insecurities that often clung to her like a second skin. Each caress felt deliberate, as if he were painting a masterpiece against her skin, and with every touch, she could feel the tension melt away, leaving her breathless and weightless.

Devoid of the pressure and expectations that characterized her public persona, Wonyoung felt free to be simply herself. The world outside faded into a distant murmur, and for once, the gleaming lights and flashing cameras were nothing more than faint memories. In his embrace, she was not the polished idol; she was simply a woman allowing herself to experience vulnerability.

The usual assertiveness of her personality melted into a soft bundle of intimacy. She took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of him, a mix of her favorite cologne and something uniquely his that made her heart flutter. She turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat sync with her own. It was a melody of trust, of safety, allowing her to lower the walls she’d so carefully constructed over the years.

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, she shared a rare smile, a smile that spoke of the unguarded joy that danced in the depths of her eyes. In that quiet sanctuary of their shared space, Wonyoung finally understood that the pressures of the world, the expectations from fans and industry executives, had no claim over this moment. Here, with him, she was stripped of her titles and achievements. She was just Wony — beautifully flawed, wonderfully imperfect, and so deeply human. In the gentle confines of his arms, she felt liberated, ready to embrace every fragment of herself she had kept hidden away.

“I don't know what I did to be so lucky to have you in my life, Thank you so much,” she murmured softly, her words barely breaking the silence, yet carrying an ocean of emotion.

His heart swelled at her gratitude. “You don’t have to thank me, Wony,” he replied, his voice low and reassuring as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

With deliberate slowness, he shifted to tuck a blanket around them, ensuring that the warmth of their connection extended beyond just their bodies. Every gesture was measured, an unspoken promise to hold her carefully, to shield her from the chaos of the outside world. As he enveloped her further into the warmth, she exhaled a soft sigh, feeling the cares of the day slip away like grains of sand through her fingers.

The comforting weight of the blanket, combined with his unwavering presence, created an oasis of tranquility. Wonyoung nestled closer, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him — a blend of warmth, safety, and love. It was a scent that anchored her, reminding her that here, with him, she could fully let go and simply be.

“Your happiness means everything to me,” he murmured softly, wrapping his arms around Wony. “I love taking care of you; it’s my greatest joy.”

In the quiet sanctuary of their shared space, Wonyoung surrendered to the day's final embrace. The weight of hours spent apart now gave way to the serene pull of sleep, a tide of weariness that beckoned her to its peaceful shores. Yet, as the siren call of rest tempted her consciousness, a single, sacred ritual anchored her to the waking world—a phrase that had blossomed into their own secret lexicon, a testament to a bond that defied the physical realm. "Oppaaa… can I have… tucky?" she whispered, her voice a tender plea in the dimly lit room.

The words hung in the air, a delicate invocation, and his heart responded with a symphony of flutters. It was a request that transcended mere comfort; it was the embodiment of a profound craving for closeness, a need that only their unique connection could satisfy. "Of course, baby," he replied, his voice a soothing balm, wrapped in the warmth of a smile that illuminated the shadows.

With meticulous care, he began to undress, each movement a silent vow to honor the sanctity of her comfort. His actions were a dance of devotion, a series of quiet gestures that spoke volumes of his desire to bridge the gap between their bodies while preserving the delicate fabric of her ease.

As Wonyoung positioned herself atop him, her lithe form a perfect complement to his, their bodies began a silent conversation. Her thighs, soft and supple, cradled his hips, while her arms encircled his neck, drawing him into an embrace that promised refuge. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his awaiting form, her slickness guiding him into the heart of her warmth. A gasp, soft and surrendering, escaped her lips as he filled her, stretching her to the brink of pleasure.

In the close warmth of their embrace, Wonyoung's breasts, soft and tender, pressed against the firm contours of his chest. Each breath they shared caused her hardened nipples to graze his skin, a delicate friction that stoked the flames of their desire. Her core, a molten haven, clenched around his length, a rhythmic pulse that echoed the beating of their hearts."

Their dance was unhurried, a languid exploration of the connection that bound them. It was a communion of souls, a testament to the depth of their understanding. With each undulation of Wonyoung's hips, their bodies found solace.

Lost in the comfort of his arms, Wonyoung's sighs mingled with the quiet of the room, a harmony of contentment. Her cheek, nestled in the crook of his neck, inhaled the familiar scent that clung to his skin—a scent that whispered of safety and belonging. Thoughts dissolved into the ether, replaced by the exquisite sensations that coursed through her. Her fingertips, light as a feather's touch, traced the contours of his back, each stroke deepening their connection.

The pleasure that built within her was a slow simmer, a crescendo that threatened to consume them both. Yet, Wonyoung reveled in the anticipation, drawing out the sweet agony of their union. She clung to the moment, unwilling to relinquish the closeness that enveloped them, a closeness that made the world beyond their embrace seem a distant memory.

"You're so perfect," he murmured into her hair, his words a tender confession. "I love you so much. Just like this. Just us." His voice, laden with emotion, was a testament to the depth of his affection. In the stillness of their shared space, their love was a living entity, a force that rendered them invincible in their vulnerability.

Wonyoung smiled at his words, a small, contented grin that reached her eyes as she nuzzled closer. She gently traced slow, lazy patterns across his skin with her fingertips, feeling the soothing rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch. Each caress brought a fresh wave of calm, a deeper sense of security, and a love that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She had never felt so cherished, so at peace.

“I love you,” she murmured softly, her voice a delicate whisper filled with gratitude, knowing he understood her heart without needing to say more.

“I love you too, baby, so much,” he replied, his voice tender as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. There was something deeper in his touch—a promise, a vow of unconditional love and support that she could always count on.

As Wonyoung’s body relaxed fully into his, her breathing slowing, he focused on the simple, quiet joy of having her close. The rhythm of her heartbeat matched the serenity of the room, each gentle beat echoing the contentment swelling in his chest. He realized this wasn’t just an intimate moment; it was their sanctuary, a home they had built within each other where love grew and thrived.

“You make me feel safe,” she whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable, as if confessing a secret.

He smiled, holding her even closer. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he replied softly, his voice thick with emotion. “To be the place where you feel at home.”

Wonyoung’s eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion washed over her. She hummed in content, her voice sleepy but full of warmth as she faded into the quiet, but the love in her tone was unmistakable.

Time seemed to stand still. The world outside—with its chaos and noise—faded into a distant memory, leaving only the peaceful calm that wrapped around Wonyoung and him. In this moment, together, they were safe. Together, they were whole.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #girl group smut #reader insert #male reader #kinkvember #ive smut #wonyoung smut #wonyoung x reader #jang wonyoung smut #jang wonyoung x reader

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asterafroditis · 1 month ago

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𐔌 . ⋮ fame's shadow .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Vil Schoenheit x insecure gn! reader

𓏵 695 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, established relationship with reader, angst, hurt/comfort

kind of a self-indulgent post bc this sickness is making me feel things （；￣＾￣）feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

It started with a single article.

“Vil Schoenheit’s New Muse? Mystery Student Spotted by His Side!”

You’d laughed when you first saw it, showing Vil the grainy photo of the two of you walking through Main Street after classes. He’d only sighed, brushing it off with the ease of someone far too used to the tabloids. "They’ll get bored soon enough. Just ignore them, darling."

But they didn’t.

Soon, there were more headlines. “Ordinary Nobody Caught in Vil’s Spotlight!” “Rising Star Vil Schoenheit and Their Unworthy Partner—How Long Will It Last?” Comment sections filled with snide remarks, nitpicking everything from your appearance to the way you stood next to him.

At first, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. Vil loved you. He chose you. That should’ve been enough.

But the comments stuck.

"They don’t even dress properly. How embarrassing for Vil."

"Must be nice riding his coattails."

"Do they seriously think they can keep up with someone like him?"

You stopped mentioning the articles to Vil. He was always so busy—filming commercials, practicing for his next show, overseeing the Pomefiore dorm. Every moment you had together felt precious, and the last thing you wanted was to add to his stress.

So, you smiled. You nodded. You told him you were fine.

But you started checking your reflection more often, tugging at your clothes and wondering if they looked too plain. You spoke less around his friends, afraid of saying something the media would twist into another cruel headline. You scrolled through hateful comments at night, your heart sinking further with each word.

And Vil, ever composed, ever radiant, never seemed to notice.

“You look tired,” he’d comment sometimes, brushing a hand against your cheek. “Have you been taking care of yourself? You know how important self-care is.”

You’d nod, force a smile, and tell him everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

It hit you during one of Vil’s photoshoots. You’d tagged along, thinking it would be nice to spend time together, even if you were just watching from the sidelines. But the photographer’s assistant, unaware of who you were, had muttered under their breath while passing by.

"Can’t believe they’re the one Vil chose. He could do so much better."

You froze. The room buzzed with activity, Vil effortlessly shifting poses under the bright lights. He looked perfect, untouchable. And you? You felt like a stain in his otherwise flawless image.

That night, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Vil, do you ever wonder if… if you’d be better off without me?" you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Vil blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What kind of nonsense is that? Where is this coming from?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Forget it. I’m just overthinking things.”

But Vil didn’t forget. He studied you with sharp, discerning eyes—the same eyes that could catch the slightest flaw in a stage performance or a fashion ensemble. And for the first time, he truly saw the exhaustion behind your smile, the way your shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.

“Darling,” he murmured, stepping closer, “who’s been filling your head with such ridiculous thoughts?”

You tried to brush it off, but Vil wouldn’t let you. Not this time. And when you finally broke down, confessing everything—the articles, the comments, the way you’d slowly started believing them—his expression hardened, not with anger toward you but at the world that had dared to hurt someone he cherished.

“You should have told me sooner,” he said, voice softer now, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I can’t protect you from shadows I can’t see.”

That night, Vil didn’t just hold you; he made calls, sent emails, and ensured that certain tabloids would think twice before publishing another cruel word. But more importantly, he promised—no matter how bright his spotlight shone, it would never cast you aside.

Because in his eyes, you were never a shadow. You were the light that made his world worth standing in.

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lazysoulwriter · 2 months ago

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Behind The Scenes - Pedro Pascal.

requested! hope u like it :)

╭── ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ──╮

The sunlit studio buzzed with activity as the Entertainment Weekly team prepared for the photoshoot. Pedro Pascal leaned against a column, his easy smile lighting up the room. Across the set, you adjusted the hem of your dress, trying to focus on the upcoming shoot instead of the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

Pedro caught your eye and gave you a wink, the playful gesture sending a jolt through you. You looked away quickly, praying no one noticed the flush creeping up your cheeks. Being cast together in Gladiator 2 had been a dream come true, but the secret relationship that blossomed between you and Pedro made every public appearance a carefully choreographed dance.

The photographer clapped his hands, calling everyone into position. "Okay, let's start with the two leads. Pedro, Y/N, let's see some of that chemistry everyone's been talking about!"

You moved to stand beside Pedro, who offered his hand to help you step up onto the slightly elevated platform. His fingers lingered on yours for a beat too long, and you bit back a smile. The photographer directed you both into a series of poses—some stoic and intense, others softer, more intimate. It was during these moments that your connection shone through.

"Perfect," the photographer called out. "Pedro, tilt your head toward her just a bit… Y/N, look up at him."

Pedro's gaze locked onto yours, the brown depths warm and filled with unspoken affection. The room seemed to fade away as you held the pose, his thumb subtly brushing against your hand where no one could see.

"Beautiful! Now let’s loosen it up a bit. Laugh, joke around—show us the fun side of this duo," the photographer encouraged.

Pedro grinned. "Fun? Oh, we can do fun." He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "Remember when you tripped over that fake rock on set?"

You gasped, smacking his arm lightly. "Pedro!"

He laughed, the sound rich and contagious. You couldn’t help but join in, your shared laughter filling the studio. The crew murmured in approval, snapping candid shots of the two of you lost in your own world.

As the shoot continued, the chemistry between you and Pedro became undeniable. Compliments flowed from the team, with one stylist murmuring, "They’re electric together. You can’t fake that."

By the time the session wrapped, you were both buzzing with the high of being together in plain sight, even if no one truly knew the depth of your connection. Pedro caught your arm as you grabbed your bag, his touch brief but grounding.

"You were amazing," he said, his voice low and sincere.

"So were you," you replied, your smile softening. "As always."

The ride home was quiet, your phone lighting up with messages from friends and colleagues praising the photos that were already circulating online. But one message stood out—a text from Pedro.

Pedro: "Come over. I need you."

You felt your heart skip a beat. It was a simple request, but the vulnerability behind it made your chest ache with affection. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard before you replied.

You: "I’ll be there in 20."

Twenty minutes later, you stood outside Pedro’s apartment, your hand hesitating on the door. He opened it before you could knock, his warm smile instantly putting you at ease.

"Hey," he said, pulling you inside. His arms wrapped around you, and you melted into his embrace, the stress of the day slipping away.

You leaned back to look at him. "Tired?"

"Not anymore," he replied, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. "Come on."

He led you to the couch, where a blanket and a bottle of wine waited. You settled in beside him, your legs tangled together as you shared stories from the day—laughing about the shoot, teasing each other over the outtakes you knew would surface online.

At one point, Pedro grew quiet, his hand resting on your knee. "You know," he began, his voice soft, "days like this make me wish we didn’t have to keep this a secret."

You placed your hand over his. "Me too. But for now, it’s enough."

He nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "You’re enough."

The evening stretched on, filled with quiet moments of comfort and connection. As you drifted off to sleep against his shoulder, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the love you’d found, even if it had to remain hidden for now.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x y/n #imagines #fanfic #gladiator imagines

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fawnhart · 2 months ago

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SHORT N' SWEET ݁₊ drew starkey

pairing. drew + bambi

notes. pt. 1. made this cause I love to see a man beg..

warning. none

They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.

He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment

Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.

How dare he show up?!

It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.

she had every right to be

“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.

She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.

“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”

“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”

Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”

He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.

“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.

“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”

“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used

He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”

Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.

“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.

Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”

He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.

Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”

Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”

Drew blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.

Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.

He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”

Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile

Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times

He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.

#works!⟡࿔*:･ﾟ #bambi!reader✦ •ִ ᜔.#drew starkey #aesthetic #drew starkey imagine #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey x reader #drew x reader

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twice-inamillion · 2 months ago

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Twice Series

Smut

Bunny In Hawaii

Chapter 245

1460 Words

(A trip to Hawaii with Nayeon for Cosmopolitan Korea and a unexpected surprise.)

It’s been a busy few weeks; the year ended with celebrating Sana’s and Jisoo’s birthdays as well as the New Year.

Currently, you and Nayeon unpack your suitcases after arriving in Hawaii a few hours earlier. Your visit to the island is for professional purposes, but decide to extend the trip a bit so you and Nayeon can spend some time together.

Nayeon was excited to return to the island after being selected for the cover of March’s Cosmopolitan Korea Magazine. She wasn’t expecting to return so quickly after being here with you and the members.

The two of you decided to place most schedules for the first two days early, leaving a day or two to spend some time together.

The first day went as expected, going around the city and doing photoshoots. Nayeon knew it would be an exhausting day but pushed through at the idea of spending time with you.

Luckily, the second day ended earlier than expected, and the two of you could enjoy a nice dinner and a sunset walk down the beach.

You both return to the hotel, with Nayeon walking to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of wine and a set of glasses. “Have a drink with me,” she says as she hands you the bottle.

“You sure you want to drink? I thought you were tired.”

”Just a glass, it won't hurt.”

”Alright,” she says as you open the bottle and pour a drink for the both of you.

What was meant to be a glass ended up with an empty bottle as Nayeon wanted to enjoy the last day of work before your mini vacation.

A flushed Nayeon puts her glass on the table and climbs onto your lap, “We… we finally have your time alone together…” She kisses your neck and undoes your collar, “I want you real bad.”

You slide your hand up her dress and grab a handful of her thick thighs, “is this what you want?”

”Yes… that’s it.”

You continue to grab her meaty thighs, enjoying the feel of her warm and smooth skin. You can feel her hot breath on your neck, her hands on your chest as she slowly rides you.

Nayeon yelps when you lift her and carry her onto the bed. She lifts her dress and tosses it to the couch when you suddenly toss her. She bites her lip as she watches you take off your pants.

”Come here.”

The two make out, with Nayeon making her way on top of you. She undoes her bra, revealing her perky tits. “Perfect.”

You cup her tits, giving them a massage. Nayeon moans as she feels your strong hands around her tits. She rides you, grinding her panties against your waking bulge. Little by little, she can feel your bulge getting larger, pressing against her warm cunt. She looks down and sees your cock, now hardened, its outline completely visible.

You slightly lift Nayeon, seeing a visible outline and press your finger against the cloth of panties. Her panties become damp, a visible spot. With your finger, you slightly move her panties to the side, revealing a thick amount of nectar.

“Fuck… you’re this wet?”

Nayeon puts her finger on your lip, “Shh…” She grabs your cock and aligns it to her entrance. Slowly, you can feel the tip of your cock rub against her folds. You bite your lip and see as she lowers her body, penetrating herself with your cock.

You can feel Nayeon taking you in nicely, her walls covering your cock in a thick coat of nectar. She places her hands on your chest, her ass on your core as she slowly begins to ride you.

“Hmm… just like that. Feels so good.”

You watch as Nayeon’s body shivers, her walls clamping around your cock. Her moans become louder as she feels your cock reaching her deepest parts. Nayeon can feel herself becoming addicted to your cock, missing this feeling.

“Fuck me, baby, make me feel good.”

That’s the only thing you need to hear as you turn her over. Nayeon gasps as you lift her legs against her chest. You slap your cock against her cunt, causing her folds to jiggle. She bites her lip, enjoying the slight tease.

“Put it in, I want you…”

You slowly press your cock and groan as Nayeon’s cunt takes you in. “Oh fuck, so tight.”

Nayeon grabs her small tits, massaging them, “Ahh, ahh, it feels so good. Inside baby.”

With your cock hitting her womb, you begin to thrust slowly. Nayeon extends her arms and grabs your cheeks, bringing you in for a kiss. The two of you make out, your tongues exploring each other’s mouths as if your life depended on it.

Time passes, and the two of you are steaming hot, sweating from your make-out session. You work your way down towards her chest, taking her nipple into your mouth and your hand on her other breast. Nayeon moans loudly as you suckle on her tit; it feels weird, but she doesn’t hate it. Instead, she finds it pleasant and imagines herself in the future.

She continues watching you and wraps her arms around your head, “You enjoy sucking on tits, huh.”

Lifting your head you reply, “of course, I enjoy sucking on noona’s tits.” Nayeon shoves your head down and grabs you, fighting, “Don’t call me Noona; I don’t like that!”

”I like it.”

”I don’t, it's weird.”

”Why? Don’t like the fact that a younger guy is fucking you?”

”It’s just strange.”

”So? I like that you’re older than me. That’s one of the reasons why I fell for you back then.”

”Really?”

Yes. Let me prove it to you.”

You pull away and pick Nayeon up in a stand-and-carry position. With her legs wrapped around your waist, you begin to bounce her on your cock. She puts her arms around your neck and her face on your shoulder.

She closes her eyes, feeling your hardened cock hitting the back of her womb. “Fuck...”

With Nayeon’s head on your shoulder, you say, “Does it feel good?” There’s no response from Nayeon; only feel her nodding head. “Don’t get all shy, tell me.”

“Good… harder…”

Nayeon holds you tighter as you increase the pace, her hot breath on your neck.

“I’m… I’m cumming… hold me…”

You harden your thrust and tighten your hold on her waist. You can feel Nayeon’s walls grip you tighter, her body trembling.

Out of nowhere, you feel a sudden gush, her fluids trying to escape. Nayeon spasms, her back arching as her cum runs down your pelvis. You let her ride her orgasm, but before she could finish, you pull out and immediately slam your cock back inside.

“Fuck!!!”

Nayeon yells, throwing profanities as she feels your cock hit her womb.

“I’m going to cum inside you!”

Her eyes roll back as she feels your load fill her womb. You feel your essence draining and slightly lose balance, causing you to walk back towards the bed, tossing her.

Nayeon crashes onto the bed, breathing heavy, with no energy to move. You move her leg to the side, seeing your thick cum oozing slowly out of her cunt.

You grab your cock once more, jerking it before aligning yourself to her entrance. Nayeon turns her head to face you and slowly extends her arms, welcoming you.

———

The two of you go at it for another two rounds until both of you fall asleep from exhaustion.

You both spend the trip sightseeing, enjoying your time together, and taking pictures of your favorite moments.

———-

On the other side of the world, the members wake up to a free day. Chaeyoung is the first one to get up and make herself some breakfast. She decides to make one of her unique creations and grabs random ingredients.

One by one, the members head downstairs and see a happy Chaeyoung making herself breakfast.

As the last two members walk towards the kitchen, they catch a whiff of Chaeyoung’s food, causing them to gag immediately and run to the nearest restroom.

“Does it smell that bad?”

Jihyo replies, “No, not at all. Doesn’t look appetizing, though, but doesn’t smell bad.”

They hear as the two members continue to gag and walk to see if they’re okay. They see them wiping their mouth with a towelette as they open the door.

“You two okay?” asks Jihyo.

The two of them nod, with one saying that they’ve been extra sensitive these past few days.

Jihyo looks at Jeongyeon, a gaze that Jeongyeon immediately understands, and says, “Fuck, not again…”

#twice smut #kpop smut #male reader #twice #twice fluff #TM smut #twice series #nayeon smut #twice nayeon #im nayeon #nayeon #g idol x male reader #idol x male reader #girl idol smut #reader x idol #kpop idol smut #idol smut

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mclager · 3 months ago

Text

The rumours got it wrong! | Landoscar X reader

warnings: none

"Are you excited about your first time in the paddock, darling?" Lando asked while driving to the place.

"Too excited! I want to see you and Osc on the podium." Lando smiled and nodded.

"We will do our best, promise, pretty." I kissed his cheek and sat back.

"I feel like I will be on a lot of gossip sites today." Lando laughed.

"I'll make sure to post a photo of the two of us with the caption saying we're just friends."

"No need to lie..."

"The problem is the lie or me calling you a friend?" He teased me, making me roll my eyes.

"Stop, I'm just saying that..." He stopped at a red light and looked at me. "OK! I don't like you calling me a friend, I almost cried when Osc said to Charles we were just besties, you don't need to do it too."

"Oh baby, don't cry, you're too hot." He put his hand on my thigh and squeezed it.

"Stupid." I chuckled.

"I wished we could say to the world we're dating, I'm pretty sure Osc too."

"I know, that's why I love both of you." He parked the car, we got out, and we started to walk into the paddock.

"Don't look at me like you're in love, you know to avoid gossip pages." I punched his arm while laughing.

"Shut up!" We go to the paddock and the cameras started to click.

"Smile, you need to look happy by my side." Lando whispered.

"I'm always smiling next to you, handsome." I whispered back. Soon enough we got to the McLaren garage where Oscar already was.

"Hey, Osc!" Lan said, making him look at us.

"Finally!" He walked to us. "Welcome." Oscar said and hugged me. "You're looking good, baby." He whispered before letting me go.

"Thank you." The boys gave me a big tour of the garage, introducing me to everyone they walked by. After forcing me to do a photoshoot in the car, they finally had to go do their jobs, and I sat back to watch them race. The race was amazing, both boys got podium, and to celebrate the McLaren team dragged me to where the team and wags go after a race even though I'm not none of that to them. Lando ran to me, he gave me a big hug before jumping on the team by my side. Oscar was more contained, he hugged the team and threw me a little and quick wink, I smiled at him as he walked to go talk to Lan.

After all the celebrations and champagne sprays, we got to the hotel.

"Did you like it?" Oscar asked, giving me a lot of kisses.

"I loved it, can I go more times?"

"Anytime you want, princess." Lando said, dropping on the bed, clearly tired.

"I have to say, it was way harder than I thought it would be, not kiss you all the time." Osc said, finally letting me go, I lay on the bed next to Lan and nodded.

"Me too."

"You too? You jumped on her."

"C'mon, I was too happy, I didn't really think about it, I just did it."

"I know, but you should be more careful." Osc squeezed himself on the bed between me and Lando.

"We're just really close friends." Lan teased me, but I was too tired to get back to him.

"I hate you sometimes, Norris."

"You don't."

I woke up with Oscar laughing at something.

"What?" I asked, still half asleep.

"We just found out that you're cheating on Lando." I looked at them confused.

"With whom?"

"Me." I looked at them even more confused.

"What?" Oscar's phone made his way onto my hand. An Instagram page with photos of me and Lando, and photos of Oscar clearly flirting with me and me being all into it.

"That's... C'mon, why am I the one getting cheated on? I was the one flirting with the two of you, I'm the least likely to get cheated on." Lando said pouting like it was a real thing.

"OK, we did an awful job at trying to hide it." I looked at Lando. "If you weren't all love-dovey..." I chuckled, Lan looked at me and rolled his eyes crossing his arms over his chest. "But, I mean... what should we do about it?" The real question is will PR management be pissed at us?

"We should go get lunch together, I want to feed the rumours."

The rumours did got all wrong, but we can't blame them, nobody would think I could bag the two more handsome and talented boys on the grid.

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x lando norris x reader #oscar piastri #landoscar x reader #lando norris #poly! f1 #poly!f1

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violetarks · 11 months ago

Note

HIII can i req for an alnst guys x mua!reader (afab) ? i want to touch their faces ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

“you like the pretty boys, with the pretty voice!”

show: alien stage

characters: till, ivan and luka

summary: he doesn’t just need to sing his best, he has to look his best too! producers have decided on pairing you up with him, meaning you would be spending lots of time tending to his physical appearance.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns used, till has never felt the touch of a woman before

↣ till

the door of his room opens, making till stand up cautiously from his bed. he was already forced into his outfit for today’s photoshoot, and now he awaited the dreadful makeup process.

you show up in the doorway, a girl around the same age as till, with a bag of items and a few electronics. “morning, till.” you say, walking in and placing your things on the desk. he visibly relaxes. “don’t you look good today.”

“shut up…” he mumbles back, walking over to you. he sits down in the chair you pull out, seating him in front of the mirror.

“okay, so i got told that you need a more bold look for the photoshoot today.” you claim, placing your hands on his shoulders, “you gonna’ let me do my work or are we gonna’ have another argument?”

“you can do whatever, i don’t even care anymore.” he groans, sick and tired of all these brand deals. his owner was running him dry with everything he was made to be doing recently. “do your magic.”

“good.” you say, opening your bag. you pick up one of the devices you brought with you, tossing it up into the air. it blossoms, opening up to show a ball of light coming from the centre. you point it towards till, getting a proper view of his face. “seems like the skincare routine i gave you is working.”

“isn’t it bad to keep putting all these things on my face?” he grumbles, feeling you grasp his chin. he averts his eyes while you inspect his face, gentle hands on his cheeks.

“not these ones.” you claim, feelings his cheeks heat up under your touch. you smile at him. “but it’s not like you really needed it anyway. the producer just said to get you on them. i thought you were already quite handsome.”

he closes his eyes, pulling back and running fingers through his hair. “anyway, what are we doing now?” he clears his throat, trying to calm down his heart.

“oh, right.” you say, taking the other device and turning it on, making a swivel stool for you to sit on. you move closer towards him, knee bumping with his. “okay, close your eyes for me, pretty boy.”

“stop it…” he mutters to you, doing as you say and leaning forward into your hands.

he’s patient with you, in a way that he isn’t with anyone else. which is why you were matched with him, he didn’t swear at you or thrash around. you made him out to be a tamed puppy, sitting as he waits for your touch. you found it cute.

you brushed your fingers against his jaw, making him itch closer to you. his hands grip the bottom of his chair, breath hitching as you dragged the brush along his face. you were delicate with him, holding his face and turning it when you needed. and he was willing to let you do whatever you needed.

“okay, that looks good.” you hum, retracting your hands. he always follows, but opens his eyes to stare at you. “let me do your lashes now. just some mascara, that’s all.”

you see the sour look on his face, making you roll your eyes. as you do your work, till sits quietly, careful not to move. you hold his jaw in your hand, focusing on your hands. but his head is running with how close you are to him. if he were to lean any closer, you would be kissing the guy…

instead, you lean back, bringing the light closer to his face. “ah, sorry, i got some on your cheek.” you huff, taking out a makeup pad.

you brush it against where you had smudged mascara on him, holding his face closer to yours. he’s entranced by your beauty. how your eyes are so focused on him and nothing else, how you smile at him after finished a part of his makeup. you were the most beautiful person to him.

he feels your knee knock against his inner thigh, making him look at you sheepishly. you were digging through your bag for the eyeliner and eyeshadow, claiming that he needed dark colours.

“i think we should go with black.” you say, holding out some palettes, “pick one, any will look good on you.”

he doesn’t even look at them for long, just picking out the one in the middle. you smile at him and nod your head, beginning the next stage. it takes a bit longer, till unable to keep still with how your legs are touching his, and your hands are tenderly holding his cheek. his brows knit unconsciously and you stop.

“till, relax. i can’t do your makeup like that.” you sigh, tilting your head, “i’m nearly done, promise.”

he tries to do so, resulting in upturned brows. your hold was too much! “i’m sorry, y/n, i’m just… i don’t know.”

“hm. it’s okay, i’ll be coming with you to the photoshoot.” you inform him, making till perk up a little. you do a few more touches before setting down the brush, inspecting your work and nodding your head. “there you go.”

he open his eyes and looks in the mirror. he looked pretty good, you were so skilled. “thank you, y/n.”

he turns back to you, seeing how you were already staring back at him. you were still so close, not wavering at all.

“you’re welcome, handsome.” you chime, grinning at him. you caress his cheek for a few seconds before beginning to pull away.

but till lurches forward, pressing his lips to yours. his eyes are squeezed shut, so overwhelmed with emotions. the electricity built up with every single touch you gave him, lingering or not. you had to have known what you were doing to him, you were so purposeful!

your hand returns to his jaw, gently holding him as you kissed back. till’s hands sit just beneath your waist, on top of your legs as he drags you closer. he needed more of your touch.

till goes from eager and rough to smooth and calm in a few seconds, slowing down and pulling away almost hesitantly. he is still in a daze, staring at your lips as you both gather your thoughts. and when he does, he widens his eyes and pulls away hastily.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!” he yelps, covering his face. he couldn’t believe himself, when did he have that much courage around you? his voice is muffled behind his hands, and his eyes are squeezed shut. “that was a mistake, please forgive me—”

you smooch his knuckles covering his mouth, a short but sweet one. he stops, freezing up at your warmth.

“it’s fine, till.” you say, grinning at him, “i liked it a lot. but i… i kind if ruined your make up a bit. let me fix it, okay?”

he drops his hand and lets you hold his face again, picking up your brush to do your touch ups. but he squeezes his eyes shut again and has to look away as soon as you’re finished. you looked even more beautiful! how could this be happening?

“till,” you say, putting your things away in your bag, “don’t be embarrassed.”

“i’m not!” he mumbles back at you, standing up, “let’s go now!”

you have to chase him down after packing away your things, seeing how red his face was. till swears he will never look you in the eye ever again.

↣ ivan

“oh, there you are.” you say, leaning against your makeup desk. the door shuts behind him, making the sound of people on the other side quiet down. “took you long enough, ivan.”

“the costumes were mixed up.” he explains, tugging at his collar to loosen it up.

you pull out the chair for him, letting ivan sit down before you set him in front of the mirror. “you know you’re not supposed to keep a girl waiting.” you joke, sitting on top of the desk and unlocking the box of makeup.

“you say that as if she isn’t obligated to wait for me.” he huffs at you, leg over his knee. he glances at your irritated face. “so what are you doing to me today?”

“clean look.” you reply, popping open the foundation.

he nods his head, watching as you take a sponge and begin to apply it on his face. you were gentle with him, slowly moving his chin to face where you needed him to face. you eyes barely strayed from him, and to say he didn’t enjoy the attention would be a lie.

one of the reason he was happy to be paired up with you was because you paid such close attention to him. when trialing to be his makeup artist, you brought him some tea to help with his throat. he asked you how you knew he liked that flavour, and you told him you saw him drink it last week. from then on, he had been stuck to you like glue.

the guy lets you do what you need to, staying as still as possible. but he opens an eye when you let out a groan. “what’s wrong?”

your fingers leave him face, almost taking all his warmth with you, as you crane your neck. “no, nothing. just hurts my neck.” you explain, hopping off the desk.

ivan blinks as you come closer to him, holding his chin in your hands to make him look up at you. you stood in between his legs, makeup brush in your other hand. ivan leans back in his chair, putting out his other leg as you come so close that his chest is nearly touching you.

“close your eyes again, okay?” you mumble out, going back to your work. you hold the back of his neck to soothe the position of his head, picking out a good colour for him. as you finish, you feel ivan’s warm hands place themselves on your waist, holding you in position. “is something wrong?”

“hm? oh, nothing.” he replies, brushing his thumb against the hem of your shirt. you shiver at the touch, hastily placing a hand on his to stop him. he opens his eyes again, seeing your flustered expression. a smile tugs at his lips. “are you alright?”

“y—yeah…” you mumble out, carefully taking your hand off his. you sigh out, trying to finish off what you needed to do. ivan is quiet, smile still on his face as you work. “okay. i’m done.”

your fingers leave his face. but you don’t get very far before he takes your hand in his. his lips press against your knuckles, gently and cautiously. you freeze up, holding your breath and staring at him. his other hand holds you in place, keeping you close to him.

he peers at you from his seat, a certain glint in his eyes. “thank you, y/n.” he mumbles against your hand.

you hold your hand close to your chest as he releases you. “what’s going on today, ivan? you’re more touchy than usual.”

“is that bad?” he asks, tilting his head.

“no, it’s not bad.” you explain, taking your brushes and putting them in the box. you could feel your face flushing, you couldn’t turn back to him. you knew he would be wearing that clueless smile. and you would be stammering for your words. “so, um… is this the only thing you’re filming today?”

“yes.” he replies, watching as you carefully put everything away. even in the mirror, you don’t look at him. “are you busy for the rest of the day?”

“no, actually. i’m heading back after this.” you say, grabbing your jacket and tugging it on. after taking a breath in, you turn to him. “i’ll tell them you’re ready.”

ivan stands up, running fingers through his hair before stepping closer to you, his hands finding your jaw. you freeze up, shivering under his touch. your lower back hits the desk, making you lay hands on the wood. he makes you feel like you’re going crazy.

“you’re gorgeous, you know.” he mumbles out, staring at you with piercing eyes.

“uh, thank you, ivan, i—hmph!”

he captures your lips in a single moment, holding onto your shoulder gently. your hands find his face again, caressing him as you slowly melt into him. your eyes flutter shut as his do, feeling overwhelmed with such warmth that you find yourself chasing after him when he pulls away.

ivan chuckles, leaning forward once more to peck you on the lips again. you open your eyes, stunned. “why did you—”

“i should go now, it’ll be starting in five minutes.” he says, checking the clock. ivan leans away, gathering himself and fixing his hair in the mirror behind you before moving to the door. he stops with his hand on the doorframe as it slides open. “i’ll see you after, okay?”

you nod your head slowly, gulping down your nerves.

“good.” he smiles, walking out of the room, “see you, y/n.”

↣ luka

“good job, luka.” you compliment him, waiting in the wings for him to come off stage. he pants, wiping sweat off his brow. you smile, holding pit a towel. “ready for makeup? full dress rehearsal today.”

“right.” he huffs out, patting his face dry. he follows you to his dressing room, feeling a little tired. “what have you been up to?”

“waiting for you.” you respond, opening the door and closing it behind him. he sighs, tiredly sitting in the makeup chair by the mirror. you blink at his state, walking over and placing a hand on his cheek. he stirs. “oh, luka… how much sleep did you get last night?”

“not much.” he groans, rubbing his eyes. you furrow your brows, retracting your hand. “it’s fine. let’s start.”

you blink at him before nodding, beginning your work. luka was probably the best one of your clients when it came to makeup, he cared a lot about his appearance, and he appreciated your work. the only difference with now is that he isn’t giving you some snarky remark or flirting with you through his eyes. he was genuinely sleepy.

“lift your head up higher, luka.” you say, taking the brush away from his face. he only hums out to you, eyes still closed. “luka.”

sighing, you step closer to him, taking his face in your hand and holding his chin up higher. he doesn’t make a sound, only leaning into your palm. “you seriously need to take a nap.”

“mhm.” he says, placing his hands on the back of your knees gently. you squirm in your spot, making him peer open an eye. “i have practice though.”

“it’s a shame.” you sigh, brushing your thumb against his cheek, “you look so pretty when you’re sleeping.”

“creep.” he mutter out.

you roll your eyes, moving the brush tip around his eyelids. he stills for a moment. “i think i overheard one of the producers saying you were losing your voice and that you’re on vocal rest.” you claim, “so shouldn’t you be keeping quiet?”

he nods his head at that after you pull away, his thumbs drawing on the sides of your legs. his blue fingers dance along your pants, listening to you move around. you were delicate with him, no matter how much trouble he caused you. the first time you did his makeup, he complained that he didn’t like it and refused to perform.

but now, he was astounded by how you carefully pat your thumb against his temple, as if soothing him.

“you’re much more bearable when you’re quiet.” you sigh, “it’s such a shame that you’ve got such a pretty voice, and you use it to be annoying.”

he furrows his brows, lifting his head away from you. his eyes open to see your smile. luka rolls his eyes at you, running fingers through his hair. you turn away to grab something from your bag, popping open the bottle and getting ready to use it.

“since you can’t talk, i’ll let you know that i was at mizi’s practice yesterday.” you explain, being careful not to smudge your work as it dries. luka lets out a small sigh. “she was telling me about how she misses homemade food. i told her that she and sua should come over to mine and i’ll make something for them.”

he peeps open an eye again, giving you a look. you raise a brow and sigh, “you said my cooking was good.”

you lift your finger from his cheek, applying the most palest pink you have on him by a loose brush. his skin was so smooth, making your job a lot easier since it wouldn’t take much to make him look presentable.

��it is.” he mumbles out, suddenly moving his arms to lay atop your hips. you sigh through your nose, annoyed at how he ignores his orders to keep quiet. “why’re you cooking for them? they don’t know how to?”

“i didn’t say that, luka.” you huff, pushing his hair off his forehead, “i actually heard from till that mizi is a great cook.”

“that boy only ever sings praises about her.” luka rolls his eyes. you chuckle, knowing he was right. the blonde hugged you closer to himself, cheek squished against your stomach. “what has she ever done to deserve it?”

“don’t be mean. so jealous, luka.” you say to him, smiling softly. he peers up at you before tilting his head.

“me? jealous of her?” he scoffs at you, shaking his head and pulling himself off of you. you were done anyway, now beginning to pack up you belongings. “that’s outrageous of you to say, y/n.”

“seems like it though.” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. when you turn back around to him, luka looks upset. he crosses his arms, pout playing on his lips as he stared at the ground. you sigh, patting his shoulder, “it’s fine, you’re still the world’s favourite human singer.”

“yeah.” he huffs out, barely audible.

you furrow your brows, leaning over and placing a plan on his shoulder. “look, you’re a great singer and you’re handsome. what more could you ask for?”

he mumbles, looking back at you, “do you like me?”

“of course i do.” you reply, scanning his face. he only gives you an unconvinced look. you roll your eyes.

leaning forward to him, you press a chaste kiss to his lips. he stills for a quick second, but soon enough you feel him melt against you. his palm rests against your cheek, pulling you closer. he feels warm when you hold yourself away just enough to kiss him.

his hair has always felt silky smooth. it brushes against your forehead, kissing your skin. his whole body felt like it was pouring itself into you. he wanted to belong.

you pull away before you ruin anymore of his makeup, blinking your eyes a few times at his dazed expression. “i like you, luka.” you say sternly, looking him dead in the eye, “i’m not lying. promise.”

luka thinks to himself for a moment before sighing and standing up. he looks back at you with the tiniest smile. “thanks, y/n.”

“good. now, let’s go. i’ll watch your rehearsals.” you say, patting his back as you walk him to the door. you fix his sleeves, smoothing out the creases.

“good luck, luka.” you chime, standing on the sidelines.

he stares at you for a moment before replying, “thank you.”

#alien stage till #alien stage till x reader #till #till x reader #alien stage ivan #alien stage ivan x reader #ivan #ivan x reader #alien stage luka #alien stage luka x reader #luka #luka x reader #alien stage x reader #alien stage

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