#if u feel attacked do not @ me bc i do not care !!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 6 months

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

2K notes · View notes

sunfortune · 2 months

Note

hiiii i recently watched kanthony (the so called bridgerton show or whatever) and was wondering if u have any fic recs... 👉👈🤭

okay i litchrally have never compiled a list even tho ive been asked before bc i have read too many to keep them organized. but ill do it. Finally. for YOU.

first. my fav period setting fics <33:

tete a tete by caciopepebowl (14k~) this is REQUIRED reading to ME. its a quick read that explores kate and anthonys roles in their family. with an emphasis on KATE specifically bc of the additional hurdles of being a woman with limited funds. and anthony losing his mind on her behalf while shes breaking his heart by being like "the way i was treated was normal?? you dont know anything" and hes like "what? kate you deserved everything. you deserve ALL the love in the world!!" and shes all ">:( well if i do. you do too." . and hes like "oh. well...no. you see.. bc i suck" and shes like -_-. its really sweeeeeet and lovely <3) and really finally gave me the exploring of kates family issues that THE SHOW DID NOT!!!

the longest betrothal by caciopepebowl. (90k~) my FAVVVVV regency setting fic. its sooo good. its basically a continuation that fills in the gap AFTER they get engaged but BEFORE theyre married. and them trying SO hard to be normal about how in love they are lol. SO funny and sweet. and with IMMACULATE characterization

in vino veritas by wagamiller. (~10k) a one shot about kate going to a ladies society event and coming home drunk to anthony and him being soooo smitten with her. sauuuur cute. ive read this like 4 times <3

for reasons wretched and divine by penny_loaf. (~18k. locked fic. need an account.) basically kate and anthony get stuck in a time loop on that first day edwina is receiving suiters. they both think theyre alone in the loop and its depressing until they realize the other is stuck with them too. they try to break the loop and fail repeatedly. after a while they just give up and start fucking bc theres no consequences so who cares LOL. surprisingly tender and sweet

the harsh light of day by burnerraccount. (~22k. locked) explicit one shot. kate has the idea that they should fuck before they get married so theres less pressure on the wedding night. she decides all this without mentioning it to anthony (LOL). so she shows up at his house the night before their wedding. and his footman is like "theres a woman outside to see you" and he in all his goofy almost-married bliss is like "i dont want to see Any woman but my gorgeous, beautiful, amazing WIFE" and his footman is like "well. you see.. it is your wife. uh fiance" and anthonys like "[voice crack] huh ?". very FUNNY

green in its many hues by burnerraccount. kate and anthony decide they are going to be chaste and proper leading up to their wedding. they suck at it SO bad lol

next. modern AUS my best friends <33:

la semi dolce vita by caciopepebowl (~170k) my FAVVVV modern au of ALL time. kate is a private chef. anthonys family hires her when they go on vacation. hes being so normal about it. i promise. this is one of the best characterizations of kate AND anthony in a modern setting. with an extra emphasis on focusing on kate issues. and not JUST anthonys. which is what makes the dynamic sooo good. 10/10. hot. and i love LOVE <3

close encounters of the acutest kind by caciopepebowl (WIP ~74k. only incomplete fic ill put on this list i PROMMY. bc its by the prev author. and i Looove their writing and its sooo good so far <3) kate and anthony meet for the first time the DAY her dad died which is also the SAME DAY hyacinth is born. theyre both having a panic attack and end up running into the same empty hospital room to have it. are then intrinsically linked forever. as one is. run into each other multiple times over the years. with different feelings each time. and they are so normal (lying) <3. i love them

chosen & cherished by trash4ficsaboutlurv. (~42k) this is so underrated. kate runs a charity organization. anthony is CEO of whatever the fuck. she goes to his company when theyre holding some audition for what charity theyre going to invest in and kate is the last speaker and when its finally her turn he doesnt even pay attention. and shes exhausted and overworked and just oveeeer it All. so she just ends the meeting and tells him to go fuck himself. LOL. genuinely really good. and hot <3

sidelines by ramarro. (~60k) this was THE quintessential kanthony modern AU in 2022. took a far fetched premise and somehow made it soooo good. and hot. and cute. kates an artist who sees a picture of anthony on tinder and thinks he looks obnoxious (lol) but screenshots the photo so she can use it for sketching practice. and then she see him and his grown ass on a date with her BABY sister. and shes like well i was right about him. and lets him know to his face how she feels (LOL). its wild. it slays. read it. theres an explicit follow up to it which also slays

three cities and we never lived here by ramarro. (~25k, ~40k) very different modern au where kate and anthony meet on vacation and are very casual with them both not looking for anything (genuinely for once lol) and then seeing each other multiple times over 2-3 years in different cities and still keeping it casual. but slowly slowly slowlyyyy it doesnt feel as casual as it used to. theres 2 fics in this. the first is kates pov. the second is anthony. both very good.

just go with it by suitsusboth. (~18k) kate when booking a flight sees the potential titles like ms, mrs, dr, and "viscountess" listed as a legit option and has a laugh like whos picking this goofy shit and accidentally clicks it. and then on her flight gets upgraded to first class next to anthony bc they assumed she was his wife. and he tries to be mad about it. but well. hes stupid for her in every universe so lol. funny and sweet

the air i breathe and the bane of my existance by the_loosest_moose. (image fic) these are textfics told through instagram, twitter, article and text message screenshots. with some regular text. would just check them out to gauge how you feel about the storytelling method. very fun reads once you get the hang of it

heirlooms by waterlilyrose. (~12k) modern au where kate gets anthonys ring stuck on her finger for days and has to wait to get it off. he is of course very normal about it

a devils love by irony_rocks. (~57k) this may not be for everyone but kanthony season came out around the same time as the batman (2022) and as someone who was crazy insane about both. this was the MOMENT for me in spring 2022. its a crime mafia type au where kates character is inspired by selina kyle and the pebble lounge where she worked in the batman movie. and well. if youre about that specific combo check it out. if you arent i wouldnt recommend this lmao. its not a batman au

break point (series) by penny_loaf. (multiple. ~25k) like prev this entire series gets kind of dark bc it really delves into the pressure of the world its set in. on TOP of the issues kate and anthony already have. i LOVED it. BUT also i am an ANGST and crazy, complicated characters STAN. which may not be the case for everyone.. but again very GORGEOUS to ME <3 and hot. LOL

take me home by kendal_lynne. (~12k) romcom type explicit one shot where kate makes the mistake of telling anthony her ex couldnt make her come. and hes all like i volunteer as tribute PLEASE PKLEASE PLEASE PICK ME CHOOSE ME PLWASEE etc

we never made a sound by writergirl8. (~4k) spy au that was soooooo good and sexy. i wish it was longer

with elaichi by serendipityinwords (~6k) the two biggest bitches at a dinner party find out they're soulmates. LOL. hilarious dialogue

theres probably more i loved that im not remembering rn and maybe ill update this but for now have fun! yippee <3

#to everyone who doesnt gaf sorry for this long ass post #to everyone who does care this took 3 HOURS dont ever say i never did anything for youuuyuyu!!!#bridgerton #kanthony fic #kanthony fanfiction #kanthony #LONG POST #bridgerton*

566 notes · View notes

neoraso · 4 months

Text

bf things with riize

shotaro:

is always your biggest cheerleader. listens to all your concerns and comforts you in the best way he can

loves meeting your friends and having you be close with his

is so excited to get to know you and learn everything he can about you - don't mind him he's just collecting data so he can love you even more ;>

is very much in it for the long haul with you- like he wouldn't be with you if he couldn't really see a future with you. he's pretty young and wouldn't really want to settle down until the future but he's planning on being with you as long as he can-often tells you this

wants to be the most positive, safe and uplifting person in your life. expect a lot of big hugs with back rubs, high fives where he intertwines your fingers ♡

eunseok:

he's pretty masculine but also very nonchalant about it. your man. takes care of things for you wordlessly, tucks you in, carries your bags etc.

pretends to be cocky/annoyed by your clinginess but literally becomes a "where's my hug at?" guy when he walks in the door. like if u don't at least give him a kiss hello he's like wth,,, is everything ok with my baby

will pretty much go along with whatever you want.. like if you want to watch a disney movie he'll be like i'm completely indifferent on what we watch but as long as it makes u happy

peels fruit for you and feeds it to you because he likes watching you eat.

so attentive. makes sure you're taking your medicine/vitamins, that you're sleeping well and making it to all your appointments, fulfilling all your responsibilities.

sungchan:

prefers to stay at your house over everything,, u gave him a key and he abuses the privilege- like you come home from work/school and he's just in ur bed .. sometimes even asleep and ur like ok sure??

idk how to explain ,, he's like that typical older guy like brother's best friend vibes just always playful, flirty, teasing but all out of love.

ur just his which he reminds you of daily .. "how's my baby," "my favorite girl doing ok?" "you know you're my angel right?"

loves to attack you with love. pushes you on the bed so he can lay all his weight on you (WILL fall asleep like this if you're not careful), tugs on your hair to get you to look at him , pokes or tickles you if he thinks you're not paying enough attention to him

in that vein, very protective of you. if someone is bothering you or just making life difficult he is ready and willing to throw hands. you can tell bc his jaw clenches and his nose flares just a bit until ur like,,sungchan it's really fine just annoying,,, and he's like mmhm sure (still rubs your arm and back to calm himself down..)

wonbin:

holds your hand as long as he can wherever yall go. like if he's saying goodbye :< waits until the door is about to smash his hand to let go of yours

once you get to the stage where he trusts you to share his worries with ..,,, u are locked in like u are 4lifers

teases his friends a lot but is literally putty in your hands like he will do anything for you and would never want you to question his affection for you

best listener . full eye contact (even if it makes you blush) usually playing with your fingers too. brings up things you've mentioned before and ur like,, how do you even remember this I don't even remember this

lowk needs reassurance and his heart gets so warm when you sincerely tell him how you feel and how much you love and appreciate him

seunghan:

finds anything remotely heart-shaped and points it out to you or texts you a picture.

you are literally his baby.,,, even if you're older, you are his baby. adores you, dotes on you, spoils you, feeds you, etc.

so affirming and validating whenever you rant to him. pets your hair and pouts "really baby? that sounds so frustrating but you're doing so well handling it. i'm here if you need me to fight someone :>" (has never fought anyone in his life)

hypeman hypeman hypeman. encourages you in everything you do and will show his support in forms of kisses, sweet words and texts

unlike sungchan he wont be so ,,... intrusive when he can't see you often but he does video call you as much as he can because he NEEDS to check on his lovely lover sweetie pie angel

sohee:

thinks all your quirks are so endearing and makes him fall even deeper for you

wants to learn your native language so bad so he can be closer to you and meet you halfway in communication

sooooo appreciates how you listen to him and his day, his worries, his dreams. wants to be there for you just as much ♡

i think he'd like to leave you little gifts even if it's like a post it note with a candy and a little encouraging message, or something bigger like shoes or a jacket or jewelry you've been eyeing

though he has so much energy, he also loves recharging at home with you, just snuggling and sharing little kisses and snacks.

anton:

appreciates how you never push him out of his comfort zone, grabs your hand as a silent ask for support.

loves to have fun with you ,, going out with you, watching and making silly tiktoks even just laying around and chilling with you makes him so happiiii

will hug you or backhug you and for some reason gets shy and shocked when you kiss him bc he's so cute

yall definitely started as besties ,, so you're already pretty close as a couple except now you get to kiss and stuff which he thinks is pretty great.

has 282922892 pics of you in his phone, printed , polaroids. he’s too shy to hang them up but he keeps one in his wallet and in his phone case to feel like you’re with him all the time :>

1K notes · View notes

justaholeinmysoul · 2 years

Text

I'm so depressed and stressed I feel like crying the whole day. I swear I speak like gigi Hadid

#if someone will say the wrong thing I'm going to fall apart #and I hate when my anxiety is so high i can't hide it and i act like I'm stupid bc I'm too busy controlling the panic attacks #what do they know #why is being normal considered normal lol why am i not i swear I'm so tired of this so so tired #i parked p far in an hallway and I thought if someone try to kill me now or whatever else I'm not gonna move yk i don't care bc I'm a coward #and an awful person and I'm fucked up and a loser and not healthy and a burden #I'm useless if i was an animal I'd be killed off and great nordic scientists always looking down at the south of the world would approve #i never really kms bc of this. if I'd ask for euthanasia they'd say yes bc I'm useless and w no hope and i refuse to go to someone like me #and help em die. i would try to save them and say it's ok ur ok there's a place where being like u is ok u don't have to feel/look like them #not me tho i don't know why I'm saving her

1 note · View note

webslingingslasher · 9 months

Note

hi babeeee!!! idk if this is how requests work bc i never request fics but i was wondering if u could do something super duper angsty, like really angsty, and then hurt comfort with a fluffy end? it can be anything you want, but like that sort of timeline would be so so so good, if u could and if requests r open,, xoxoxox

it may have taken me 12 years but i did it bestie.

Peter Parker wasn’t the type of boyfriend to have rules.

You were your own person, and should live as one. However, there were some things he was a bit more passionate about.

Like: texting him when you get home (and he wasn’t around), calling him if you feel unsafe or nervous, keep him informed of your whereabouts so he could try and track you down if he needed to, and always, always, call him back.

Peter had one rule, let him know you're safe. Always. Even when you’re mad at eachother, even at your most ugly, you’d let him know you’re okay. It was Peter’s one true rule, the other things he liked and he preferred you’d do, but this was his number one thing.

And you’re not following it.

The third time you ignored his call he felt frustration brew so deeply he almost slammed his phone to the ground, it would’ve done nothing to fix anything, and would’ve made a bigger problem, but the satisfaction of watching something break apart into a million pieces would’ve made him feel better. Even if just for a moment.

It’s almost like you knew it’s pissing him off, you’ve never dug this deeply into a wound. You knew it would get under his skin in the right places, it was something that either of you didn’t play with. It was too serious for Peter, and knowing you were most likely safe and just doing this to try and get even with him made him furious. Because he can’t prove it. And because he can’t all he could think about how not okay you might be.

Peter hates leaving angry voicemails but he can’t stop himself this time.

‘This is the fourth fucking call you’ve ignored, I think you proved your point. I know you’re mad at me but this is just childish, you made this night go from a small hiccup to a massive fight because you won’t answer your phone. Just call me back, goddamn it.’

Peter’s never once gotten loud with you, he’s never once felt enough rage towards you he could ever buck up enough energy to yell at you. But all he wanted to do was scream about how inconsiderate you were. He understands he may have started it, he even tried to apologize but you must’ve had this in your heart for a minute because you couldn’t wait to bulldoze him.

‘I’m so sorry, baby. I got caught up in the low-’

‘Whatever, I don’t care. I’m going home.’

‘Hey, no, no, no! We can still hang out! I haven’t ate-’

‘I did. I waited over an hour, Peter. I’m going home.’

‘I’m sorry, I really am, baby. I know tonight was important to you.’

And that’s when the night switched.

‘No, Peter, this wasn’t important to me. This was important for us, this was about you trying to prove you still care about us.’

‘Woah, hold on, don’t you dare stand there and tell me I don’t care about you or us, that’s unfair and you know it.’

‘You know what, Peter? I didn’t sign up to date two guys. I was willing to accept the other because it was a package deal, but I’m tired of being picked last. You know I’ll always be waiting around and it’s so fucking tiresome just waiting around.’

‘Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were signing up for, you don’t get to act like this is new news.’

‘I’m always picked last! I understand who you are, Peter, who you share a life with, trust me, if anyone here knows best about understanding, it’s fucking me, but that doesn’t mean I’m always the last priority. I know sometimes I have to be on the backburner, and guess what, Peter? I fucking understand. But, tonight? What stopped you? Because it’s not like there’s a domestic attack on the city, so tell me, what was so fucking important tonight I was shot to the bottom of the list for it?’

‘Okay, I get it. I know you’re mad, but I think we both need to take a breath and talk about this at home.’

‘No! I want you to look at me and tell me what was so important NYPD’s finest couldn’t handle it for an evening.’

‘Baby, I really don’t-’

‘Fucking tell me! I want you to admit right now it was nothing important. Look me in the eye and admit you didn’t care about my feelings.’

‘It was a robbery. I have a responsibility to keep the city safe, a city you very much live in, by the way.’

‘Ah, the classic, ‘if you really think about it, I’m doing this for you’ line. Real original.’

‘Can we please just go home? If you’re going to be pissed at me anyways I’d rather it be in the comfort of our home.’

‘You can go wherever you want, but I’m not going anywhere with you.’

‘I’m gonna get a cab, hold on.’

‘No, I’m not going anywhere with you and I mean it.’

‘You can hate me at home, let’s go.’

‘No! I’m leaving, you can sit around waiting on me for once.’

‘Why are you doing this now? You’ve never been this persistent before, I moved in with you and you still don’t think it’s enough. What else do you want from me? I’m giving you all I can, fuck.’

‘You know what? I hope someone fucking kidnaps me, maybe then I’d be your first choice.’

‘Don’t, don’t you even dare go there. You know that’s a low blow.’

‘I do. I hope I’m fucking tortured with you on the line, too.’

Peter tried calling out for you, screamed your name even, but you walked across the street and were swallowed into the crowd. He tugged at his hair a few times before looking around, he wasn’t sure what to do. Get a cab, bus, train? Does he walk in the direction you went? It’s a start.

Pulling out his phone he tried calling, you sent him to voicemail on the second ring. You’re pissed, that’s fine, he just needs you mad and safe. Peter dodged bodies on his left and right, checking each alleyway for you, assuming you’d stop to collect yourself and call him when you had a breather.

No sight of you. He doesn’t know where you went from here, it splits two ways. He tries using his boyfriend intuition and attempts to channel you, he’s left hopeless. Like a hail mary he remembers you share locations, Peter’s hands shake when he reaches for the app, your name loading until a small circle appears in his.

You’re close. He follows the road forward, he knows you took this way and his heart squeezes. You deliberately took the sketchy route, the one you told Peter you wouldn’t dare walk without him. It looks like he’s getting closer, but it’s impossible to tell when he has to wait for it to constantly reload.

Peter swears he can see your jacket ahead, he calls your phone, picking up the pace and trying his best to catch up. You blocked his call again, but he saw you do it.

He knows you heard your name get called, because you started to walk faster, it’s useless, Peter’s quicker. The only option you had was to hide in the crowd, squeezing yourself in the middle and out through the front. Sighing heavy at your escape, and a bit unamused by the childish behavior. Peter looked down at his phone refreshing your name ‘find friends.’

His face crumbled into a thousand pieces when the notification appeared, ‘- stopped sharing their location with you.’ His response was to call you, this time you let it ring out, and he left a nasty voicemail. It was like he snapped, he pulled at his curls and exhaled a loud ‘fuck!’ before gripping his phone so tight he thought it’d snap, and that's why he put it away.

If you wanted to play dirty so could he, you’re hard to find from the street but when he’s swinging from building to building you’d be out of luck. He was tired and hungry, he wanted this to be over. Fight about it like grown adults, at home, while he’s making a grilled cheese or something.

Peter ran down a back alleyway, ripping his clothes from his body and pulling his mask from his pocket. The suit came in handy tonight after all. Taking a sharp inhale, he took a leap, screaming out when he took flight.

‘Not you, not you, not you, not…. You? No, not you.’

‘Where the fuck did you go?’

You were nowhere to be found, still no answer on his calls or texts. He knows it’s irrational, but he’s terrified you’ve jinxed yourself and really are in trouble. He’s taken the route on a spin three times and he still hasn’t seen you, there’s three options, you either went into a gay nightclub, were kidnapped, or somehow snuck your way across the road and into… central park.

Of course you did, Peter should’ve known that. He told you one time it was a weak vantage point, he couldn’t see through the treelines all that well, and didn’t have much to swing from. At least he has a general idea of where you are, he just has to do it on foot.

Maybe you were right, maybe he just sucked at prioritizing you now. He doesn’t know when he became this way. He just feels so responsible, he got a great gift and it’s only right he shares it. He just hasn’t figured out how to share Peter with you and Spider-Man with the world yet. Both people need him at the same time.

At last, sitting on the edge of the fountain, is the love of his life. Just looking terribly sad, he hates to know he caused it. He may have started the fight, but you said some terrible things, things that were only said to jab at the most vulnerable spots.

Taking a seat next to you he sighs, his entire body deflating in one breath. You mimic the sigh.

“Rough night?”

You hum, “my boyfriend and I got in a fight. Maybe we still are, I don’t know. What about you?”

Peter stretches his legs, red feet scrape the brick. “My girlfriend went nuclear, kinda deserved. But, she also really hurt my feelings.”

“Did you hurt her feelings too?”

“Does that make it deserved?”

Silence. It didn’t.

Peter watches you twiddle your thumbs, chewing on your bottom lip and sniffing.

“I’m sure she’s really sorry, and she knows whatever she said hit a soft spot. It seems like your job comes with some downsides, and maybe she kept it all bottled up until she couldn’t anymore, because how do you tell a superhero you want their attention more than a city needs protection?”

He knows what you mean, he knows how selfish it could sound, but it’s not. You’re allowed to want him around every second, because he does too.

“You don’t.”

Peter can feel your eyes, “you don’t tell the superhero, you tell your boyfriend.”

Your throat clears, “what if he’s both? What if he’s already spread too thin and his whining girlfriend is his last straw?”

“No. He’s not spread too thin. He was unaware of how you felt, he didn’t know how much it bothered you. He didn’t know how far he pushed you away.”

“So what changes now he knows?”

Peter breaks character, this is about real solutions.

“We figure it out. We’ll go home and look at our schedules and work around it, and have a set day where it’s only us. Twice a month we’ll have a standing date, attendance mandatory. The police scanner gets turned off unless it’s a slow night, and from now on, unless it’s a domestic attack, nothing comes before you.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker angst #tasm!peter angst #my writing

922 notes · View notes

umeoniii · 11 months

Text

aot men beige flags

eren, jean, reiner , levi , armin , connie

!: sfw

（＾∇＾）

eren:

☆ makes weird voices.

high pitched, low pitched, shaky he doesn’t care.

like sometimes as a bit he just uses weird accents and stuff.

he’ll speak like a caveman for one day.

“me want ooga burga” he’ll scratch his head like one too

and you’ll just stare at him like, “this mfs crazy” bcs literally wtf is he on about?!

the next day he’s trying to sound french

“oui oui mon amour”

and he’s wiggling his brows and has his imaginary mustache in between his fingers.

☆ his next one is he’s kind of oblivious to a lot of things.

you can pull out the ugliest outfit known to man to test him and he’ll say “that looks so good baby”

not bcs he’s setting u up. no, because he doesn’t think that lime green ripped jeans and a orange cropped hoodie look bad together.

you’ll have to show him what fashion looks like and he’ll get better as time goes on.

jean:

the tickle monster.

☆ when you’re around him u have to watch your back. he’s serious about it.

u can have a super cute sentimental moment with him and he’ll pull it out.

“i really love you baby.” you’d say

“who else do you love, because i know you’re cheating on me with him.”

and you’re like WHAT.

“with who?!”

he’d pause and stare at you for a few seconds.

“THE TICKLE MONSTER!”

and he’d tickle you until you can’t breathe and almost pee yourself.

and after that you don’t trust him but then proceed to slip up multiple times.

u guys are gonna hate me for this next one…

☆ he does “the face” when he’s gonna kiss u

u guys know what i’m talking about

“the face guys make when they go in for a kiss”

his isn’t horrid, only because he’s attractive

sometimes he actually over exaggerates it to piss you off.

it’s not super horrible but it’s giggle worthy

reiner:

☆ he’s a cringe bf. unironically. it’s sweet but not all the time.

by cringe i mean “i just found out about periods, god it must suck to be a beautiful goddess :/.”

or he’s like

“hey! tell you’re period it can’t hurt you like that, it’s not cool!”

☆ he’s also a scaredy-cat.

behind all that muscle is a big baby.

he jumps at scary movies even when he knows what happens next.

cannot play something like fnaf with him

he will throw the phone and scream like he got stabbed in his chest.

he’s probably still scared of the dark but it’s kind of sweet idk. he literally cuddles with you at night like a mother and her baby. you’re practically holding him like a frail little princess, except he’s kind of the exact opposite.

this is actually kind of cute though..

levi:

☆ now his beige flag is that he can be SUPER sarcastic. ik he is.

he’s super snarky and sassy.

like he’s the type to tell what’s considered a ‘corny dad joke’ but instead he’d say it with a stoic face.

like if youre talking and couldn’t remember and say something like “remember when umm…” and you just sit there and think, he’d come back with “no i don’t remember when that happened”.

he wouldn’t laugh or anything.

i feel like that’s why it’s funny. he could make a childish poop or fart joke and it would only be funny bcs he looks like this 😐

he would own a stupid t-shirt that says something like, “find your patience before i lose mine”.

☆ he’s a karen as well. he’s not super bad but like at restaurants and stuff when his foods not right or the tables are not bussed…

i’d be in the bathroom crying my mascara off if i was his waitress

armin:

☆ he’s scared of animals.

this includes typical house pets like dogs or cats.

it’s bcs “they don’t speak , so you’ll never know what they’ll do next.”

his fear stems from one small thing that happened when he was younger.

a cat jumped onto his lap.

he thought it was trying to attack him and so he screamed and the cat got scared.

that’s it.

he can’t even visit the zoo because he’s scared the animals will break out. (he’s super serious about it, it’s not even something he jokes about)

he’s tried to like animals and it worked for a while.

until the dog started to play a little too much to his liking.

☆ also he just randomly informs you of random facts.

completely random.

you could be on the toilet and he’ll come in the bathroom like, “a shrimps heart is in its head…”

no “did you know?” or “isn’t it cool that?” he just says it.

if you ever go onto a game show you’ll probably win it with all the useless knowledge he’s given u.

connie:

☆ you could tell him the most god awful thing happened to you and he’ll be like

“wait, this reminds me of something that happened in something i just watched.”

he’ll proceed to whip out his phone and show you the tv show, news report, tiktok. whatever it was he saw.

this tends to happen to every experience that you have.

you could be held hostage and they’ll call him for ransom and somehow it reminds him of this one part of a tv show.

sometimes it’s funny sometimes it’s not.

☆ he sleeps like he hasn’t slept since the day he was born.

he hops into the bed and sits there for 1 minute before he starts snoring aggressively.

he looks dead, like actually…

sprawled out and snoring with his mouth open.

one time he slept with his eyes wide open and you shook him awake panicking.

he belittled you and was all smart and cocky saying “i would never sleep with my eyes wide open” even though he did.

he sleeps to the rain sounds with the thunder. but sometimes is so sleepy and forgets about it.

tagz!🐬: @hangesgirlypop , @yiugen , @heartshapedtearss

♡

a/n: heyooo! b4 u guys request it, im doing girls next ;). i just think this trend is the cutest thing ever, plus it feels good to write fluff. also im actually getting back to requests. like frl this time, i’ve been grinding non stop all night so i could be done by hopefully friday. feel free to request cute things u guys, i will absolutely write it! and also feel free to request other characters, i feel like u guys don’t request them bcs u guys don’t see them and so u think i won’t do them. trust i probs will!

1K notes · View notes

euphoricfilter · 1 year

Note

omg i LOVED open the way u wrote tae was so 😩✊💦💯✨ i’m addicted to ur writing style!!! if ur still doing requests could u pls do taehyung x reader where he’s your aunt’s boyfriend and he’s really into you and lowkey flirts with you but you don’t realize how much until you two are left alone 🫣 ends with smut and can be yandere hehe the rest is up to you bc i trust you dear author!!

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭:

pairing: yandere! taehyung x f! reader

genre: smut || non-idol au || fluffy-ish but in a kinda dark way

summary: it’s wrong, but it feels so good.

word count: 4.5k

tags/ warnings: slight age-gap, stalking, infidelity, coercion, naive! reader, but she means well, anxiety, briefly mentioned panic attack, smut in the forms of: unprotected sex (this is fiction don’t be stupid), dom! tae, sub! reader, big dick! tae, ddlg themes, cry baby reader, thigh riding, fingering, dick riding, creampie, squirting, slight cum play, cockwarming

notes: yes! thank you for having so much faith in me, and i hope this lives up to your expectations :’)

request rules can be found here || my masterlist

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Taehyung remembers the exact day he fell in love with you. How he’d been mindlessly flicking through dating apps for a quick fuck; only to stumble across, well not you, but your aunt.

She was pretty. Conventionally attractive at most, a little plain, but seemed like she’d gotten around with enough men to please him for the night. The skimpy little lingerie pictures enough for him to know that she was somewhat desperate in her search for a partner and maybe all she had to offer was her decent body— by his standards.

And as he’d been scrolling through her other photos, mingled among half naked mirror selfies, there you were. The prettiest little thing he’d ever seen.

He’d found all your aunt’s social media before making the leap to message her, wanting to know just how close the two of you were and if this little plan of his would be worth it in the long run.

There were photos upon photos of you posted on every profile she had. Like a little trophy, your achievements now her own to flaunt to the world through the web.

You and your aunt were close. That much he had gathered from her social media. Peeved that he was unable to find your own, left to see your aunt’s grating face beside yours in every photo. Nothing a little editing couldn’t fix. He had already picked out a cute photo album for all the pictures he planned to take with you.

He later found out that his soon-to-be girlfriend was more your sister than auntie. With 15 years between your mother and herself, she’d always felt too young to be anything other than a sibling your mother was never willing to have, leaving you as an only child.

And only child who still lived home with their mother because the big wide world is too scary for some people.

That just gave Taehyung another reason to take care of you. While your mother bitched at you about finding a job, with him you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. The ground you stepped on too precious, hands too delicate, body a temple that he planned to worship.

Your aunt was a little older than he would usually go for, but anything to have you in his clutches, the sacrifice was worth every second.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It’s easy to woo a woman who’s desperate. A few sweet nothings and a big dick can get you a long way with a pitiful lady whose self-esteem lays in the depths of hell. Luckily, he lurked that low, and now he had a prize he was trying to win, kneeling before the devil himself to have you as his own.

It wasn’t long before your aunt had invited him to dinner with you and your mother. Caring more about your validation than your mothers, but he wasn’t all that bothered about the woman anyways. A spitting image of you if you were to age 20 odd years. But it wasn’t her he was after.

And Taehyung could feel his cock throb under his slacks at the sight of you, fidgeting under his gaze as he takes a little longer than proper watching you from across the table; though neither your mother nor his girlfriend seemed to notice, too hung up in their own little catch-up to care.

He could see your fingers itching to pick up the crayons left by the last little family that had sat at the table, your eyes trained on the maze from the kids menu. Probably mapping out the way in your mind, squirming when he assumes you’d escaped the maze.

And Taehyung wants to coo when your mother tells one of the waitresses to clean up the mess; pitiful pout on your lips that you hide behind your teeth when she turns to you, asking what you wanted to order.

Your eyes flit to the menu, then to your mother, then over to Taehyung before blurting you’ll just have salad. Unbothered, your mother shrugs, calling over the waitress again when she asks the rest of the table if they’re ready to order.

Taehyung thinks the little dinosaur shaped nuggets would have suited you better. Maybe a pretty pink milkshake to match your pretty pink cheeks.

He wouldn’t mind feeding you spoonfuls of whipped cream between bites of french fries, and then buying you a cute strawberry cake for afters. You look like you might have liked the brownies and vanilla ice cream better though.

Maybe he could spoil you a little, buy you both and when you shake your head, claiming to be too full; he’d pull you over his lap, teasing the edge of your panties as he makes you lick the chocolate sauce off his fingers.

And oh how sweet you would taste after that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stop kissing you until your lips are swollen with his love, sticky with his spit and left over ice cream that he would clean with his tongue.

His mood sours when his girlfriend runs a hand along the length of his thigh, lovestruck smile plastered on her face as your mother asks questions on how the two of them met.

His little fantasy of your perfect little date being shattered by the shrill voice of your aunt as he fawns over your new sweater that your mother informs them that you’d ordered online.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

He eased you into it. His own little game of how long he can keep up his flirty little touches before someone noticed.

Carefully brushing over your back as he walked past you. His arm slung around your shoulder when you’d be stood by yourself in the garden as the rest of your family gathers around the grill. More interested in the smell of food than one another.

But Taehyung found you didn’t like large groups of people, family or not, loud noises picking at your brain, like an itch that won’t go away until tears gathered on your waterline and Taehyung would have to sit in the corner of your room with you until you calmed down. Your head in his lap as he runs his fingers through your hair.

Because he seemed to be the only one who cared that you’d had a panic attack, worried to leave you alone, to cry until your head hurt. To then feel sorry for yourself as you curl up between the arms of your plushies that line the bed. Now why would you do that, when he could hold you tighter than your little bear ever could?

“Thanks for helping her. Poor thing, her anxiety has been worse as of late. Must be school” his girlfriend whispers from the door, heart swelling with happiness at the image of you two together.

“Having such large family gatherings isn’t helping” he mutters, tongue poking the inside of his his cheek as your aunt waves him off.

“We’ll get her to stay up in her room next week then”

Other times, his fingers lingering over your own a little longer than they should as he gives you gifts.

You assume Taehyung must come from money. If the shiny looking pearls that hung around your aunt’s neck were anything to go by. Her dead-end, 9-5 job could barely cover rent, you doubted she was splurging on overpriced rocks and fancy dinners that she flaunts when she comes over. Making you scroll through endless pictures of 5 course meals that you have no interest in.

He never spoke of himself much. You had never heard of his parents, nor did he ever seem busy with friends when it came to your weekly dinners. Your aunt didn’t seem to care either way; having won the jackpot with a rich, hot boyfriend that would fuck her like a common whore at night and treat her like royalty during the day.

Taehyung was very generous, you knew that much. He often came a couple of times a week to visit you with your auntie. And each week he would have a new gift for you.

“You spoil her too much” your mother had tutted one afternoon. You hadn’t said anything, too preoccupied with the paint set Taehyung had wrapped in pretty wrapping paper. Pink with scattered little red hearts.

You’d started to keep the wrapping paper Taehyung gave your gifts in. Gluing them in an empty notebook with the dates written in your best hand writing beside them. Because it felt like a waste to throw such pretty paper away. And it always left you wondering why he had so much wrapping paper to begin with. Maybe he just likes giving, and then you read online that it was a love language, did that mean Taehyung loved you?

Gentle touches had turned to your knees grazing as you sat beside one another on the couch. To you sat between Taehyung’s legs from the floor, while he sat on the chair as you both played a game on the TV.

Some evenings while his girlfriend helped your mother in the kitchen he would lay your thighs across his own, fingers skimming the bare skin until goosebumps prickled in his wake. And he’d hide a smile behind his hands as you squirmed over his lap.

He starts feeding you at dinner, disguised as him asking for your opinion on a new recipe he was trying out. To suggesting what you order when you go out for dinner together with your aunt who was in awe of how well the two of you got along.

Compliments had started off simple too.

‘You look pretty today’ turning to ‘My y/n is so beautiful’ while his arms wrap around your waist. Praise of your beauty never ending, it seemed Taehyung had a compliment stored away on his tongue for all hours of the day. Even when you’d just woken up, hair tangled and eyes a little puffy from eating ramen so late the night before. He had given you a gentle ‘good morning’ as he brought you into his chest for a hug.

His heart had swelled once you’d gotten more comfortable with him. Albeit still awfully shy, you had now started to approach him first. The years of dating your aunt finally paying off as you gift him your own paintings. Thank you cards decorated with the little stickers he’d bought for you and way too much washy tape.

His favorite of your little gifts so far had been the small cakes you’d baked after hearing him tell your beloved aunt that chocolate was his favorite. It wasn’t. It was yours, but he liked the smile on your face when he’d said that, and the fact you both had something in common, even it were as insignificant as your aunt had pointed out.

He’d tugged your chair closer to his own that evening. Aware of your eyes watching his every little move as he shoveled your cake into his mouth. Low hum of appreciation rumbling in his chest as he gives you a cheeky smile.

He adores the way your cheeks had flushed red when he’d carded his fingers through your hair, “So smart. It’s delicious, darling”

And you hadn’t been able to contain your smile.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“Baby, can you take Y/n to the train station? I think she’s meeting a friend out of town but her mum’s gone for the weekend and I have work in the morning”

And of course he’d agreed.

And that’s how he found you, wrapped up warm in your winter coat in the passenger side of his car; nose red from the bitter cold morning air. Perfect for kissing, but he doesn’t want to scare you off when he’s so close to where he needs you.

“Meeting a friend?” he asks as you shut the car door. Leaning over to help strap you in, you don’t seem to mind, unfazed as his arm reaches over your body, and Taehyung thinks you really must be perfect; needing his help, needing someone to just take care of you in the way you deserve. In the way he knows you need.

“Yeah” you nod, voice barely above a whisper, but he hears you, attuned to how soft you spoke.

“A close one?”

You shrug. “We used to be, but she moved out of town for school and thought we’d catch up while she’s on winter break”

She.

Taehyung’s lips curl up, “Must be nice to catch up”

You hum at that. Feet tapping against the floor.

“You don’t look very excited, baby” his eyes flit to look at your face, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

He’s moments away from touching your lips, ready to scold you that you shouldn’t chew on the skin until it bled, a bad habit he’d come to see you have; but the car behind beeps and he’s stepping on the gas, eyes-brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Just a little scared of taking the train” you admit, hands tucked under your thighs.

“Nothing to be scared of, i’ll be here when you get back” he smiles over at you, and you nod slowly at that.

“Is that really okay?” you ask him.

And Taehyung wants to coo, “Of course, baby. Just call me when you’re on the way home, and i’ll be here right as the train gets in”

“Promise?” you look up at him through your lashes and Taehyung feels his cock throb at your desperation.

“Pinky promise” he gives you his little fingers after he parks the car.

You connect your finger with his own, gentle smile tugging at the corner of your lips as he stamps your thumbs together.

“You got everything?” he asks, leaning over into the back seat to grab your bag.

“I think so” you nod.

“Money?”

You hum.

“What about my goodbye kiss?” he asks, and you simply blink up at him.

“Kiss?” you gape.

“Mhm” he nods, tapping his cheek.

“I thought kisses were only for family” you whisper and Taehyung’s head tips back against the seat.

“I am family, aren’t I?” he turns to look at you, and you think he looks sad, a pang of guilt striking through your heart at his disheartened expression.

Your head tilts a little, “I guess so”

You lean over the center console, hand landing on Taehyung’s thigh as you lean up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. Taehyung turns his head a little, your lips pressing against the corner of his own, though you don’t seem to notice as you keep your eyes closed.

“Good girl, now be quick or you’ll miss the train” he runs his thumb over your cheek.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

As promised Taehyung was there when you’d gotten off the train. His arm wrapping tightly around your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest. The gentle beating of his heart through his thick sweater lulling your anxieties, fingers holding onto his arms like you would crumble if he were to let go of you.

“I got you this” you’d told him once you’d gotten home, inviting Taehyung in to warm up with a hot coffee before he left, “I got one too, so we could be matching” you rock back and forth on your feet.

You drop the little keychain into his palm, character from a game he’d seen you play many times carved out of wood and delicately painted.

“It’s beautiful, baby”

Taehyung thinks he can see the cogs of your mind start to overheat at the pet name. No more anxiety there to overshadow the term of endearment. Your cheeks flushing pink as you flop down onto the couch beside him.

“Come here and tell me about you day then” he pats his thigh.

You look up at him, eye brows furrowing in confusion.

“Need me to help you, hmm?” his hands hold under your arms, tugging you up your your legs straddle one of his thighs. You squeak at the sudden motion, hands grabbing onto his shoulders for support.

He feels your thighs clench as he stabilizes you, cunt throbbing as he holds onto your hips.

“Taehyung” you whisper, fingers clasped onto his sweater.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, gentle smile on his face. Expression so innocent you feel bad for thinking he had an ulterior motive.

“We’re not meant to be doing this” you squirm, pouting when his hands hold onto your hips tighter.

“Doing what?”

Your mouth stays shut, humiliation bubbling through your body as Taehyung watches your face. You shake your head.

“Don’t be shy, baby” he smiles, hand coming to cradle your face in his palm.

You lean into his touch. Hips stuttering forwards as he urges you on.

A chocked whimper drips off your tongue like honey as your panties brush against your clit.

“Like that baby?” he asks, shushing you when you open your mouth to protest.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you” he hums, rocking your hips for you. Your head falls onto his shoulder as jolts of pleasure wrack down your body, slick staining your panties.

A broken moan slips off your lips as Taehyung rocks you harder, slowly brining you to the peak of pleasure, moments away from tumbling into what will be your first orgasm of the night. You whimper against his neck, warm breath fanning his skin as you now rock your hips, Taehyung clenching the muscles of his thigh to help you get off.

“Go on little one, cum for me” Taehyung urges, hands slipping down to grab your ass as your hips stutter. Your thighs shake, teeth sinking into the skin of his neck as you fall over the edge. Little stars scattered behind your eye lids.

“Well done, baby” he soothes, pulling you into his chest.

Your breath comes out uneven, tears cascading down your cheeks in little pearls.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Taehyung pulls your face away from his neck, thumb coming to brush away your tears.

“I did something bad” you snivel, trying to pull yourself off Taehyung’s lap.

He hold you down, tutting. “You haven’t done anything wrong” he shakes his head, easy laugh reverberating through his chest and you just shake your head.

“You’re— you’re dating my aunt, we shouldn’t— I shouldn’t— I just- ” you squirm out of his lap.

Taehyung grabs onto your back, cradling your head between the junction of his neck and shoulder, rocking the both of you back and forth as you let the tears fall.

“You’re okay” he hushes, gentle hands rubbing down your back as you hiccup, “It’ll be our little secret, yeah? Just wanna make you feel good, you’ve been such a good girl recently”

Your shoulders shake as more tears dribble down your cheeks, “been good?” you ask, voice a little broken from the tears.

“Very good. The best even, don’t you think you deserve a treat?”

“Taehyungie always gives me a treat” you use the sleeve of your sweater to wipe your cheeks, hips rocking forward a little.

Taehyung’s hands smooth down your back, “I haven’t given you a treat for being so brave. Going on the train all by yourself, i’m proud of you, darling” he hums, bouncing the leg you were sat on.

Taehyung can feel your cunt clenching around nothing through his jeans, your hips rutting against his leg like a little puppy. He tangles a hand in your hair, pulling your face out of his neck and he feels his head tip back at the look of your tear streaked cheeks, a little blotchy, your eyes begging Taehyung to defile you.

“Has anyone ever touched you here, baby?” his hands slip between the waist band of your sweats, finger toying with the cute little bow on your underwear.

You nod, thigh twitching as Taehyung eases his hand into your panties. Fingers parting your slit, gathering your wetness before he slicks up your clit.

You fall into him, arms slung over his shoulders as he draws lazy circles on your sensitive pearl.

“Yeah? Did they make you cum?”

“No” you whisper, and Taehyung laughs. A daunting laugh that sends a shiver down your spine.

“That was selfish of them, wasn’t it, darling?” he frowns, and if you weren’t so drunk on the pleasure that consumed your body, you may have noticed how condescending his tone was.

“Let’s take these off, shall we” he pats your behind, smiling as you lift your ass high enough for him to slip both your sweats and panties over your thighs.

His fingers return to your clit, letting you buck your hips up to meet his fingers. You whine when he dips them lower, stimulation suddenly gone, the orgasm that was slowly building dissipating as he nudges the entrance to your cunt.

You roll your hips forward, wad of slick dripping from your hole onto his jeans as you wait for him to push a finger inside of you.

“Taehyungie” you snivel, another wave of pitiful tears glazing your cheeks in saline pearls.

“What, doll? What do you want Taehyungie to do?” he urges, blood flowing south at the way your mouth falls open in a pitiful whine. “I cant do anything if you don’t ask”

You take a hold of his hand, pulling it towards your sodden core, “here, please”

“Yeah?” he asks, sinking a finger into you.

You let out a breathy sigh as he adds a second, using your thighs to bounce on his fingers, you pull your sweater over your breasts, matching little bra on display for Taehyung to see.

“So cute, baby. And all mine” he croons, crooking his fingers, as he leans forward to press a kiss to the swell of your breast, your cheeks heating from the crude squelch your pussy was making.

Taehyung uses his free hand to tug your bra down, watching your cute tits as your bounce over his lap, your knee nudging against his cock.

“Want you to come over my cock, darling” he groans, fingers slipping from wet core.

You unzip his jeans, fingers a little shaky as you help his pull both his pants and boxers off before they’re discarded on the floor somewhere.

It felt wrong. Fucking in the living room where anyone could open the front door and walk in. You might have been a little more worried if you mum wasn’t gone for a couple of days, and you knew your aunt was at work.

You felt a pang of guilt at the thought of your aunt. What would she think if she were to find out.

But Taehyung just wanted to make you feel good. Surely there was nothing wrong with that.

“Up you go” Taehyung helps you straddle both his thighs, hard cock slapping against your leg, coating it in a sheen of his sticky precum.

He holds the shaft, one hand on your thigh to help lower you onto his cock. You whimper as the thick head pops through your entrance, your mouth falling open as a lick of pain shoots up your spine.

You stay with the tip sat inside you, your hips rocking a little to try and adjust to the size.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me” he shushes when you moan, trying to push in another inch.

Taehyung spits onto two of his fingers, bringing them down to toy with your clit. Your thighs quiver, sinking another inch of his thick cock inside of you. “Almost there, baby”

You pull up until the tip, dropping all the way so your ass meets his thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck, a fresh wave of tears dribbling down your cheeks.

“No need to cry” Taehyung eases his hands down your sides, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he feels your cunt convulse around his length.

“Feels good” you hiccup, “like feeling full”

Taehyung groans at that, hands gripping the meat of your waist, pulling you up his length before he slowly sinks you back down. You moan, breathy and cute and Taehyung wishes he could shove you against the couch and fuck you within an inch of your life but he supposes your first time together could be a little slower.

“Just like that” he praises as you start to bounce on his cock, wetness pooling around the base, coating your own thighs in your own heady arousal.

It was lewd, the noises your pussy were making as you dropped back down onto Taehyung’s dick. He uses the floor as leverage, fucking up into you, making sure his cock was as far into you as he could go.

You cry out, his name the only words you seemed to know as your orgasm slowly starts to build.

Your teeth nip at his neck, saliva painting his skin. “Wanna cum” you whine.

Your breathing stutters when his fingers find your clit, relentless as he flicks the swollen bud. Your thighs start to shake, leaving Taehyung to thrust up into you with all he had.

“Wait—“ you squeak, vulgar moan cutting you off, “feels like i’m gonna pee” you cry, trying to push yourself off Taehyung’s cock. He holds you down, continuing to fuck up into you.

“Just let it go, doll” he groans, head tipped back against the back of the couch.

“No” you cry, “I really have to—“ you’re cut off as you feel what you can only describe as an explosion of wetness leak from your cunt.

Taehyung’s cock slips out of you at the force of it, your thighs shaking as Taehyung holds you to his chest, fingers slowing down their figures of eight on your clit as he helps you ride out your high.

“Well done, baby. You squirted” he soothes, lazy smile on his face as he lines his cock back up with your cunt, “it’s almost over, i’m close” he tells you.

You simply lay slumped against his chest. Hips jutting forward in overstimulation as Taehyung slowly drags his cock through your walls.

“Too much” you try to pull away, only for Taehyung to bring his hand down, a harsh slap on your ass.

You hiccup at that, walls sporadically clenching around his length to bring him to his peak.

Taehyung’s hips stutter, thrusts sloppy as he nears his orgasm. You feel his cock twitch before he’s flooding your cunt with his thick cum, painting your walls white.

You cum again at the feeling as Taehyung continues to rock into you, his dick slipping out of your soiled hole before he’s pushing it back into you again, making sure his cum is as deep as it can go before he keeps you sat on his cock.

He slowly starts to soften inside of you, dick twitching in interest as your cunt continues to clench around his length.

And it’s not long before you’re dozing off, still impaled on his cock as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“My precious girl” he smiles.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #taehyung #taehyung x y/n #taehyung fic #taehyung smut #bts x reader #bts requests #taehyung imagine #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #bts yandere #bts au #yandere taehyung #our little secret

4K notes · View notes

aechii · 10 months

Note

getting into a argument w jude before a big match and him thinking you two aren’t on good terms but before the game starts he spots you in his jersey in the crowd and has that extra boost of confidence to do well bc he considers u a good luck charm

₍⁠₍ DRiViNG FORCE ₎⁠₎

A/N ?! nothing much to say, other than, expect ALOT of jude works this next week heheh 🤭

in retrospect, jude's frustration was justified. blinded and consumed by workload- both her own and favours [y/n] had hesitantly agreed to take on- which had ultimately caused her deathly amounts of stress, she had missed jude’s past 5 games. it was something both her and him found distasteful, and after a long conversation, they had come to the (forced) agreement that she would show up to his next one, no questions asked.

so, of course, when she had informed him that she was due in for an extra day of work, unprecedented, jude’s uplifted mood and focused mindset merged into a catastrophic ensemble as annoyance and disappointment took over. and as she rushed around the kitchen to gather her things, jude remained stagnant and stood by the table as he watched her, frowning.

“you’re really not coming?” jude questioned indignantly. it came out harsher than he intended, but with all due candor, he didn’t have the heart to care.

[y/n] hurriedly leaned over the counter to grab her keys, but her boyfriend beat her to it, swiping it into his hands before shoving them into his pocket.

“what the hell, jude?”

“are you not listening to me? i asked you a question.”

jude’s stubbornness triggered [y/n] as she threw her arms up in the air.

“what does it look like?” she retorted, annoyed, “i’m sorry but i really have to go.”

she attempted to reach for her keys, but was stopped by jude. his face turned frigid and a tide of disbelief succumbed him, “are you being serious right now? [y/n]- you haven’t been to any of my games for weeks!”

she checked the time, getting more desperate as she noticed it was 5 minutes past the time she was supposed to leave the house.

“jude, i’m sorry, okay? but i'm going to be late, we can talk about this later.”

he didn’t move, but rather stayed rooted in his spot, arms crossed as he glared at the girl before him. he was swallowed by fury, his mind trailing off on its own, and his mouth just let angered words tumble out.

“you’re so selfish. fucking go then.” his hand digs through his pocket, hurling the keys on the table before shoving his way back to the living room.

[y/n] stood there, stilled with bewilderment as she attempted to process jude’s outburst. she understood that he had been m.i.a for the past few weeks, and hadn’t shown her face in support of jude. so much so, that fans started speculating that they had broken up, forcing them to reach dire needs of posting travel photos to compensate for her absence.

but he needn’t call her that. they had talked about it many a time that [y/n] wasn’t ready to give up her job any time soon, and jude, albeit reluctantly, agreed for her to continue going. she knew it would be hard for him to understand as her work involved shifts and being called in spontaneously to fill in missing staff.

[y/n] faded out of her shock, scoffing as her frustration lead her conscience, “if you want to be like that, then be like that jude,” she shouted to him, snatching her last belonging off of the table and heading to the door.

she would've cared if she wasn't so pissed at jude, but she instead slammed the door behind her after jude slipped in his last attack.

"i'll just find somebody else to wear my shirt then!"

+_-

jude could already feel how skewed his mind was the second his cleats sunk into the grass. he felt guilty, in all rights, for what he had said, but he truly was upset for the lack of [y/n]'s support. he realised that his game had dipped just bit, whether they lose or win, and consequently, his name was losing its shine on the scoresheet.

everyone knew he performed better when she was there. gio had called her his 'good luck charm' to which jude replied with a sound of agreement because he thought so too. jude always had the urge to impress her even more, as if she wasn't vehemently aware of his talent, and it had him dominating the attacking line.

he could excuse 2 games maximum of no show, but now that this was turning into her 6th disappearance, he was getting fed up.

"you look like there's a stick up your ass, what's wrong?"

gio had commenced a side step circle around jude, in an attempt to dizzy the boy. it evokes a light look of judgment instead, but jude said nothing.

"[y/n] isn't coming today… again."

his friend's face turns sympathetic and he stops his ministrations, walking up to him, "man, really?"

jude nodded, "yeah. and even if there was a slight chance she could, i've fucked that up too."

gio rolled his eyes, exhaling melodramatically, "what now?"

"i said that if she doesn't come then i'll just find someone else to wear my shirt." shame riddled his being, and his words progressively depleted in volume as gio looked punched by shock.

"jude, what the fuck?" he tsked, "and how did she react to that? pissed? because it's very much deserved. matter of fact, i would've broken up with you."

jude's face turned hard, yet he felt his heart drop at the possibility. what he'd said was absolute shit, and it had given his girlfriend options, one of which was to leave him.

over his dead, fucking body.

"don't say that and no, we didn't break up. she just slammed the door and left."

"as if that makes anything any better, jude," gio retorted, arms crossed. he knew jude was quite an amateur when it came to gripping the reins of his feelings, but more times than not, it seemed like it was vice versa.

marco noticed them slacking off, running up to them before they were being forced into a couple more training drills. jude knew that his playing headspace had to be on, but his conscience dallied between that and pondering over his fallout with [y/n] and he gave up, knowing that he was going to have another off-game.

+_-

by half time, jude wanted out. they were 2-0 down, and marco was completely livid. his coach had watched them with complete confusion, trying to find the break in the circuit. if he had, and noticed that it was, in fact, jude himself, it was as if he was sworn to secrecy because most players but him were subbed out.

jude had spaced out during the locker room talk, and his legs were on autopilot as they walked back into the field. his eyes were trained on the mass of black and yellow, in an attempt for a last string of hope, before he's interrupted by gio's voice.

"jude, look!"

he pointed to the vip box, and jude squinted before his eyes set upon the undeniable stature of his girlfriend, dressed in his shirt.

"no way."

his mind failed at formulating words, and the second they made eye contact, jude smiled and blew her a kiss. she didn't catch it, but rather gave him a humorous look that said, 'impress me'.

gio watched the whole ordeal with a grin, hooking his arm around the boy before whispering in his ear, "fix the game, loverboy!"

jude snickers back, feeling his limbs light with exhilaration, "bet."

and the second he scored, he ran up to the stands, hands structured in his girlfriend's initial before making a heart.

the smile she gave her would remain in his memories forever.

#work de aechii 🫧#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham romance #jude bellingham #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham fanfic #borussia dortmund #football imagines #footballer x reader #footballer x you

962 notes · View notes

noroi1000 · 1 year

Note

could i request a gojo x yn where yn is a famous supermodel while gojo is like businessman mafia and she meets him in a part for influential ppl and some rival of gojo attack the party to catch gojo but can't do it and to save y/n gojo takes her with him in a hurry to make sure she's fine ( bro fell in love at first sight while y/n doesn't really care bcs yk very hard to be impressed type of lady ) but a plot twist in this setting sort of is that there has been cases of many murders recently and the serial killer is impossible to catch ( the killer is y/- ok yes u get it but she killed them bcs she ruined her family or sum like that so our baddie is taking revenge ) well this is a dark theme dark romance request so yep ofc there's dark content and no one knows abt y/n's past at all despite her status no matter how hard they try and gojo after taking her makes her stay with him bcs she's one of the few ppl who saw his face so for privacy purposes and gojo barely finds out abt y/n's "dark deeds" when she throws hints playfully ( she's kinda devious morally grey sort of woman ) and idk what to add much more honestly but yea a smexy romantic love story ( SUB GOJO PLEASE 🙏😍😩 ) and gojo brings her a person to kill every year on her bday bcs she feels "stabby" ( mindfuck book series ref if ykyk ) also ofc y/n continues her career as a supermodel bcs 💅🏼👠. as another personal preference don't make y/n younger as it's uncomfy to me so yeah jsjdndbdnfn

whew this was quite a lot

have a good day !

Beautiful Vengeance

cover by @blvckryx my advisor and friend

paring: Mafia boss Gojo x model reader (killer)

words: 4,7k

warnings: murders, violence, guns, some kidnaping, smut (sub Gojo/dom reader)

Your mother always wanted you to have a good life. That's why when you told her you wanted to be a model when you grow up, she supported you as much as she could. To give you what you might need to make your dreams come true.

Your career took off when you were a teenager. When you were 16, you won a modeling contest, and your name made headlines.

And because you took the victory from one person, your life was about to end...

You competing with a girl whose family was more important than yours. You won anyway thanks to your innate charm, which made you stand in the first place and people considered you a beautiful, future model.

Thanks to this, your career could continue to roll and grow. And you couldn't take that chance.

You've worked so hard. You were the pride of your parents.

But your only opponent was a spoiled female dog who after losing to you all she wanted was to get rid of you.

She was the niece of mob boss Q. A man going by the name Q, who made his living by killing people for hire, dealing drugs and weapons. Even human trafficking. His mafia teams were everywhere.

You didn't know about it until you saw a group of people enter your house.

You were in your room then, and you heard screams and sounds of fighting.

As you quickly made your way down to your parents' living room, all you saw was pools of blood covering the soft carpet.

And three people dressed in black with black masks on their faces. In their hands bloody knives that they used to make your parents lie on the floor with open but dead eyes.

You were sad. You were afraid. You lost your parents. You wanted to cry over their loss. They were everything to you. They loved you, you loved them. You could have lived with them 16 years of your life. And now... It's all over.

Or you die and join them. To shorten your suffering.

But something else popped into your mind. To make them suffer.

You could have died at their hands, or you could have gotten revenge for your parents by killing them.

And you want revenge for the destruction of your life...

So you silently walked over to the cupboard until the opponents saw you, and unscrewing the bottle you let the water flow out of the plastic, soaking the entire floor where one of the people was standing.

You smashed a nearby lamp on his head and stabbed him with the sharpened glass at the end. Throwing the damaged item onto the wet floor, you jumped back quickly, letting his body quiver with the current coursing through him.

You hit the other's neck with your elbow, pulling his head back until you heard a crack.

Such easy ways to kill someone...

You've already killed two people with your own hands. Even if the metallic, disgusting smell of blood was nauseating.

Before you were stabbed by the last man, you took the knife from the dead body, and plunged the bloody blade into his chest.

While his body was still moving, he managed to scratch your head with the tip of the knife, just above the ear. Cutting off some of your shiny hair. Making your ear and the side of your neck covered in drops of blood.

The man in front of you writhed in pain as you pushed the knife hilt towards him, holding the knife in it. Stuck in his sternum in the chest.

Even though you saw the fear of death in his eyes, you felt no regret. Even if he cried and looked at you pleadingly, you showed no mercy.

Just like they had no mercy for your parents.

As he fell to the floor, the knife fell out of his chest, staying in your hand. Covering your hands in scarlet liquid.

When he was twitching and moving away with the last strength, you just walked over to him, and sitting on his stomach, you drove the knife into his heart, slowly watching the life fade from his eyes.

You felt your pajamas soaking in warm sticky blood. However, you didn't let go of the blade as you walked over to your parents and hugged them, not caring how dirty and bloody you were. You slowly and gently closed your eyes and left the house. Heading to a place where you know where a girl used to live surrounding herself with people with "Q" marks on their clothes.

There was a calm expression on your face as you walked straight down the runway, focusing on going perfect. The flashes of the flash bouncing off your eyes. The outfit you're wearing looks so good on you. One of the collections of one of the most famous fashion designers has been selected for you. Alternating with two other models, you go out there, showing the clothes on your body for less than a minute. A then you go back to change into your next outfit, and leave when it's your next turn.

It was your job.

You like it. You are a famous model.

And you don't mind that people only look at what your body looks like.

You go to clothes exhibitions, you take part in advertisements for clothes, cosmetics, nail polishes, jewelry. You are the face of many advertisements.

A lot of people who hire you choose you because you're sexy. And there is mystery in you. And your eyes show killer sexiness.

Your pose is flawless, sophisticated.

Everyone who knew you talked about this mystery in photos and videos. Something obtained without photomontage and without any additional make-up.

And Dark Beauty when you're seen in the ads for the blood red collection. Everything from lips to nails was a rich red.

That color just reminded you of what had happened over the years of your life. You don't care as long as no one knows about it.

Besides, your revenge isn't quite complete yet.

When you were 16, you swore revenge on those who hurt your family and you. You are 23 now. You are a famous model that neither the media nor anyone knows the whole truth about.

Nobody knows anything about your childhood, nobody knows anything about your past.

"Our killer only kills those from Q? Pretty good..." the white-haired man muttered, looking at the lists of names killed by one person this month. Three people. He couldn't feel sorry for these people. Each of them had the symbol of the Q family. How could he worry about the death of his enemies?

"Gojo-san, there's going to be a fashion show party soon with Q's boss."

He looked at the man who had spoken to him.

He stood up, adjusting his white shirt, adjusting the collar. He put on a black jacket and black glasses hiding his face.

"I couldn't miss it. Let's get together, guys. Time to bust some Q's heads."

Upon arrival, Gojo sat in a chosen spot next to the raised stage for models.

Soon after, the lights all around went out. The stage was lit.

This made it difficult for them to find their target.

So they decided to wait until the main banquet and party started to catch their enemies then.

Those who hinder his mafia cannot exist. Creating a business is a daily routine for the great "Six Eyes. And when people who have contracts with him are suddenly found dead with a "Q" burned into their skin, he can't sit idly by.

When he watched the fashion show, he thought it was everything he had seen before. All models the same, with fake smiles, with everything to make them even more attractive to the viewer. In none of them, in his opinion, was one whose eyes reflected the soul. And Six Eyes draws attention to human eyes. He knows people's eyes when they show fear or anger. When they show emotion. According to him, there was nothing interesting in the eyes of these women.

Until you came out from behind the curtain, walking calmly ahead. In an elegant black dress.

Your face showed a certain coldness, but warm at the same time. Your eyes were so mysterious.

White hair caught your attention, and you looked at him once.

And then, the mysterious darkness in your eyes made his heart beat faster.

Despite your emanating true model face, coupled with a nice façade, he felt your beauty was deadly. And he liked it very much. Mysterious danger.

A beautiful cat that can scratch her claws at any time. Even to death.

His eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he felt a little blush appear on his cheeks.

It was the first time he fell in love with someone at first sight.

No... It was the first time he truly fell in love. And he didn't want to lose this chance.

That's why he memorized as many details of your face as possible to catch you at the party after the fashion show. Because he sincerely hoped you'd be there.

Even if this party here may be bloody and trashed tonight.

But the moment everyone heard a few shots and one man fell to the floor lifeless, Gojo knew that this was no time for love or fun for him.

After all, he came here to get rid of enemies in an easy way.

And the orders to anyone who came with him said only: "If you see someone from Q, shoot without hesitation. They're definitely here."

All the people panicked and started to run.

And then each of them took out a gun and started shooting at the enemies.

When the white-haired man saw that you were standing behind the curtain on the stage, without a moment's thought he ran ahead, jumped on the platform and pulled you on his shoulder, to sit behind a meter high and shoot to protect you. His goal in sight has already killed three opponents today.

"What're you-?!" You screamed as you pulled away from him.

You already had a plan to approach one of the Q's from behind and slit his throat!

And he interrupted you.

"Don't be afraid, you won't die." He said to you.

You couldn't see his eyes clearly through his glasses. But you know he's not a cop.

You are in the middle of a fight between mafias.

Arrows started raining in your direction and he then quickly pulled you in front of him, making you kneel in front of him, and he lowered your head to his chest as he bent down so they wouldn't shoot him.

As he knelt, leaning forward, you were underneath his body. That's how he protected you.

You don't know why he did it. But you guess there's a deeper meaning to it.

It was the first time anyone protected you. It was nice of him. Because that man didn't even know you. You only looked at each other once during the show. Few minutes ago!

When there were fewer shots in your direction, you crawled out from under his chest, heading around the narrow stage.

And you, too, reached into your thigh and pulled out a folding knife.

Ignoring the screams of the white-haired man behind you and the shots, you kept walking. Until you finally saw a man with a "Q" tattoo on his neck.

You literally felt the knife sharpening in your hand and you quickly walked over to him without making a sound and smashed the knife into his neck. And then to the side of the head.

You quickly pulled away and sheathed the knife to check for blood. Fortunately not.

You were pulled to your feet by the same man who tried to save you right after all the shots had stopped.

You looked at his face without glasses.

You noticed the beauty and unique vigor of the eyes.

You heard another shot.

You looked to the side to see a dark haired man firing a gun at a man who was sitting with his back against the stage to make sure he was dead. With his head on the side. Because of this, no one could see the hole in his temple and neck, which is why he died.

"That's everyone. None of them managed to escape." He said, addressing the white-haired man. "What about her? Shoot? You don't have glasses."

He pointed the barrel of the gun at you.

You'd love to fight. If only that guy's hands weren't on your shoulders.

"She saw my face, huh... It's okay. We're taking her with us." He said with a smile.

"What?!" you shouted pissed off.

"Baby, you couldn't see my face. It's not against the rules of my Mafia. No one except those closest to me has seen my face or knows my real name. According to the rules, I should kill you or lock you up so you don't tell anyone. However, killing you would be a great loss. You're so beautiful and you got me curious... I don't want to kill someone I fell in love with."

"...Hold on!" You screamed as you pushed him, but he only held you tighter.

"Come on. I just have to admit there's something mysterious about your eyes. What you show on stage is not the real you, is it?"

"Fuck off!"

"Aw, honey..." he mumbled sadly.

He started to drag you by the wrist to the car. And even though you kept leaning against you, when the other man helped him to immobilize your arms, you were put in the car and he got in right behind you. The door was closed.

You noticed the black window in front of you, separating you from the driver.

That's good. Maybe you can kill him.

When he looked away for a moment, you put your hand under your dress, pulling your knife from the belt on your thigh, and suddenly jumped into his lap, putting the blade to his throat.

"Hey, baby, this is how you repay me for helping me? Understand that these are the rules we have." He said with a smile, hands raised in front of you.

"I could handle myself." You growled.

"Such a dangerous, beautiful woman. What part is the real you?"

"Who are you?! Someone from Q?!"

"Slow down a bit. Actually, it's like I'm taking you, so I should be the one asking the questions. But okay. I'm Six Eyes. Mafia boss. And when it comes to Q, I'm their biggest adversary."

You wondered if you should trust him. He didn't seem threatening now. Also, there was no Q anywhere here.

Holding the knife to his throat, you hesitated for a moment on what to do.

This caused his hands to quickly pull you down to the seat. His both hands held your wrists while his hips touched your ass as you lay on your stomach.

"If I was from Q, I'd rather kill myself than be there. And besides, everyone from Q would pay no attention to anything. They would just tie you up, rape you, kill you, and then dump your body in a ditch. Did I do that?"

"If you tried, I'd castrate you." You growled.

"Dangerous. I like it. However..." he let go of your wrists and sat in his place, giving you space. "I don't know if you could do something for me. I must admit your ferocity and hostility is strong. But let's say I'm the Mafia boss and you're the model."

"Do not underestimate me..."

"So tell me, (y/n) (l/n), why shouldn't I underestimate you? Tell me something about you. Because you are famous, but your biography is not known by anyone."

You were locked up in the large villa that was his home for several days. Why? Because he didn't want to lock you up in your old garages. He didn't want you gagged and bound while you sat there for who knows how long.

Your relationship was closer because you liked him. However, there was still some tension between the two of you.

Him, the annoying, selfish asshole and egotist who spoke to you the way he wanted to, and always came in when you least expected it.

He was able to come to you in the bathroom while you were taking a bath.

And he joined you.

That's why things became intimate between the two of you quickly, even though you weren't even a couple. You could just be considered friends now.

And you both liked the relationship you already had.

Nothing changed for the next two weeks.

It doesn't matter how many times you hit him with a pan until he finally let you go.

Of course he didn't because he acted like a child after being hit on the head with a pan. He pretended to cry.

You took good care of him and checked him for any head injury. Everything was fine. So you didn't have to worry.

And then he wouldn't let you get out of bed, wanting to make you feel guilty for doing it.

He was lying on your stomach, making you rub and stroke his head because it hurt. And it was your fault.

You apologized to him, and what else were you supposed to do?

It was your revenge for him locking you in here. And for skipping one of the most important performances where you were supposed to show clothes on stage. However, you couldn't complain, because as compensation for your lost money, you received from him a wardrobe worth half a year of your work. Or even more.

If only he was still good at sex, then you wouldn't complain so much. Because your partners were terrible. It's as if they couldn't do anything.

Besides, you've also been given a luxurious house that you have to live with him anyway.

"Come on. I already apologized to you..." you said, running your fingers through his white hair.

"But it hurt..." he said, pretending to cry.

"You don't even have a trace of it. There isn't even a bump on your head."

"But it still hurt...

"You've probably watched the ball through your opponents more than once, right?"

"Not at all..."

"You're in the mafia, Satoru..."

So yes, he told you his real name with the idea that you can't leave him and leave his house anyway. So your names were used by you on a daily basis.

"I've been in the mafia since my mother gave birth to me. I took it from my father... Besides, nobody ever shot me. Because I shot faster and more accurately than they did. When I was 15 I killed a spy who was looking for our weak point in our defense." He laughed, purring as your fingers swirled in his hair.

"So you had a bloody childhood too?"

"I doubt you shot anyone when you were a teenager." He laughed. "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm 23." You replied.

"Same as me! You see? We are made for each other!" He stood up suddenly, looking at you with sparkles in his eyes.

"Apparently you have a headache." You laughed as you saw him quickly lay down on top of you again. "Come on. Come, let me stroke you a little more."

"Which means you had a bloody childhood?"

"Do you really want to know? Don't you prefer that I leave my mysterious eyes?"

"You're smart and cold, or so you think. At fashion shows and commercials, you change it to a mysterious and sensual façade. However, you can care for someone else."

"I hit you with a pan. Is this supposed to be taking care of someone?"

He laughed slightly.

"It was different. Because I don't forbid you to be aggressive. I understand that you hate me. But now you're stroking and hugging me. You wash me while I wash you. We are not such enemies. Can you say we're lovers?"

"I don't know. But when I was 16, I also did something that probably no other model has ever done." You laughed.

He looked at you for a moment, analyzing what you said.

And 7 years ago, almost 10 people were murdered. And from that moment on, the murders of everyone in the Q group and family began. Starting with some of the closest ones from the family of the boss himself.

And these murders continue to this day. The murderer is impossible to catch because no one knows who he is. The gender of this person is unknown. No one knows what his goals are in these murders.

"This knife... You..." He looked at you questioningly.

"I have a knife scar under my hair. And the blood stains are washing off the skin." You said softly. "You can beat me if you know the truth now. If you think I'll be in the way or I shouldn't kill people like them. But remember that if you try, I will try to protect myself."

"You know it doesn't matter to me We may even be partners in crime. Because this is the woman I fell in love with at first sight." He hugged you, holding you tight.

Your actions for revenge are not ridiculed by him. On the contrary. He supports it.

And he promises that everyone from Q will die.

Because he fell in love with mysterious dark eyes. Eyes that from the beginning hid something murderous. So beautiful.

Just like all of you.

Your relationship was like lovers and enemies at the same time.

Or was it more like partners in crime now?

Dark lovers who don't care about the lives of their enemies. You has a mafia boss, the famous Six Eyes, wrapped around your little finger.

You guided him. His heart.

Such a powerful man was so small and sweet to you. So submissive.

That's why you could give that big little boy what he wanted.

You were still riding his cock until you were out of breath that night.

Or rather, his breath.

When you wonder if he's good at sex, you thought he was going to be average.

However, it is different.

He has a big nice dick.

It really stretches you out. It goes so deep. It hits all the best places.

You could barely feel the thin condom against his thick length as your pussy slid over him, lovingly inviting him into your tight warmth every time you lowered your hips.

His arms were bound with the string you found. It felt so good in his muscles.

He couldn't move while you scratched his arms and bit his neck.

You were riding him, making him moan. His hips pushed upward to meet your warmth. Your hand on the back was catching his balls and you were squeezing the skin in your palm. You pinched his thighs. You ran your hands over his lower abdomen, running your fingers along the veins running down his pubic bone.

Your fingernails ran over his chest, occasionally grazing his nipples.

While riding him, you massaged your clitoris to make you come faster. And you smiled as you watched as his head was thrown back as he red-faced moaned at the feeling of your pussy sucking him. His chest heaved rapidly.

His cock twitched inside you.

And then you pulled it out of you, leaving it out in the air. Only with a thin condom on it.

He moaned as your fingers tightened on the base of him, not allowing him to come.

It was his first ruined orgasm you gave him.

And you think he was always driving during sex. He was downstairs now, but he didn't protest. This guy just needed someone to dominate him the right way.

Very slowly and unbearably, you took the condom off him as the precum began to form a transparent puddle in the sperm reservoir.

Leaning down to his red cock, you kissed his head, listening as he moaned, his hips jumping as he felt a sudden touch against a sensitive part of his body.

He was so red and sensitive from a ruined orgasm. It was so cute.

You sat on his hips, and rubbed your pussy against his length, pressing his shaft against his muscular belly.

At the same time, you pulled his face down to your chest, doing something he always did when he saw you shirtless. You put his head in your breasts and he immediately started sucking on your nipples. Feeling the softness of your skin.

Soon after, he started moaning again and you stopped touching his cock again. If he wasn't tied up now, he would grab the length of it and start stroking himself to feel relieved. But alas, his hands were tied. There was nothing he could do and he was at your mercy.

You pressed your fingers against it again. Ensuring not one drop of his cum will come out of his tip. He couldn't come yet.

You want to see him throw his head back and moan when he wants to cum so much.

You sat on his cock when he didn't have a condom on, and he hissed through his teeth at the hot and tight feeling when he had nothing to separate your insides from his sensitive skin.

You grabbed the second condom and ripped open the wrapper. Only then did you get off of him, watching his wet tip drool.

You put the rubber all the way down his length, and then you sat on him again.

Warming his cock until his eyes were glassy and hazy and his face was so red.

As he threw his head back and his shoulders and hips trembled, wanting to start thrusting into you to come, you gave him some mercy.

You started jumping on top of him, smiling as you watched his heavy breathing and closed eyes.

The mighty mafia boss began to moan beneath you. And his ragged moans coupled with light sobs were the cause of his intense orgasm which was a combination of the three he was about to get. His thighs trembled as he came filling the condom inside you, the heat from his fluids pushing his sensitivity to the limit.

As you pulled him out of you, his cock fell soft against his stomach. You took the filled condom off him and tied it, putting the sticky rubber on his abs.

You lay down next to him, untying his hands, letting him pull your body against his.

Your nights together made him unable to resist you. So when you wanted to go back to your dream job, he had to agree.

Two people followed you across the city.

Even if he trusted you not to tell anyone.

He had your secret and you had his.

Little cameras in people's suits let him see what you were doing.

Well, he knew what you would do with those two.

Besides, he didn't feel sorry for them. They were two deserters who ran away from Q to join his mafia.

And he promised you that everyone who is or even was with Q will die.

That's why when he suddenly saw a pool of blood on the other side, he wasn't surprised and didn't even feel sorry for the two people.

Then he saw your face as you held the camera in one hand and your knife in the other.

"Not nice, Six Eyes ~. I don't like being followed. And we'll keep your punishment for that for later, Okay?"

When you said that, he felt a pleasant shiver that passed over his spine. And he couldn't wait for you to come home.

You were his dark queen.

His dark, beautiful queen will have her beautiful vengeance.

Because you will get everything.

Every year, on your birthday, he would take you to one place where the dirty work of killing was often done.

As a surprise, you got one or two high-ranking Q people.

Because his beautiful queen will always get what she wants.

So if you want revenge, you'll get it. In the best way for you.

You are his killer beauty. His deadly love.

#gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #Mafia boss Gojo #jjk #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen #gojo #jjk x reader #Sub Gojo

603 notes · View notes