#bc he understands what it was like when everyone doubted him about will | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forlix · 1 year ago

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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

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

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

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

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

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gurugirl · 10 months ago

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Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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741 notes · View notes

yan-lorkai · 5 months ago

Note

Hi!! I loved your hcs of the Octotrio with a yuu that seems to only have a talent in art. I related to it a lot because sometimes I feel like I’m not good at anything else other than drawing.

I was wondering if you could do the same prompt with Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Cater, Leona, Malleus & the Scarabia boys please? If that’s too many you can just do Leona, Malleus, & Scarabia. Thank you 😊

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I guess everyone has one of those episodes, huh? I've been writing for more than 8 years now and sometimes I get hit by the "aa but I'm only good at writing, I should totally try something" and then I try something new and hate it bcs I really love to write and nothing can compare lmao. Anyway, I hope you like this darling, I did all the characters requested too btw ~

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Ace would be playful and encouraging, but his competitive nature would lead him to manipulate situations to keep you close. He’d play little tricks to make sure you stay dependent on him, offering "helpful" critiques that subtly undermine your confidence in anything but your art. His lighthearted facade would hide a deeper need to be the center of your attention, he is your muse, the one you use to practice, the who inspires you, making sure that you see him as the only one who truly understands and supports you, all while ensuring you don't realize how he’s subtly sabotaging any other talents you might want to try to explore, for he fears you will not want to spend more time with him anymore if that was the case.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Cater would use his social media prowess to make you art the talk of the school, ensuring your work — and by extension, his support — is always in the spotlight. However, his validation would come with a price, as he subtly isolates you from others, creating an environment where you feel your art is only appreciated by him and his curated audience. Cater’s charming persona would hide his darker intentions, as he manipulates your into believing that your worth is tied to the art you create under his influence, all while keeping you emotionally dependent on his constant praise. You're already good at other things, so surely you don't need to have another hobby, right?

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Deuce, unlike Ace, would be fiercely protective of your artistic talent. He’d encourage your art with an almost desperate intensity, pushing you to try different brushes and pens, different scenarios and things, but he'd also pressure you to stay focused on what your good at, ensuring you don’t waste time on things you never tried before. His possessiveness would manifest in his need to be your protector, to the point where he'd become intimidating towards anyone who tries to steer you away from your art, that does not apply to yourself, while he think your drawings / paintings are very beautiful, he would not force you to make it more if you're having an episode where you doubt your skills and think you are good only on the art field. If you want to explore new things, Deuce will be by your side the entire time.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle would be intensely supportive yet controlling, pushing you to perfect your craft while ensuring you don't stray too far from his strict rules, even more if you are already his lover. His obsession with your success would become borderline suffocating, as he constantly monitors your progress and enforces discipline to keep you on the right path, nurturing your already beautiful talent. To Riddle, your art is flawless, it's personal and have a touch of you in every drawing, be it digital or traditional. When you come to tell him about your doubts, about how you're only good at art, Riddle promptly sooth you with gentle words, albeit he is a little awkward while talking. He offer to teach you about whatever you want to learn but be prepared because he is somewhat a strict teacher.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona would admire your dedication to your art, and he would ask questions about it too, learning as much as your interest as possible. However, his possessiveness would be almost primal, keeping you close under the guise of protection, ensuring you don’t waste time on anything — or anyone — else. Leona would be dismissive of your attempts to explore other talents, reinforcing that your art is the only thing that matters. His control would be subtle yet overpowering, as he ensures your world revolves around him and your art, leaving you with little room for anything else.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Malleus would shower you with endless admiration, captivated by your artistic talent, even more if you were influenced by an artistic movement. He'll notice all the little details, the subtle way the traces converge, how the color scheme is perfect, the way the shadows and the light reflect. He is your number 1 fan, so supportive of you. However, his intense fascination would drag you into his lonely world, where your art becomes your only outlet and he is your audience - though he has your drawings framed and hung on the walls of the castles, so everyone can look at it and admire. Malleus may not understand your struggles and why would you want to pursue another hobby, but he can arrange anything you may want to try at least once, from singing and dancing to sewing and knitting, even the art of potion making, archery or fencing. He just know you're going to find something you like as much as your art, and if you are happy so is he.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Jamil would secretly nurture your talent, subtly guiding your creativity while undermining any attempts you make to excel elsewhere, he sees your art as something free and with many meanings - it makes him relaxed in some sort of way and Jamil wants to be a little greedy here, he wants you to continue creating more pieces, always keeping you under his watchful eye as you started drawing / painting. There's just something so intimate, so calming about it he can't wrap his head around. He loves watching you creating your art, feeling is guard lowering just a little. If you ever approach him with your doubts, Jamil take you to the kitchen so he can teach you a few things about cooking. It's a different kind of art but when all is said and done, it's just as good as when you're creating and make you feeling accomplished.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Kalim would be so overwhelmingly supportive and enthusiastic about it, showering you with gifts and opportunities to nurture your artistic talent, buying everything you may need to create your art, a new software? Sure, no problem, he brought the most expensive one too. A few new pencils and pens? Right away. You need more frames and paints? It will be here in a couple of hours. However, his naivety mixed with possessiveness would lead to unintentional control over your life, as he tries to keep you happy and close by his side. Kalim’s well-meaning gestures would create a gilded cage, where your art flourishes but your freedom is slowly stripped away. He would be oblivious to the suffocating effect of his love, believing that as long as you're happy creating art with him, nothing else matters, leaving you feeling trapped and not knowing how to communicate with him. He have done so much for you already!

278 notes · View notes

twstowo · 4 months ago

Note

Oyo, um I read one of your fics and it was rlly good. I'm pretty sure it was one of the 'they end up another universe twst' fics. They're rlly juicy BTW

I was thinking like...what happened if otherverse bois met normalverse yuu and they actually start liking them? Sorta yandere-ish type stuff to the point where they don't wanna leave normalverse yuu? (Yes, I've been calling normal yuu 'normalverse' yuu bc it makes a bit of sense lmao)

Understandable if you're a bit uncomfy with this :)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

♡︎This is quite an interesting idea! I had though about it once but since you asked now I'm really going to write it! Also I'm not the best with yandere themes so I hope this is good enough!

♡︎Includes: OB! Characters

♡︎Warning: Malleus's part made me kinda sad, IM SO SORRY MALLEUS LOVERS. Also all of them need therapy.

[AU Masterlist]

NV - Normalverse (Thank you for the idea Anon!)

First things first, in general, I believe that they would understand that you aren’t the same person from their Universe, however, this wouldn’t excuse the fact that every time they see your face they are thrown back to your relationship back in their world, which to say the least is not the best.

⋆⋅☆Riddle

There would be no doubt that he would dislike you intensely. Moreover, the fact that this Riddle would be even worse than the pre-overblot Riddle in the NV would put you in a difficult position.

The first time he spots you, he would be blinded by rage and probably try to behead you. Fortunately, Trey and Cater quickly save you, taking you as far away as possible from Tyrant Riddle.

He will do anything to find you, and he will have no tolerance for your actions. At the slightest inconvenience you cause, he will be right behind you, ready to tell you how much of an annoyance you are.

But you catch on to his game pretty quickly, so you counter him by being the very definition of perfection. You make sure not to break a single rule and set an example for everyone around you, and by the Sevens, that only makes him even angrier.

But is he really angry? He can’t deny that he feels slightly impressed. Among everyone else at this strange college, you are the only one who comes close to reaching the level of perfection he demands.

Slowly, he finds himself growing fonder of you. He starts thinking about bringing you back with him once he finds a way to return to his universe. You’d fit perfectly in the castle with him, and he’s certain his mother would have approved of you.

⋆⋅☆Leona

When it comes to Leona, he is more annoyed with the NV version of you than anything else. After all, you were always pestering him about being lazy and irresponsible. He had been plotting to have you exiled once he took the throne by killing his brother.

So, the first time he spots you, he's ready to turn around and leave, not wanting to hear your nagging. But that doesn’t happen. You speak to him as if he were a normal person, with no harsh words, and even smile at him when you finish talking.

Is he seeing things? Why are you so different in this universe? And why is he enjoying this new kind of attention so much?

Yet, he remains rude, constantly sending glares your way. He firmly believes you're trying to trick him into something malicious.

Still, you bring him lunch and talk about your day. You are strangely kind, something he never thought he would experience, especially from you. You are the first person ever to treat him like this.

Slowly, something starts to shift inside him. Your attention becomes something he craves, and he starts becoming obsessed, to the point where he checks if you give the same treatment to others.

And if you do, he makes sure they are out of the picture the next time you look for them. He will ensure that you have only him to turn to, to talk about your day, and to give your full attention.

⋆⋅☆Azul

OH NO! He’s had enough of your antics ruining his business! Azul puts up a sign with your face and a red cross over it in front of the Monster Lounge. YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!

Floyd and Jade find this absolutely hilarious and watch as you stroll into the Monster Lounge without a care in the world. (You’re literally that meme: "This sign won’t stop me, because I can’t read.") They don’t even try to stop you, they’re far too entertained by the thought of seeing how this new Azul will react to the chaos.

Let’s just say that Azul quickly learns the hard way that you aren’t here to ruin his business. Instead, you seem determined to ruin his reputation by being overly affectionate and making him squirm with your sweet words in front of all his clients, no less.

He tries to distance himself, avoiding your gaze and setting boundaries, but you keep coming back. In that, you remind him of the version of you from his own universe.

And for some reason, he finds that persistence very attractive. He can’t deny that, before you decided to ruin his business, he used to have a slight crush on you back then.

But now, you aren’t trying to ruin his business. Quite the contrary, you’re a magnet for attention, constantly drawing more customers to the Mostro Lounge.

Slowly, Azul starts losing himself in this fantasy: you and him, together, expanding his business. But at a certain point, he realizes he’s thinking more about you than the money the two of you could make.

He becomes determined to keep you by his side, even if his business suffers because of it. If all it takes to have you is tarnishing a bit of his reputation, then he’s willing to do it.

⋆⋅☆Jamil

By the Seven, he was already annoyed that Kalim was here, but you too? This was about to be the worst day of his life, two incredibly annoying people threatening to ruin his plans.

He keeps his distance, but when you spot him, he’s about to tell you to go find someone else to bother. Then, you say something completely unexpected: you’re actually annoyed by Kalim’s antics.

You? Annoyed? At Kalim?

He’s taken aback. In his universe, you and Kalim were inseparable friends, always together. But the you from this place is actually bothered by him? He doesn’t even need to know why you’re annoyed. Just the fact that someone finally agrees with him about Kalim makes him incredibly happy.

He enjoys it when you come to him with your frustrations. Whether you’re irritated by Kalim’s constant gifts or his endless parties in your honor, because you feel overwhelmed, Jamil is always there to listen. He savors your complaints, and he’s quick to add his own criticisms about Kalim, which only deepens your dislike for him.

As time goes on, you start finding comfort in Jamil’s presence. His understanding and validation make him seem like a refuge from the chaos that Kalim brings. You begin to rely on him more, and Jamil can’t help but enjoy how your dislike for Kalim boosts his own ego.

Jamil starts subtly shaping your view of Kalim. By reinforcing your negative feelings and positioning himself as your only true ally, he ensures that you depend on him more. He carefully creates situations where he appears better compared to Kalim, making himself seem like the perfect match for you.

Jamil feeds off your growing dislike for Kalim. Your negative feelings towards Kalim seem to boost his ego, and he finds himself loving your voice even more.

You deserve someone who truly understands you, and Jamil believes he’s that person. He’s confident that he’d be the perfect match for you.

⋆⋅☆Vil

There you are, Neige’s number one fan. He doesn’t even look in your direction, you aren’t worth it. Shouldn’t you be with him, guarding him like the lapdog you are?

Vil has to admit that at least you seem more elegant here. You look more relaxed and gentle, but maybe you were always like that back then. Perhaps he was just too focused on Neige to notice you.

Or maybe this version of you from this universe is simply sweeter and kinder. Perhaps here, you don’t make Neige your whole identity and actually treat Vil like a person rather than just competition for Neige.

Vil is intrigued, he finds you interesting, even. There’s a charm to you that brings him comfort. When he learns that you’re not that close to Neige here, he finds himself feeling pleased. And when you tell him that you find him “oh so much more beautiful,” he realizes that you might not be so bad after all.

Then he becomes attentive to your habits, your likes and dislikes, he memorizes every time you express any small detail about yourself only to use these as a way to create more opportunities to be closer to you. He brings up things you’ve mentioned in passing, showing how attentive he is to your likes and dislikes. His compliments become more personal, always tied to something he knows you value.

He loves especially when you talk so sweetly about him, or when he overhears you telling others how beautiful you think he is.

So whenever you mention Neige in a good way he becomes jealous, you should be exclusively devoted to him, he should be the only thing that crosses your mind and he was to make sure you only see him as your number one option.

He’s determined to make you see him as your everything, and he’ll stop at nothing to ensure that you’re his, completely and utterly.

⋆⋅☆Idia

(In here both Idia and Ortho from the AU get sent to the NV.)

Ah yes, the ruiner of fun, you.

Back in his world, he used to send his followers to pester you, hoping you'd leave him alone. But no matter what, you always managed to bounce back and ruin his mischievous plans. What was with you, always messing with the fun? If a person or two died, who would even care?

But this version of you seems so much more into the chaos. He watches as you join in Ace's dumb ideas or get excited when Ortho prepares to blast off half the school.

You actually seem like someone who would join in his schemes now, and he'd love to have some help.

Howver the idea of you laughing, scheming, or enjoying yourself with anyone else starts to eat away at him. He starts sabotaging your interactions with others, asking for Ortho’s help to keep Ace busy with other things, making sure you spend more time with him.

He starts sending Ortho on missions to monitor your every move, always keeping tabs on who you’re with and what you’re doing. If anyone tries to get too close to you, they mysteriously vanish from the scene, often without you even noticing.

Everything feels so perfect when the two of you are together, you don’t need anyone else just like he doesn’t need anyone else.

⋆⋅☆Malleus

Poor Malleus had been treated badly by his crush back in his universe. You never answered the letters he sent, and he had heard that all the little trinkets and flowers were returned because you didn’t want any of them.

So when this version of you from this strange new place treats him with such devotion, such kindness, and accepts his small gifts, even inviting him to spend time with you, he can hardly believe what’s happening.

This was essentially a dream come true for him. He wonders if it had been you he sent all those letters to, whether you would have written him back with the same excitement.

Why, then, hadn’t this lovely and perfect version of you been the one in his universe? Why was he the one left unloved in his world?

He wants to take you with him. Surely, you love him, you wouldn’t be angry if he took you back to his castle. The two of you could finally do all the things he had dreamed about while gazing lovingly at the flowers he once sent you.

After all, why else would you shower him with such kindness? Why else would you invite him to spend time with you? You must love him too.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #twst x reader #x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader

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tiredsmashbros · 2 months ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEO !!!!

all what blud is pondering + yapping bout smh @neo91502 🍔💛

credits to nxva on the tsmg4 fanart LMAO

this is my bday gift to the blue canine with wings nothing crazy underneath nooooo nope nope nopity nope :) shhhh

and now for my essay speech bc that's becoming my trademark now other than being comic ceo of smg34 apparently LMAO

neo, you already got my lil emotional yap thru dms bout ur "loyal lettuce" role, but ong i'm boutta give another sappy essay for you to use ur big pikmin brain to read: once again, thank you, for wanting to talk to me, hang out with me, and just yap about shared interests. it takes a lot for me to open my shell due to past experiences with folks its hard to even open myself to making friends at times,,, yet never did i expect anyone to know or like EPIC: the musical as much as i did nor even WANT to go forth the idea of a smg4 au for fun. i'll admit i was very nervous being invited to the private dms to yap bout it and a part of me from bad habits wanted to run away, but your understanding and providing ways to help so i didn't feel excluded made me feel so relieved and welcomed. as i already told you, it's been a VERY long time i got to really yap my love for musicals in this way in depth and getting to know even more folks from that outburst {lookin at you knightmare and lore 💛} has genuinely made me so much happy. i love musicals in a very deep level and finally getting that opportunity to talk to others just has been the greatest ever /gen /srs.

other than musicals, FINALLY i have met someone who loves isaacwhy too hELLO????? like i've gotten very few people irl to show them clips but none have either really stuck into watching or liking them as much as me. so getting that opportunity to watch LTLVC with you and nova was SO FUN {despite my stream quality was laggy and slow} i enjoyed it so much and finally i can reference the jokes so much BC GOD I USED TO DO THEM SM IRL U HAVE NO IDEA HAHAHAHHAHAH TYUFGHEDCSXYUIGJHEFDC

another big factor was just being so surprised and shock you had a fursona!!! neo!!!! it just made me so happy GENUINELY bringing me back to my furry home adobe and knowing the fact i could draw other's fursonas and even my own and being welcomed about that idea just made me explode /pos. even more when i got to watch you DRAW TOMMY.... like at that point i finally got over my fear and confidently pressed that follow.

you are such an awesome guy neo. you're really fun to yap with and never once had i had any second doubts other than being afraid i would embarrass myself ITYGJHFCDSX i still remember almost vividly the first time we aCTUALLY talked when i was doing thumbnail sketches of my final comic assignment, with the "typer" joke YOU CHOCKED FROM LAUGHTER HAHAHAY89IUTGYFUEHJDSX TO THE NEXT DAY ANDER AND I TALKED BOUT IT AGAIN HAHAHAHA still one of my fav vc's ever. thank you so much for being a fan, joining my server, and joining vc to us being friends. you mean so much to me, thank you for being your silly self, i srsly look forward to yapping to you every day.

and good gOD i will continue that binge on getting into the pikmin lore TRUST..... 💛🍔

BTW, THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO ATTENDED NEO'S BIRTHDAY PARTY EVENT IN THE TSB SERVER !!!! whether it was just for a bit or the whole event, THANK YOU. /gen

i don't plan on doing much birthday vc events unfortunately, but i def wanted to do one {and using neo as a guinea pig once again} since this silly man had impacted me so much i wanted to give him the best bday he could have. even if it got really chaotic several times YOU GUYS ARE CRAZY OH MY FUKIN GOD HAHAHHAHAA and no im not sorry for being absent the first 40 mins my stephen king fixiation is a priority /j

#tsb official #neo #smg4 #smg4 oc #happy birthday #birthday #birthday post #smg4 smg3 #smg3 #smg3 plush

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torasplanet · 1 year ago

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❝𝙄 𝘽𝙀 𝙇𝙊𝙊𝙆𝙄𝙉 𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙆𝙄𝙉' 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙃𝙀𝙍.ᐟ❞

H. RINDOU + F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; rindou never thought he loved you despite what everyone said but when he saw you drinking and talking with fucking nahoya kawata, he can't help but be upset.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; smut, maybe a little angsty or sappy, slight degradation, public sex, alley sex, drinking, clubs, reader standing on business!!, manwhore!nahoya, toxic relationship, rindou being a bitch, toxic!rindou, slightly toxic!reader, bonten au but like combined with the 14th timeline (with straight hair smiley), yes i did write this because i heard this song, petnames (baby, babygirl, rinnie, etc), guns, rindou shooting a guy bc of yalls public indecency, he says i love u for the first time, uneditedd, rinnie makes no sense at all, skin color not mentioned

‘I love you’

Three words that rindou has never said, to you at least.

He never thought he’d say it because he didn’t think it was true, he didn’t love you. He would kiss you, hug you, treat you well and he enjoyed your company but he’d never think he actually loved you outside of your body and how good of a fuck you were and maybe your personality too but Ran would disagree.

Ran always said that hook-ups and friends with benefits existed for a reason and if that was true, and that Rindou didn’t have to ask you out and share an apartment with you. The younger haitani would always just brush it off telling him that he didn’t understand but, to be honest, Rindou didn’t really understand it either.

He never had the desire to tell you he loved you and he never really thought that he did but rindou did everything with you that any normal person would do with your significant other, he bought you stuff, very expensive stuff I might add, you two had sex, you two went on dates, he’d cuddle if you wanted to and many other things but every time you’d tell him that you loved him, it was always hum or a grunt in response but never those three words you’ve wanted to hear since the start of your relationship.

And of course, you noticed, you noticed really early actually but constantly brushed it off as him being too nervous or too scared. After all, he and his brother had no one but each other when they were younger and their parents weren’t really in the picture so telling someone that you love them must be hard so you stopped worrying too much about it but after a couple of months, you started to get really upset…he didn’t love you and it didn’t take you multiple people to tell you that, only one. Ran told you, he said that Rindou said he didn’t love you but he highly doubted that but you didn’t care what Ran thought. Rindou said he didn’t love you and that was enough to break your heart.

You cried almost every day when he wasn’t home with your tears and drool dampening your pillows and sheets as you hyper-ventilated and when Rindou was home, you’d just go and cry in the shower probably harder than you did when he wasn’t there.

Although, eventually you stopped being a little bitch and grew up. If he didn’t care about you, you weren’t going to care about him or his feelings and started to do what you wanted, ignoring him, not cuddling, not doing anything you two would normally do and this obviously caused problems between you and him leading to lots and lots of arguments that always ended with either you walking out of the house and him following you telling you to get your ass back inside while firing a gun at where you were stepping to prevent you from walking further or you lying in the bed on his chest after make-up sex and either way you’d still end up crying because you kept falling for his false apologies and going back to him instead of leaving.

That still didn’t stop you from doing whatever the fuck you wanted though because you were always reminded of that he didn’t care so you still didn’t care. No, you didn’t care about how he felt about your short dresses when you went out, no you didn’t care when you’d walk away from him in a club instead of staying. You certainly did not give a fuck about him sitting mere inches away from you while you talked with Nahoya who you knew he fucking hated. But you weren’t doing it to spite him, you were doing it because it’s what you wanted to do and someone who couldn’t even say he loved you wasn’t controlling your actions anymore.

“Bad girl, flirting with me right in front of your boyfriend,” Nahoya said with his usual smile while his arm snuck around your waist with his hand resting right above your ass while your handheld onto his bicep “Don’t talk about him right now, he got on my nerves before we left.” You muttered getting closer to him with a smile creeping onto your face, Rindou had yelled at you nearly putting a whole into the wall because he didn’t like your dress and how short it was but you stood your ground, it was an Embroidered Tulle Illusione short dress from Valentino and you thought it was extremely cute even though with a small bend of your body your panties and ass would be on full display.

You found it idiotic how he was so mad at you for wearing something that he bought, the dress was around 13,900 USD and it hadn’t even been released yet so he had to pay extra to get it for you and now he didn’t want you to wear it? Did he just want to make you miserable? “That’s why you want me huh?” The peach-haired man questioned with a tilt of his head as you let out a giggle with his hand drifting down to cup your ass, rindou watched this entire scene play right in front of his eyes from his spot on a sofa next to his brother and sanzu while a stripper tried to flirt with him with her hand on his chest.

His grip on his glass cup tightened and it felt like he was close to shattering the cup as he glared at the two of you “You can’t even get mad at her.” Sanzu said smiling at his friend’s scowl “Yes the fuck I can.” He couldn’t. He was the one who always denied loving her yet when describing her to anyone, he’d sound so in love “Yeah she’s real pretty, funny too. Sweet girl with an even sweeter ass and fuck, I love her tits.” Sanzu laughed at this any time he could, how could you say that you only love her for her body when you start with how pretty she is and her personality before you even get to her body? Rindou was probably the stupidest man alive and Sanzu had not dropped dead yet.

“No the fuck you can’t. You yelled at her from the house to the car and expected her to not wanna get back at you?” Ran chuckled as he sipped from his wine glass with an evil grin on his face matching the pink-haired man’s “Shit, I don’t even think she doing it to get back at him. Babygirl look like she enjoying the shit outta herself.” Sanzu laughed as all three of them watched as you cuddled up to Nahoya, that stupid fucking nickname Sanzu and ran gave you pissed Rindou the fuck off but you all up on that curly-haired fuck made him even more pissed off than he was before Sanzu even said that.

Were you really that mad at him that’d you go over there and practically fuck that whore of a man? Rindou kept himself seated but his eyes didn’t leave your form for a second, he wasn’t going to get up and cause a scene for nothing because you knew better. But at the sight of Nahoya’s hand drifting up your short dress and onto your ass while showing your lace panties that he had bought you and his hand cupping your ass, rindou knew that apparently, you didn’t know better.

He threw back what was left of his drink before tossing the cup against a random wall and hearing it shatter as he pushed the prostitute off him. He stomped toward you grabbing you by your arm making you drop your glass onto the floor breaking it and spilling the Hennessy all over your feet heels “Fuck are you doing!?” You yelled as you tried to pull away from him but his grip on your arm was tight as he dragged you out of the club not caring about you stumbling over your feet because of his pace and your resistance “I should be asking you that.” The purple and blue-haired man grumbled as he pulled you out of the doors of the club and onto the sidewalk into the night.

“Was just talking! Let go of me!” You shouted as he pushed you against the brick wall of a building after dragging you into a nearby alley, he did what you asked but stopped all of your attempts to leave “Yeah so now whoever you talk to gets to put his hand all on your ass practically fucking you in front of everyone!” Rindou yelled into your face as he got closer to you feeling his breath on your face as he yelled but you didn’t flinch and just looked back at him with a frown “Like you give a shit, thought you only were with me ‘cause I’m a ‘good fuck’?” You replied pushing him away from you as you stood up straight getting your back off the wall as he continued to glare hatefully at you. “Yeah, and you’re still mine.” His words were confusing you, he was glaring at you with so much hate and disdain in his eyes but then again, it looked like he cared and his words showed that too.

Rindou got closer to you again as you pondered what to say “Smiley would fuck me better anyway.” You replied nearly spitting into the taller man’s face but he did nothing but crack a grin and laugh at you “Now you’re just trying to be mean. Sure he’ll probably do good but I doubt he’ll be better, I know all your spots and he couldn’t even find them if you pointed them out.” Rindou teased as he poked your side a bit making you jerk your body away from his hand earning a giggle from him at your sudden jumping “He’d love me.” Rindou felt his heart crack a bit at your words, you really thought Nahoya would love you?

Manwhore, player, slut nahoya? The one known to be a cheater? Had he really hurt you that bad that you thought that Nahoya would love you more than he did? He loved you. He may have just figured it out in this second but he did and he thought you were fucking crazy if you thought that serial cheater would actually want more than your body. It was crazy how he figured out he truly loved you because of your pettiness. “I love you.” Rindou replied after a few seconds of silence his eyes a bit softer but your glare stayed with a scoff accompanying it “You really think I’m gonna believe that shit? After everything you’ve done to me?” That’s what you always said when you two argued. Rindou never said ‘I love you’ during these arguments but you somehow always managed to bring up all the shit that he’s done to you and how you’ll never forgive him but you always do.

Tonight you don’t think you would though. He’s now telling you that he loves you? When he’s jealous and has been yelling at you with his alcohol-laced breath that matched yours. How dare he try and use that shit against you to make you stop talking to Nahoya, that’s low even for him and the idea that he might actually be telling the truth (which he was) never crossed your mind, he’s never said those words before so why would he now?

Rindou’s hands were now planted on the wall caging you in between his arms giving you no way out of this conversation “I expect you to know that he won’t love you. You know just as well as everyone else that he’s fucking a new girl practically every two days and you can either be one of those girls or be the girlfriend who’s sleeping alone in bed because he’s fucking some other bitch. Either way, he won't give two shits about you.” His words were harsh as his lilac eyes narrowed at you glowing in the dim fluorescent light of the old and nearly broken lights that were on the building he had you pressed up against, your manicured fingers gently pulled at the end of your dress attempting to pull it down lower to cover the heat growing in between your legs as you rubbed your thighs together. Rindou hadn’t noticed it yet and you didn’t want him to. You were still mad at him. “I’d rather that than be with someone who can’t even tell me they love me.” You spat continuing to look up at him with your brows furrowed in anger and your lips turned into a frown.

A grin returned to the haitani male’s face “You’d rather be cheated on than be with me? Wow, you really are a petty bitch. Or maybe you’re just a whore.” He said rather loudly making you embarrassed as you glanced away from him for a second, this situation started with you doing whatever you wanted but now, you were just saying shit to piss him off more, and for a second, it was working but now, he just didn’t care because he knew how stupid you sounded and was making you realize that too with his mocking laughs “Don’t call me that.” You managed to sputter out from your embarrassment as he continued to laugh and smile at you as if you were the main punchline of a joke, one of Rindou’s ring-clad hands went to your face and held your jaw his sweet smell of caramel mixed with alcohol filling your nose as he looked at you with pure amusement in his purple irises “Why? That's what you are, aren’t you?” He replied tilting his head slightly with his eyes drifting down to your thighs that were still rubbing against each other before making eye contact with you again.

He really was making fun of you and now that he knew of the rubbing of your thighs he’d keep doing it if this argument continued. You stayed silent and didn’t reply to his question and looked down telling him that he had won the argument as you were too embarrassed to say anything else and that if you had anything else to say to him, you were turned on, embarrassed and a bit drunk so you just accepted your defeat not wanting this to turn into another argument that ended in you started to walk home and him shooting bullets at your feet and at you purposely missing while screaming at you to get your ass back in the club. You were too tired to deal with another situation like that.

“That’s what I thought.” Rindou said tilting your head back up and forcing you to make eye contact with him before he pressed his lips against yours while also pressing your body against the brick wall, your features creased at this action and you raised your hand before slapping him across his face separating your lips and leaving a bright red mark on the side of Rindou’s face “You think that just because you gave me a fake ass ‘I love you’ and a kiss, I’m just gonna become your mindless whore and follow you back into the club?” You said prodding your finger into his chest and roughly pressing against the custom Saint Laurent tuxedo jacket he wore.

Rindou didn’t even acknowledge the pain in his face nor the action that caused it and just lustfully smiled at you “I have to fuck you too?” He added to your question, that he knew you wanted him. It was obvious from how you were nearly creating a fire with the friction you were creating with your thighs rubbing together and how you peered up at him with those wide eyes he always saw whenever you wanted something from him. Specifically, him in between your legs.

You just blinked at him taking in what he said before grabbing the collar of his white button-up and yanking him down sloppily kissing his lips. He let out a laugh in the kiss as you had given him the answer he knew you were going to say, his hand rested on your hip and his other hand released its grip on your jaw before heading down to the back of your thigh before moving up to your butt being squeezed between the fat of your ass and the brick wall and his other hand on your hip repeated the same motion as you two continued to make out “Jump.” He whispered as he held onto your butt and you did as he said, it was so hilarious how just a few minutes ago you were screaming back at him and telling him you didn’t care about what he had to say and now he was telling you to jump and you were doing it, the only flaw was you didn’t ask how high because you already knew how high.

Rindou held you up against the wall and your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively while your hands remained in their place gripping his collar. You whimpered as you broke the kiss before trailing your lips down to his exposed neck kissing and sucking all over his neck and his bonten tattoo. You liked putting hickies there because you knew you weren’t supposed to, he told you not to so it could be visible and that just made you want to do it more after all, you were still pissed at him.

Rindou’s hand crept up your dress to your inner thigh but you glared at him “Make me cum and that’s it. I’m still not talking to you tonight.” You said rudely and rindou smiled as his fingers glided over the wet patch on your panties, the same panties he saw Nahoya reveal to the entire club “Whatever you want baby.” He replied pushing the lace fabric to the side making your back arch slightly from the gush of cold wind hitting your core.

“But you better not go back to that curly-head fuck.”

“You’d rather I go to Sanzu then?”

“You don’t remember when he almost lost all his fingers ‘cause you tried that shit?”

A small smile grew on your face at the mention of that situation, of course, you remembered. Sanzu wouldn’t stop laughing about it for weeks but he never stopped calling you baby girl even after that and it was most likely because he knew it pissed off Rindou and he loved to piss off Rindou. “I do but maybe I just like his hand on my ass. Maybe he likes it too.” You responded as you watched as Rindou’s hand worked at his belt while he continued to hold you up against the wall with his other “That’s what I’m for.” The hand he had on your ass to hold you up groped your butt as the words left his lips dripping with honey as you watched him lower his pants, not enough for them to pool around his ankles but just enough for him to free himself from the confinements of his boxers.

His cock stood up straight, tip bright red. He angled himself as he moved his hips forward before pushing himself in your leaking cunt “Slid right in huh?” Rindou commented as he watched as you huffed with your mouth opening slightly, he didn’t waste any time and immediately started thrusting inside of you “S...shut up.” All rindou could do was laugh at your stammering while you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

He let out groans as he felt you biting and kissing at his neck while he continued to hold you up against the cool brick wall, your dress shining in the fluorescent lights as you rocked back and forth with his hips meeting yours.

The usual cycle of your relationship had continued. You and Rindou get into an argument, you say something about fucking another guy, he laughs and it ends in him fucking all of that confidence out of you and you cursed yourself for allowing it once again but with every hit at your cervix, you cared even less because at the end of the day. You loved him, even if you thought he didn’t love you and he never said it, you still loved him. If you didn’t, you would’ve left a long time ago “I love you.” You said as your nails dug into his shoulders, he didn’t respond and just grunted. Like usually.

His thrusts were getting sloppier as he threw his head back letting you deep moans, his Adam's apple bobbing with every voice crack and grunt as your pathetic moans echoed into his ear. Your back harshly hitting the wall repeatedly while you felt your dress bunching up to your hips, was sure to give you a few bruises along with some fingerprint-sized bruises on your ass from how his fingers were digging into the fat of your bottom but this time it was different. He was rougher than he usually was and that’s saying a lot considering he was pretty rough during make-up sex.

Rindou reached one of his hands up to grab your face and he pulled you out of his neck and forced you to look at him, tears in your eyes from the harsh thrusts and slight pain in your back as you looked at him with his purple irises peering down at you softly, instead of anger and lust you expected, love and lust were swirled into the lilac color of his eyes “I wanna…see you. Keep–fuck–looking at me.” The haitani man sputtered out as he breathed heavily, his chest rising up and down quickly with his deep breaths. His hand slowly made its way back to your ass and pushed you up higher as you were slightly leaning down and you kept looking at him resisting the urge to squeeze your eyes shut.

“I fucking love you too,” Rindou said and your eyes widened a bit at this, you didn’t believe him the first time he said that but now, you kind of did. It sounded like he meant it, like it was coming straight from his heart because whenever rindou was having sex with you, he mainly kept quiet unless he was dirty talking or calling you pretty and it was because everything he said in this moment of vulnerability he had with you came from his heart. When he called you pretty, he meant it. When he said how fucking good you felt, he meant it and him telling you that he loves you…well, he meant it and you saw it.

You saw it in his eyes, his roughness, the sound of his voice when he said it, you could tell but there was still that little part in your brain that was somehow still intact while the rest of your mind had gone dumb at this point, told you that he didn’t mean it. He had never said it before so why was he saying it now? He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t have but maybe he did.

Your mouth opened to ask him about it but quickly closed at the sudden flash of light making you and rindou both squeeze your eyes shut. You fluttered your eyes open before turning toward the direction of light shielding your eyes with your forearm and you saw a man, he had his phone up with the flash on laughing as he pointed it toward you and rindou “No fucking way, bonten boss rindou fucking some prostitute?” Did he have a death wish? He sounded like some stupid fanboy.

Rindou let out a grunt of dissatisfaction and annoyance but his thrusts didn’t halt, he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a gun aiming it toward the phone and he didn’t waste any time pulling the trigger right in front of your eyes with smoke leaving the gun and a loud bang echoing in your eye ringing slightly. You and Rindou watched as the guy fell to the ground a bullet hole in the middle of his face and threw his phone “Oops. Didn’t mean to shoot him.” Rindou said carelessly, you doubted that he actually didn’t mean to do that, you knew that rindou and the rest of Bonten had no issue killing. Obviously.

And rindou had no issue whatsoever shooting someone dead for calling you out of your name which this man had foolishly done “See what I do for you baby?” Rindou said bringing your attention back to him and you didn’t say anything but let out a couple of moans as he continued to thrust inside of your sloppy cunt with squelches and wet sounds echoing into the empty alleyway along with your high-pitched slutty moans. “You gone dumb already? Can’t speak?” You whined at his words as he put his face to your neck sucking at the fleshy skin and pulling at it with his teeth.

“Y-You meant whatchu’ said? T-That you..ngh, love me?” You asked completely dismissing his question and only wanting an answer to why he would tell you that he loved you, but he didn’t respond. Not right away at least and you felt his thrusts get softer and a bit slower which was easier for you to take “Yeah, I do. I love you so fucking much, that’s why I stay with you. That’s why I fight for you, that’s why I kill for you.” Rindou answered in your ear raising his face a bit so you could hear his words clearly but it didn’t sound like he was telling you that, it sounded like he was telling himself that. Telling himself how stupid he was for not realizing his love for you earlier while he reminisced about all the things he had done for you and because of you.

You stayed silent as you moved up and down the wall with your back now fully pressed against the wall so there was no need for your back to feel that pain anymore, your eyes were wide and your lips were parted slightly at his words and your face stayed that way as he pulled his face completely away from your neck to look at you with his lidded eyes “I love you.” He repeated this time staring dead at you and your breath hitched at the sudden rough thrust but you remained with your eyes open as you held eye contact with him. He meant it, he really did. Rindou told you he loved you and…he meant it, it’s all you’ve ever wanted from him.

Your eyes watered as you brought your hands to the cheeks of his face before pulling him in for a gentle kiss closing your eyes as you did so, your tongues fighting for dominance as you and him both moaned and groaned into the kiss. His lips were soft against yours as he practically shoved his tongue down your throat while leaning his body even more into yours, one of your hands went to his hair running your fingers through the multi-colored locks making a mess of the previously tamed and combed strands. Fuck not forgiving him tonight. You knew you would anyway.

When Ran and Sanzu both told you they loved you and just didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t believe them. Not for one bit. Not even when they managed to get Kokonoi, Mikey, and Inui, who could not care less about whatever you and Rindou had going on, to tell you that he talks about you almost all day damn near every day whether it be how much you were pissing him off or what kind thing you did for him that morning. You didn’t believe any of it and said you wouldn’t until you heard those words come from Rindou’s mouth and now that you had, you felt stupid for not believing anything those two said because it was true. For once in their lives, they were telling the truth.

Maybe you would’ve believed them in the slightest if they weren’t such fucking liars.

Your cunt tightened around Rindou’s cock making a groan escape from his lips as he broke the kiss throwing his head back and messing up his hair even more than you did “Gonna take all of it?” He grumbled out as his pace quickened he was getting close and so were you, you were on the verge of spilling everything in that knot inside of your stomach out onto this filthy ground “Mhm!” You hummed in response while violently nodding as tears spilled down your cheeks from the emotional overload and the pleasure in your stomach that caused you to arch your back.

“N-Not gonna spill any? Fuck...!” Rindou continued to tease “No! Just…please rinnie!” You whined out loudly, everyone inside of the club could probably hear your pleas even over that loud music but no one would care. They were all probably too drunk to care in the first place and this wouldn’t be the first time you and Rindou had angry sex outside or inside of the club very loudly. Rindou didn’t say anything and just grunted as he delivered one more harsh thrust colliding his hips with yours for a final time before the knot snapped and you came screaming as you did so. Your cunt tightening around him once again as you did this made Rindou cum right after you emptying himself all in you with a moan following.

You two stood there in that position for a while catching your breath as you peered up at him in all of his post-climax glory with purple and pink strands sticking to his sweaty forehead while he glowed in the lights from above your head. He dropped your legs allowing you to stand on your own stumbling a bit from your heels before his hands went to fix your hair as you fixed your dress “You good now? Not gonna be a bitch or do I need to do s’more?” Rindou asked as he pulled up his pants buckling his belt and smoothing his palms down his tuxedo while watching as you fixed your panties before any of his cum could leak out and onto the floor or down your thigh.

You smiled at him sloppily before nodding earning a tired smile from him, you clung to his arm as you both began to walk back to the club ignoring the lifeless body that rindou had shot dead a minute ago while you smiled dumbly happy with the events that had taken place while rindou’s cum dropped onto the ground blew you as you walked leaking out of the sides of your panties.

#torasplanet.ᐟ #marls-fics.ᐟ #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani smut #ran haitani #sanzu haruchiyo #nahoya kawata #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #kinda sappy #maybe a little angsty #reader standing on business!!#◛⑅·˚rinnie!!

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astropookie · 2 years ago

Text

astro observations that i founded in my notes

*birth chart placements

star dream

taurus moon: they’re so CALM and so comforting. my histrionic energy 🤪 at first didn’t understand but just accept it. Sometimes I have the urge to smack them or shake their shoulders so they can “wake up”. They seem high, in a way they seem to accept things as how they come -but I really doubt it- (it’ll resonate more on the ones with mercury 12H at pisces degree) -I only know them for like 2 weeks-. THEY LOOK SO FUCKING COMFORTABLE OR CALM. When they’re panicking they don’t rise their voice BUT I’ve seen another taurus moon with a lot of cancer and Leo placements that’s the total opposite - I wanted to point it out bc it surprised me how tf they look so in tune with everything but at the same time their expression say otherwise-. UPDATE: she left. And that makes me wanna point out another thing. (she also has a pisces rising) —->

Pisces risings ALWAYS -idk how to bring this up- make their actions seem irresponsable or the situations they go trough are really unexpected. The other day, out of nowhere, a friend disappeared and told me she wasn’t going to stay. She didn’t specified anything. Too suden. They act or -I want to believe- their life makes them take decisions that can seem irresponsable, impulsive or egoist. I knew her for fourth weeks and then she disappeared, not specifying what was the situation. Everyone was asking me what happened and she left me the weight? the responsibility of telling everyone something I couldn’t tell (bc she told me it was a secret and I didn’t told them exactly). My ex best friend is a pisces rising and he always made decisions that affected not only him but their loved ones in a devastating way. He always passed the barrier of limits only bc he wanted and he could. He knew how much weight the situations held and even knowing that he minimized them. I’m not saying every pisces rising is like that. BC THEYRE NOT. Don’t generalize or take my observation as a way of justifying others actions. It’s complex. That’s based on what I observed, it’s completely subjective. So pls don’t take advantage of this and benefit yourself to hate on others. UPDATE: She changed careers, to major in communication to medicine. THAT’S A WHOLE CHANGE. SHE JUST TOLD ME. (with majority of air elements)

I’ve noticed that pisces risings are always questioning if they look good physically. They ask “Do I look good?” and if you say yes, they’ll be like “What do you mean that I look good? Specify. Do I look good meh or do I look good good?”

If you order an Aquarius and Capricorn prominent person, they will not do what you ordered them. They don’t like to be told what to do, to not be able to process and question that order and simply bc you’re telling them what to do, you’re demanding them. They only can do THAT -order people-, if you’re not informed 🙄

oN tHE otHeR hAnD, if you order a Sagittarius prominent person to do something they will not do it but not bc they’re mad at you, like the case of Saturn rulers. No, they’ll not do it. They’ll joke about it and ignore it bc they don’t feel free, to not be allowed or able to choose and the most important thing: bc they can.

The life of people with Venus 7H turns around relationships, romantic relationships? A really lovely friend I have always suffer bc he gives too much of his energy on relationships, friendships, every type/aspect. He came out of his almost 2 years relationship -he was very mature about it, also he was really broken when it happened obviously but he knew how to overcome it and im proud of him 😭-, now, time have passed but not too much -I’m not judging him. I didn’t thought about it till now, 3-2 months😟🤪😚- and he already told me he is starting to like someone and that he kissed her and I’m proud of him BUT HOW TF YOU LIKE SOMEONE SO EASILY AND START SOMETHING WITH SOMEONE IN A ROMANTIC PURE WAY. IM LITERALLY SAYING ROMANTIC BC HES REALLY LOYAL, ALWAYS THINKING TOO MUCH ABOUT THEIR PARTNER/LOVED ONES ETC. I FUCKING BLOCK ALL MY FEELINGS LIKE HOW DO YOU ENTER A SOMETHING SMOOTHLY WITHOUT KILLING YOURSELF THINKING THAT YOU CANT HAVE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION OR AAAAAAA

I think I know why my friend with scorpio moon don’t like my other friend with moon and mercury 12H. Scorpio always likes to control the situation, what’s happening, to know everything and to everyone to know nothing but what they want others to know -except for their loved ones?no-. 12H is synonym of “hidden”, they always hide something…-traumatic- that a scorpio may find it often uncomfortable. Why? They don’t know what’s happening easily, they know the other is hiding something. They can’t control it. They have to make an effort. They don’t like when people on purpose hide something. Scorpio moons are intuitive ASF. They don’t like your fake smile. My scorpio moon friend told me “I don’t like her. She hides something” and yes, my mercury/moon 12H friend does. She is always smiling and daydreaming, she’s not direct. She told me about her past situations that were certainly traumatic, there were a lot of changes in her life and my scorpio moon friend knows she hides THAT something.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language.

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

#astro observations #astrology #pinterest #astrologia #astro notes #astro placements #astro posts #12h placements #scorpio moon #taurus moon #aquarius #capricon #pisces rising #venusian #7H placements #saggitarius #birth chart

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fear-less · 3 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 so it goes

paring: draco malfoy x reader

warnings: smut, no house mentioned but slytherin ig, possessive draco, ??? to lovers, idk😭

a/n: heyyy 😖😖 excuse my 4 month hiatus.. oops, leave requests in my request box or comment on who I should write about bc idk who to write about 😭 can be any fandom !! also, sorry if this is badddd😭😭

4.3k words :p

Draco Malfoy had a way of slipping into your thoughts like a shadow. Even when he wasn’t around, his presence lingered, impossible to shake. But tonight, he was there, standing across the room, eyes locked on you with that familiar intensity that made your stomach knot.

He was the center of attention, as always. It was as if everyone else was drawn to him, but at the same time, you knew none of them could see him the way you did. There was something darker beneath his polished surface, something only you were close enough to touch.

The firelight flickered in the Slytherin common room, casting long shadows along the stone walls. Draco stood there, all sharp angles and cold beauty, his pale features illuminated by the dim light. He met your gaze, a slow smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your heart quickened, a dangerous thrum in your chest. You tried to look away, but it was impossible. No one held your attention like Draco did—like he always would. He started to move, cutting through the small crowd with that same smooth grace, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the room closing in as he approached, the chatter around you fading into nothing but a dull hum.

By the time he reached you, it was like the rest of the world had disappeared.

"You seem deep in thought," he said, his voice low and smooth, almost mocking. "Or maybe you’re just staring." He paused, a slight tilt of his head as he looked at you with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Again."

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how easily he could unravel you. "Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out," you countered, though your voice lacked the sharp edge you wanted.

He was close now—too close. His hand brushed your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was always light, deliberate, but it left a trail of heat in its wake. "Figure me out?" He chuckled softly, the sound deep and amused. "I doubt you’ll ever manage that."

There was a weight to his words, something that hung in the air between you, making it hard to breathe. Draco Malfoy wasn’t someone you could easily understand, and you knew that. But it didn’t stop you from wanting to.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. "You’re quiet tonight," he mused, his voice softer now, almost coaxing.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. He had that effect on you, rendering you silent with just a look, a touch. It was infuriating and intoxicating all at once. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t pull away from even if you wanted to.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin. "What’s wrong?" His voice was smooth, almost teasing, but there was an underlying darkness to it that made your pulse quicken.

Your back hit the wall behind you, the cool stone sending a shock through your body as you realized how close he had gotten. Draco’s body was only inches from yours now, his hand resting beside your head, trapping you in. He was always so deliberate with his movements, always in control, and it made you feel like you were caught in a web you had no chance of escaping.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper as his fingers trailed down your arm. "The way I make you feel."

Your breath hitched, and you hated how right he was. You hated how easily he could make everything else vanish, leaving only him. It was like being in a cage, but the bars were made of gold—beautiful and alluring, but impossible to break.

He smiled again, that dangerous, knowing smirk. "I can see it, you know," he continued, his voice dropping even lower. "The way you’re always on edge when I’m around. The way you miss me when I’m gone."

Your heart raced at his words, and you fought to keep your composure. His absence did make you feel like you were tripping, falling into a void where nothing made sense without him. But you weren’t going to let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

"I think you like the power," you finally said, your voice shaky but firm.

Draco’s smirk widened, and he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Maybe I do."

The room felt impossibly small now, the walls pressing in on you as his presence overwhelmed your senses. His hand came to rest on your waist, the heat of his touch burning through your clothes. "But you like it too, don’t you?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The look in your eyes, the quickening of your breath—it was all the answer he needed. He had you, and he knew it.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

There was something about being alone with Draco that made everything else disappear. You always noticed the cracks in his perfect mask when the world wasn't watching—when the cold, controlled demeanor faded, leaving only the raw truth between you.

His hands, still gripping your waist from where he had cornered you against the wall, softened slightly. There was always that moment when his arrogance gave way to something deeper, a quiet intensity you knew he didn’t show to anyone else.

"You’re so different when it’s just us," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him. There was something almost fragile in the air between you, a vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

He raised an eyebrow, though the edge of his smirk was gone, replaced with something darker, more real. "Maybe I’m just tired of pretending."

It was a rare admission, but you had come to recognize those moments in him. The moments when he let down his guard, just enough to show you that he wasn’t as untouchable as everyone thought. Alone, he was simple, stripped of the sharpness and the sneers. Just Draco.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," you murmured, fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve, as if grounding yourself in his presence.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, though it lacked its usual mocking tone. "You make it sound so easy," he muttered, his hand moving up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing your jawline. "But nothing’s ever easy."

His touch was gentle, in stark contrast to the fire burning between you. It was always like this with Draco—a constant push and pull, the desire to break down his walls but knowing the risk that came with it. He looked at you like he wanted to believe it could be that simple, but there was always something holding him back. Something that neither of you could escape.

"You’re overthinking again," you said softly, leaning into his touch, your fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt.

He scoffed, though there was no malice in it. "Old habits."

You pulled him closer, your lips ghosting over his in a silent plea for him to let go, just for a moment. "When it’s just us, it doesn’t have to be complicated."

Draco hesitated for a split second, his gaze searching yours as if he was trying to find some hidden meaning in your words. But then he kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to make sense of the chaos that always seemed to follow him. And just like that, everything fell into place. It always did when you were with him.

The world outside could wait. For now, it was just the two of you, the rest of the night forgotten as his lips claimed yours. His hands, once tentative, were firm now, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. Your heart raced, the familiar heat building between you as his body pressed against yours. All the pieces fell into place.

You lost yourself in him, the way you always did. His touch was fire, scorching your skin, and you craved more, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. It was like he could sense your thoughts, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark and filled with the kind of hunger that made your stomach flip.

"Don’t tell me you want to stop," he whispered, his voice rough, teasing.

You smirked, your breath heavy as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Not a chance."

His thumb brushed against your lower lip, smudging the faint trace of lipstick that had transferred during the kiss. He gave you that familiar, cocky smile, the one that always set your heart racing.

"You should see the mess you’ve made," he murmured, his voice low and dark, his gaze tracing the path of the lipstick stain.

You didn’t need to see it. You could feel the heat on your face, the rush of blood beneath your skin from how close he was, from how thoroughly he consumed you. It didn’t matter how messy it got. That was the way it always was with Draco—messy, chaotic, and absolutely irresistible.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Your mind drifted back to that first night you met him. It had been simple, unexpected. No grand moment of destiny, no whirlwind romance. Just a random restaurant in hogsmeade, dimly lit, filled with people who didn’t matter. You had been laughing with friends, lost in conversation, when you felt his gaze on you.

At first, you hadn’t even realized it was him. But once you did, the whole room seemed to shift. He was standing by the bar, glass in hand, watching you with that same dark intensity he always had. His stare had felt like a challenge, one you couldn’t ignore.

You remembered the way he approached you that night, slow and deliberate, as if he already knew exactly how things were going to unfold.

"Didn’t expect to find you here," he had said, his voice smooth, casual, like he wasn’t completely aware of the tension that sparked the moment he stepped closer.

"Didn’t expect to be found," you had shot back, trying to maintain your composure, even though your heart had raced beneath the surface.

"Too bad for you then," he’d murmured, leaning in just enough to let you feel the heat of his body without touching. "I’m hard to miss."

And from that moment on, you had been hooked. It had been simple, effortless. The way he made you feel like the only person in the room, like you were the only one who could see him for who he really was.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Back in the present, Draco’s gaze was fixed on yours, his hands resting possessively on your waist. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but fast, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

"Do you ever think about that night?" you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

His smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, something real. "Every damn day."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you hated how much power he had over you. How easily he could make everything else fade away, leaving just this—just you and him, caught in a moment that felt endless.

"You make me jealous, you know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his fingers tightening on your waist. "Good."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "That’s not the reaction I was expecting."

His lips curled into a dangerous smile. "I like that you care." His voice dropped, his breath ghosting over your skin as he leaned in close. "I want you to care. I want you to feel it."

And you did. You felt everything—the desire, the danger, the thrill of being his, even if just for this moment. Because no matter how complicated things got, no matter how many times you swore you’d pull away, you knew you were his. And you knew he was yours.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The room was thick with tension, the only sound the rustle of fabric and the soft hitch in your breath as Draco moved closer. His eyes, dark with intent, never left yours, watching your every movement like a hawk. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the space between you rapidly shrinking.

Dressed head to toe in black, he looked dangerous—his usual composed arrogance crumbling away, replaced with raw, unrestrained desire. He stepped forward, crowding you against the wall, trapping you there without a word. You didn’t need words now. You knew exactly where this was heading. You had been playing this game with him for too long not to know.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he rasped, his voice low, almost a growl. His hands found your hips, fingers gripping with just enough pressure to let you know you were at his mercy. But there was nothing gentle about the way he pressed his body flush against yours.

You smirked, though your heart was racing. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

His lips twitched in response, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. They were already burning with a need so palpable it made your skin prickle with anticipation. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing your dress higher, exposing more of your skin to the cool air.

“I don’t think you do,” he murmured, his mouth so close to your ear that his breath sent a shiver down your spine. “Not yet.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours—rough, possessive, as though he had been holding back for too long and was done pretending. His kiss was demanding, leaving no room for hesitation, and you kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

His hands moved up your sides, brushing over your waist before gripping the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The heat between you two was unbearable now, burning hotter with every second that passed. It was always like this with Draco—everything about him was intense, overwhelming, and you craved it. Craved him.

You gasped against his mouth as his fingers trailed lower, skimming over your stomach before slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. He paused there, his fingers hovering just above your skin, teasing, waiting.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice dark, almost mocking.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But the way your hips shifted toward him, the way your breath hitched in your throat, said enough.

Draco’s smirk returned, but there was nothing soft about it. “That’s what I thought.”

With a deliberate slowness that made you ache, he slid his fingers lower, brushing over the sensitive skin between your thighs. The touch was light, teasing, not nearly enough, but you couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that escaped your lips.

You grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him closer, your nails digging into the fabric. “Stop teasing,” you whispered, breathless.

He chuckled softly, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “You think you can tell me what to do?”

Before you could respond, his fingers pressed deeper, his touch finally sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

Draco’s eyes darkened at the sound, his grip tightening as he pulled you even closer, his lips finding the pulse at your throat. “That’s more like it,” he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your hands were on him now, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel him, to touch him. The moment his shirt fell open, your hands roamed over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the way his body tensed beneath your touch.

In one swift motion, Draco lifted you, pressing you hard against the wall, his hips pinning you there. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he growled against your lips, his hands sliding beneath your dress, pushing it up higher, exposing you to him completely.

“I think I have some idea,” you managed to gasp out, your nails scraping down his back in a way that made him hiss in approval.

Draco didn’t respond—at least, not with words. Instead, he pushed your underwear aside, his fingers moving with deliberate precision, drawing another soft gasp from your lips. He kissed you again, swallowing the sound, his body pressed so tightly against yours it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

Your mind was spinning, lost in the feel of him, in the way his fingers moved over you, the way his lips never left yours, never stopped claiming you. You could feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like you might snap.

Then, without warning, he was inside you, the suddenness of it stealing your breath. He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the sensation, but there was nothing slow or gentle about the way his hips rocked into yours. He was relentless, driven by the same burning desire that had been simmering beneath the surface all night.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, holding onto him as though he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Every thrust, every movement sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching into his, desperate for more.

“Draco,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper as your nails dug into his skin, leaving red scratches in their wake.

He groaned softly at the sound of his name, his lips finding the spot just beneath your ear as he thrust harder, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m not stopping until you’re begging for me,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

You couldn’t respond—not with words. All you could do was hold onto him, your body trembling with pleasure as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. The way he moved, the way he touched you, it was too much and not enough all at once. You were consumed by him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Finally, with one last thrust, you shattered, the pleasure hitting you like a tidal wave, pulling you under. You cried out, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you came undone beneath him. Draco followed moments later, his body tensing, his breath ragged as he buried himself deep inside you one last time.

For a moment, the world was silent, the only sound the ragged breathing between you. Draco’s body was still pressed against yours, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath, the weight of the moment lingering in the air like smoke after a fire. You could feel Draco’s heart racing against your chest, the aftershocks of your connection still buzzing in the air.

“Now do you see?” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rumble as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’re not getting away from me. Not now. Not ever.”

You smiled softly, the weight of his words sinking in, thrilling and terrifying all at once. “I wouldn’t want to,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk, and you could see the satisfaction in his eyes. This was just the beginning—an exhilarating dance of power, desire, and surrender that would leave both of you craving more.

He pulled back slightly, his silver gaze locking onto yours, a glimmer of mischief dancing within them. “You know this isn’t just a game for me. Once I’m in, I’m all in.”

“Good,” you said, a defiant glint in your eyes. “I’m not here for half-measures, Draco.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating between you, sending a thrill down your spine. “Oh, I know. But let me warn you—it’s not just the pleasure that comes with this. There’s a darkness too, and it’s intoxicating.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the thrill of danger mingling with your desire. “I can handle it,” you replied, your voice steady, even as your heart raced.

Draco’s expression softened for a moment, an intensity flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure? Because once you step into my world, there’s no turning back. It’s not just about what we feel in the dark; it’s about who we become.”

With that, he captured your lips again, a searing kiss that left no doubt about what he meant. His hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting every nerve as he pulled you closer, deeper into this intoxicating whirlwind.

As the kiss deepened, you felt that familiar heat rising again, the electric connection between you reigniting with fervor. You were his and he was yours—two souls intertwined in a dance that was as dangerous as it was thrilling.

“Come here,” he commanded softly, pulling you in closer. His hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the nearby bed, where the night’s passion awaited you both once more.

With a gentle but insistent push, he laid you back against the soft sheets, his body hovering over yours. His gaze was intense, as if he were memorizing every detail of you. “You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You smirked, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment. “And you’re not so bad yourself, Malfoy.”

He grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he settled between your legs, his hands exploring your body again. “You know, I’ve always had a weakness for pretty things. Especially when they come with a little bit of fire.”

You arched an eyebrow, the challenge in your eyes evident. “Fire? You have no idea what you’re in for.”

Draco leaned down, capturing your lips once more, but this kiss was different—hungry, desperate, filled with the promise of what was to come. He slipped his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pressed himself against you.

“Show me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Show me just how fiery you can be.”

With a surge of determination, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling the heat radiate between you as you began to move together again. Each thrust was deliberate, each movement driving you both higher, building that familiar tension until it felt almost unbearable.

Draco’s breath quickened, his hands gripping you tightly as he urged you both on, his voice a low growl as he urged you to take what you wanted. “Don’t hold back,” he urged, and you reveled in the way he encouraged your wildness, your hunger for him.

“I won’t,” you said, your body responding eagerly to his every command.

As the rhythm intensified, you could feel the world outside fading away, leaving the two of you lost in this passionate storm. Every sound, every whisper echoed through the room as you lost yourselves in each other, the walls shaking with intensity of your connection.

The night sketched on, a blur of heat and pleasure, darkness and light, until finally, as the dawn began to creep in, you collapsed together, breathless and spent.

Draco lay beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours, a satisfied smile curling on his lips. “I told you,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “You’re mine now. And I won’t let you go easily.”

You smiled, tiredly, curling closer to him, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” you replied, your heart racing at the realization that this was only the beginning of what lay ahead.

As the first rays of light broke through the darkness, you knew you were tangled in his world now, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would take you.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the room as you and Draco lounged together after another intense day. You were curled up against him, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders, the comfortable silence between you speaking volumes.

“Last night was...” he started, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. He tilted your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “It was different.”

You smiled, remembering every electrifying moment. “Different good, or different weird?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Good, definitely good. But it made me realize something.” His expression turned serious, and your heart raced at the shift in his tone. “You know how we’ve been... doing this? The passion, the connection, the nights we’ve shared?”

“Yeah?” you replied, your stomach fluttering with anticipation.

“I don’t want it to be just that,” he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want more. I want you—more than just a fleeting moment in the dark. I want you in my life, officially.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the weight of his words sank in. “Are you saying...?”

He nodded, a hint of vulnerability in his expression. “I’m asking you to be my girlfriend. To be with me, not just in the shadows but out in the open. I want to be able to call you mine.”

You felt a rush of emotions—excitement, fear, hope—all swirling within you. This was what you had secretly wished for, and yet, the reality of it was overwhelming.

“I’d like that,” you said finally, a smile breaking across your face. “I’d like that a lot.”

Draco’s face lit up with that signature smirk, the one that made your heart skip a beat. “Good. Now, let’s make this official then.”

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft yet full of promise. As you melted against him, you knew that this was just the beginning of something incredible.

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