#but it's fucking making me cry nonstop since the evening

[justrainandcoffee]

The sound of silence (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) + (Alfie Solomons x Tommy Shelby)

Summary: Why did she agree? To make Alfie happy. Why did Tommy accept? Because love is blind. For two years they've been living under the same roof. She and Tommy sharing the same man... And the same misery. Love makes you feel happy, people say. They know it's not always true.

Warnings: Angst. ANGST. || Alfie is bigamous.|| Everyone here is miserable. || Mentions of killing and political corruption. Period typical homophobia. || Did I mention ANGST?

Words: 3.6k || Alfie masterlist

"Put a number."

There she was in front of a man making business with him to save her husband and his lover from a catastrophe.

"The newspaper is not for sale."

"Everything is for sale if you know what is good for you and your family. Put a fucking number."

The man was around 45 years old and that money was synonymous with an earlier retirement. Silence had a price and his newspaper, too.

"Twenty-five grand."

"I'll make 27 and I'll guarantee that your ass is safe, as long as you learn to keep your mouth shut. Do we have an agreement, Mr. Donovan?"

"Yes, Mrs. Solomons."

"If you open your mouth, a bullet will open your fucking brain. Do you understand, right?"

"I do, Mrs. Solomons. I do."

First she signed the papers that made her the legal owner of the most important newspaper in London and then, she gave him the cheque. If 27,000 pounds didn't make him be quiet and understood the kind of people were behind her, then violence will. But that was the last choice.

Two policemen started their days with a bullet in their hearts and an inspector appeared drown in the Thames. But they were just isolated accidents: thieves and a suicide. That's what the newspaper was going to say the following morning.

No mentions of the fucking party.

Solomons-Shelby was an alliance that could make the King shit on his throne. And the leaders of both bands were fucking in the same bed.

-Two years ago-

Alfie liked him. Rose knew it the moment her husband started to talked nonstop about the Birmingham man as soon as they met and for the first time ever she experienced jealousy. Until Thomas Shelby appeared, Alfie never put his eyes on anyone else but her.

"I love you, Rosie."

"…but you also love him."

Alfie didn't like him. Alfie loved him.

"Do you want the divorce?"

The words shattered her own heart. The idea of a life without her Alfie sounded like millions of knives in her soul. They were always him and her against the world, since they were kids. Always. Silent tears started to run down her cheeks, but she kept looking at him.

"Fuck! No! I can't live without you, Rosie. Don't ask me that again! I love you."

"Do you?"

"Like always."

"Did you cheat on me with him?"

"No. Not even once."

"Did you fantasize about fucking him?" she continued asking. But this time Alfie didn't answer. Rose bit her lower lip and nodded "You did."

Rose demanded to meet the man in question. She didn't expect to see what she saw. The man in front of him was the kind of person that God put on Earth to make other doubt about themselves. And Rose, was one of them. Took her little to nothing to understand why her husband for years, her forever love, suddenly appeared in their house with someone else in his mind.

She agreed because she didn't want to see Alfie lost in a world where he craved for a touch she couldn't give him. She agreed because the last thing Rose wanted was to see the person he loved the most being sad. She agreed because she didn't want to lose him.

The first night Alfie spent with Thomas Shelby, Rose did it crying in their bed praying for that was just a bad dream.

"I'm not going to leave you. I'm not going to leave you," he said over and over again when he returned the next morning. She was laying on him, both of them in his favourite couch, while his arms were around her. "I don't know how to say this anymore, but I love you, sweetheart. I swear I love you."

Rose nodded "I know."

She was a proud woman and even when it was Alfie, Rose didn't want to show weakness. She wasn't weak, even if she was broken.

Seeing her, Alfie promised himself that the previous night with Tommy it was going to be the first and last at the same time. Rose could put her mask of strong woman, but Alfie was the only one she couldn't fool. The woman next to him, was once the little girl that committed shenanigans with him. Alfie grew up knowing how she lied. He knew how to read her easily. And she was lying.

The man cupped her face and kissed her. Slowly with tenderness. He loved her and the last thing he wanted was to make her suffer.

"I love you. Tell me you believe me, Rosie."

"I do."

No, she didn't. She didn't believe him.

"Just give me time, Alfie," she said reading his mind.

"How could you doubt that I love you?"

"I don't know what I believe anymore... I'm still trying to understand why did you slept with someone else. And why I agreed."

Because Tommy Shelby is a demigod, her mind said. Of course Alfie chose him.

"It won't happen again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

.

Tommy couldn't deny his feelings anymore. The amount of prostitutes he slept with, because supposedly that was something men did, couldn't be compared with what happened with the other man in that house he bought in London. It was a small, cozy house that was bought with the sole purpose of fuck with Alfie there. And that was what happened the night before.

He was smoking still in bed, alone and thinking about him. Alfie was married to a woman and Tommy knew Alfie could kill for her. Tommy knew very well that his friend never was going to leave Rose, not for obligation due to the marriage vows, but because he was still in love with her.

To society, she was his wife. Rose was the woman he could walk through the city and no one was going to ask a thing. Alfie was free to hold hands with her and kiss in public. They even made a cute couple. The way his eyes shone when he talked about her and the special way he had to say "My Rosie."

But him, Tommy, he was a fuck in a house after midnight when no one was in the streets. And during day he was Solomons' business partner, the gangster leader of Peaky Blinders. The one who never was going to be anything but a pal.

Tommy started to dress to return to Birmingham. Suddenly he felt like a whore, too.

Nothing but a whore, his mind said.

But Rose was right. Alfie couldn't keep his hands off Tommy. Even if he resisted the temptation the first weeks after their first encounter, Alfie and Tommy found themselves in the same situation more than once. And the most time they spent together, the more in love they fell.

Alfie never hide it from her. Alfie was ready to stop if she didn't consent that anymore. In her whole life, Rose never wanted more to yell at him, to beg him to stop seeing the other man. To even shook him. But she lowered her head and agreed once again because his husband was happy. And also agreed to receive Tommy in her house, to live with them.

Agreed to share the meals with him. To see Alfie's eyes looking at him with love.

Agreed to divide the time she shared with Alfie, and that once was only hers, with another person.

In the next two years she lost her husband as such, her self-esteem, her voice and her smile.

Now

"I bought the newspaper," Rose said entering the house. Tommy and Alfie were in the same table, drinking tea. Or at least her husband was drinking tea. "Donovan won't be a problem. I'm sure."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me, Alfie. I hope next time you two decide to go to a party, at least check that it's not a fucking trap," she left her coat on a chair and removed her shoes. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired I don't want to be mean… I'm tired. Just that. Don't mind me."

Both men saw her go upstairs to her and Alfie's bedroom.

"Maybe you should go too and check on her," Tommy said. "She's upset."

"I know that. She's my wife!"

"Well, then do something. Today is her turn, after all. And she started her day saving our asses. My ass, especially because she saved me just because of you."

Her turn.

Alfie followed his wife's steps upstairs hearing Tommy's voice. He was right, but doesn't meant it was pleasant to hear. It never was Rose's turn, same way it never was Tommy's turn like if his heart switched to one person to another. One could say that it was perfect to have two people to love living under the same roof. If one got mad, then the other could be willing to open the arms. The double of sex. But it wasn't the case, real life didn't work that way. And lovely as it sounded, it was also tiresome. And not just physically.

"I'm not in the mood," she said when he entered the bedroom.

"I know, sweetheart."

Two years passed and she learnt to be in silence when she wanted to scream. At him. At Tommy. At herself for being so stupid.

The daylight contributed to her bad mood so she closed the windows and let the darkness embrace her. Rose sat down in bed and let out a deep sigh, rubbing her face with her hands.

"I miss you, ya know?" Alfie said sitting at her side. "I miss you, Rosie."

"Mmh. I'm right here, Alfie."

"You're not."

It took them a while to make an agreement. Alfie could spend one week with each of them, doing whatever they want. Watching movies, having sex, killing people, whatever they wanted to do but away from the other part of the fucked triangle they now belonged. It was a great deal for Tommy because he was free to be with the man he loved in the big city that London was, and had time to return to Birmingham to take care of his business. But it wasn't so great for Rose who had to spend her week alone surrounded by her own thoughts in a house that was too big just for her and the dogs. And when it was the time to be with her husband, she felt exhausted.

Alfie touched her hair with his fingertips and caressed her jawline, too. It was hard to think that for him, but he couldn't ignore it anymore, although it was easier to think she was just tired. But Alfie had to come to terms with himself and admit that he didn't see her smile in a long time.

She was always a happy person, anyone who knew her for sure heard her laugh. How many times the two of them were reprimanded by teachers because they couldn't stop giggling? And not so many years ago, the quiet hours together usually were interrupted by Rose's laugh because he told her something that happened in the distillery or because they were commenting something they heard in the radio. Or Cyril's shenanigans. But now, even if he tried, Alfie couldn't remember seeing her smiling.

And they didn't make love in months.

"My women killed the policemen and the inspector. No one will suspect and no one will ask a thing. But I expect that next time you be more careful, Alfie."

"Tommy will repay you the money you waste on us."

"I don't want it. But if it makes him feel better he can make a donation for the school."

"A donation will be, then. Luv, I was thinking that we can go to a pretty restaurant tonight. There's a kosher one, it's new. Ollie told me that it's quite good."

"Okay."

Alfie kissed her cheek "no matter what you think, I still love you and I'll love you till my last day."

Rose gulped to make disappear the knot in her throat and nodded. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"I know, Alfie."

The man hesitated for a second before putting an arm around her. She was so tense that it felt like moving a piece of furniture to him. For a moment she didn't reciprocate the embrace, but when Alfie moved his body to let her go, her hands grasped to his shirt and hid her face on his shoulder.

"Don't leave me," her voice was broken and the tears she was holding were wetting his chest.

"You know I would never leave you."

"I don't know anything about us anymore, Alfie. But please, don't leave me."

Downstairs, Tommy was smoking. Last thing he wanted was to break the precarious situation the three of them were in. The invitation was on Ada's table when he visited her earlier that week, probably belonged to Ada's roommate. It seemed to be harmless and when he commented it to Alfie, he agreed. There were no places for them to go as couple and for once, it seemed to be a good opportunity, only it wasn't. Homosexual parties weren't uncommon but it was risky. Numerous times, men ended in the gallows thanks to the laws. But that was London and his partner wasn't someone else but Alfie Solomons and he could buy freedom because of money or because of fear.

Tommy didn't dare to see the faces of the other men who were still in the police station, when both of them left the building. How many of them were going to die just because they were experiencing happiness one night in their lives?

Tommy remembered Rose's face when Alfie woke her up at 4am when they arrived at the house. She didn't say a word and to be honest with himself, Tommy never heard her say a lot although it was well known by people around the Solomons, that she was talkative as much as Alfie was. The woman went to her office in the house and made some phonecalls. She had her own people, all women, behind her to protect the school she founded. And those women never hesitate to follow her orders.

Killing the cops was a way to say the rest of the police department that better they keep their tongues tied. Same with the former owner of the newspaper.

Tommy lighted up another cigarette. What was he next to her? Alfie's wife sent three men to hell and a fourth one was threatened, just to protect her husband's name. And his. He was part of the man she married now and Tommy didn't know if she was going to do something like that for him, again

Or how much time Alfie was going to be able to bear with that kind of life. In Tommy's mind, if Alfie was going to choose someone then it was going to be her. But he didn't want that.

.

Allowing Alfie to touch her again, it felt good. Especially because he was sweet with her. Maybe it was true he missed her.

He was on top if her, kissing her neck and stroking her sides. That was the life they deserved to have but after knowing Tommy, after tasting him, she wasn't sure if she was enough for Alfie.

How much self-esteem was a man capable destroy?

Outdoors she fought for women's rights, freedom, fuck the patriarchy, down with men.

Indoors, she was ready to share her husband if that meant to remain on his side. And the only thing she had to sell was her own happiness.

"You promised me a life full of love," she said, later, in his arms. "We were kids. We were in love and I believe you."

"I promised you a lot of things and I'm fulfilling none."

"Not true. You did but I'm not the only one in your heart anymore. It's not your fault that you fell in love with him, too."

Alfie kissed her once again. It wasn't fair for her, among the three of them she was the one who gave in the more.

"I'd give my life to see you smile again, Rosie. My Rosie."

.

"How's she?" Tommy asked when Alfie went downstairs, once his wife finally fall asleep.

"I don't know."

"I did tell you or I didn't that this was going to break her? It was a fucking bad idea from the very beginning."

"What do you want me to tell ya, Tom? Eh? I fucking love you! And it didn't seem that bad the first time to you, not even last night. Fuck off!"

"I love you too, Alfie. I do, but this is not working. Your wife is a ghost of the woman I know she was, you don't know how manage two partners and I-… I feel like a homewrecker."

Alfie sat on his couch and petted Cyril's head who seemed to be the only one happy in that house. "You're not."

"Are you sure?"

"There's a reason I gave you a ring, Tom."

Tommy looked at his hand. It happened around eight months ago. No one were going to notice that he was using another ring, considering he wore several ribgs all the time. They were in bed when Alfie pulled out a little velvet box from the nightstand table and gave it to him. That was the moment Alfie became bigamous. One marriage was legal and open to society, the other no and belonged to the shadows and the solitude of their room.

Only Rose noticed the extra ring, but she didn't say anything. Like it was usual. Tommy too remained silent in several occasions and even Alfie didn't let his mind speak as it was common to him.

In the Solomons-Shelby household, most of the time the only thing that could be heard was the silence.

.

It was midnight that same day when Rose heard noises downstairs, but neither Cyril or Beast were barking, so she asumed the one making noises was Tommy. Rose put her nightgown on and went to the living room, she found Tommy packing.

"To Birmingham?"

"Yes." Tommy looked at her, before closing his suitcase. "Forever."

"You can't."

"Tell me why can't I, Rose. It's my fucking life."

"He loves you."

"No more than he loves you. Let's be honest, Rose, you want me out of your lives." Tommy put his coat on and searched his cigarettes in one of his pockets.

The woman embraced herself and nodded. "I do. But Alfie could be miserable again because no matter what I do for him, I'm not you. I'm not God's best creation, I'm not smart as you are, I don't have your eyes, I can't be all you are even if I reborn a thousand times. He chose you and if roles were reversed, if you were the spouse and me "the other one" I don't think he'd do all the things he did for you."

"Then, you're belittling yourself. Your husband is capable to fight the Devil for you."

"Because I'm his best fr…"

"Because you're his fucking soulmate, Rose!! And that's something I'm never going to be. Don't underestimate yourself anymore, because I know very well the way he talks about you when he's with me and that's something he doesn't do when he's with you… FUCK!" Tommy threw the cigarette on the floor. "Rosie this, Rosie that… and I know he doesn't mention me when you two are together because he doesn't want to hurt you. But he hurts me."

She sat on a chair and looked at him. "I don't think he does that on purpose."

"No, he does not. But he still does it. So, I better leave before it's too late to leave."

"If you go, he'll go after you. He's also your husband, right? The ring. You don't need a legal paper to prove that. Not in front of me."

Tommy shook his head.

"Go to bed," she said. "Tomorrow it'll be a new day."

Rose turned around, not waiting for an answer. She entered the bathroom before returning to bed with Alfie. She stared herself in the mirror. The woman looking at her wasn't the one she knew once. That one was a pathetic version of the woman she used to be proud of.

But she wasn't there to feel even more pathetic. She was there to do something else. Rose looked at the mirror again and she practiced how to smile. For Alfie, she thought, trying once again. And her eyes were filled with sadness, but she kept trying until got a smile like the ones she used to have.

The next morning when Alfie went to the dinning room he found Tommy reading the newspaper, the one under new management, and Rose having her usual breakfast.

"Good morning, Alfie," Tommy said.

Alfie greeted him too and sat next to Rose who was looking at him.

"Like you practice…" the woman thought and gave Alfie her best smile she could. "Morning, Al."

Alfie kissed her forehead. No, she couldn't lie to him, and Alfie felt miserable because he knew she didn't want to smile but was trying to make things easier.

For a moment they shared a normal morning but despite their efforts, the silence return to the house. Except in their own heads.

Alfie overheard the conversation the night before between Tommy and Rose. That wasn't a good life for any of them.

He loved them, but he wasn't selfish, not when it was about love. Alfie made a decision, now he needed to say it, even if his own heart was going to end broken, probably forever.

[delicatetaysversion]

i want to be the strongest most unaffected aloofest person ever but im literally the weakest saddest cries at every inconvenience type of person and man.

[apollo-zero-one]

Listening to stories of people who survived situations like being trapped in collapsed buildings and it kinda sounds like the human response to being trapped in a bad situation is to just keep going back to sleep until death comes. Thinking about depressive avoidant sleeping. Brain doesn't know you aren't trapped under rubble it can't see out of his bone prison brain just knows everything is bad and everything hurts and we can't handle this stress we need to divert all power to life support, night night.

[hellbatschilt]

Oh yeah with 6.5 around the corner, I realized that I got both Hellbat, and X's main titles this patch! \o/

[forlix]

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

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[authorhjk1]

Hi! Hope you can make something spectacular of Joy in this pls. The kind to easily suck her nonstop iykwim. 🥵

Blue

(Joy X Male Reader)

"You taste delicious."

You mumble into Joy's pussy, before taking a deep breath.

"I-Oh!"

Joy's words are cut off, when you resume eating her out.

After Seulgi gave in to the temptation, you were sure the rest of them would as well. And you weren't surprised at all, when it was Joy who took your hand and let you out of the girls' dressing room.

In this very moment, Irene is doing her job as a host for one of the music shows, while you are devouring her bandmate's sweet pussy.

Just like Seulgi, Joy doesn't have a clue that Irene is in on this as well. She thinks you are cheating on her leader.

You are still surprised that both women are completely fine with fucking a taken man. Even if it's one of their best friend's boyfriend. Although, you do remember that Joy and Irene had an argument this morning. You don't know what it was about. But this might be the reason, why Joy is doing is. Or at least one of the reasons.

"Oh, fuck. Your tongue."

Joy whines as she feels your tongue pressing on her clit.

"H-How isn't unnie constantly sitting on your face?"

Her lewd question makes you smile into her pussy as you keep eating her out.

While Irene does like to be fucked in front of the others, receiving oral is something she deems too intimate for the girls to see. It doesn't make sense to you, since she would happily suck you off in the living room, while they watch TV.

"Fuck! I'm gonna-!"

Joy's body trembles, her legs close around your head.

"Oh god!"

Her loud cry makes you wonder, if Irene can her hear. The two of you aren't that far away from the stage.

Joy cums on your face as you lap up her juices. She tastes similar to Seulgi, but sweeter.

As you reappear from underneath her dress, you see Joy's face after a while. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darker than usual.

"I wanna suck your dick."

She bites her lip, once she says those words. She can't help but get turned on even more at the thought of stealing Irene's boyfriend.

You push Joy to her knees in return, while you stand up. Your pants follow her to the floor a moment later.

"I can finally appreciate it, without her being in the way."

Joy's eyes glisten with, well... joy.

She quickly wraps her lips around your cock and starts sucking. She knows the two of you don't have much time left. The other girls will be looking for her soon and Irene is almost done too.

"Damn, baby."

Your moan makes Joy put in even more effort. The fact that you called her that, instead of Irene, almost makes her ruin the floor she is kneeling on.

"That's a good girl."

You sigh, holding her hair back, while you watch Joy in action.

Eventually, you do want more though. After a couple of moments, you slowly push her head off your cock.

"I want to fuck you."

Joy smiles up at you. She lets your dick fall out of her mouth, before gathering her saliva and spitting on it.

"How do you want me?"

She coats your cock in her saliva with her hands as she asks.

"Just try to be quiet."

You reply, knowing that she probably won't be able to.

After helping Joy off her knees, you lead her towards the couch and make her sit on it. The dressing room is right to Red Velvet's, where the other girls are, so you do hope she is not gonna be too loud. Instead of just fucking her on her back, you hook your arms underneath Joy's legs and fold her in half. Her knees are now pressed against her chest and her pussy reveals itself as the hem of her blue dress rides up.

"I'm gonna breed you now."

"Oh fuck, yes."

Joy gasps as she hears your words. You align yourself with her pussy and then you push inside of her.

"Dump all of that cum in me, baby. I want everything that's meant for her."

You have to laugh internally. Irene was right. Joy has a breeding kink. You don't know how she knows, but you appreciate her telling you.

"I'm gonna give you all of it. Your pussy will drip with my cum, while you talk to her."

Joy's eyes roll back as you start fucking her into the couch. The position she is in makes her look smaller than she actually is. And easier to handle. You use Joy's pussy like a fleshlight as you have your way with her. The only thing she can do is moan and whine. She can't move.

"Pound my pussy, yes!"

You want to quiet her, by leaning over and kissing her, but you know you wouldn't be able to keep up this pace at the same time.

"Oh god!"

Joy moans and moans as you fuck her. Harder and harder. Deeper and deeper. It's the perfect angle for your cock to penetrate her fully.

Joy's slick pussy is harder to resist than you thought. Soon, her juices make it too easy to slide inside of her. Her walls squeeze you too tight. Her eyes beg too much. Her moans are too loud. Her thighs feel too good in your hands.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me up! Dump your load into your girlfriend's friend!"

You would laugh at her for not knowing what's actually going on, if she wouldn't be making you cum right now.

"Fuck Joy."

You hiss into her face as you shoot your load into her. Rope after rope of your cum paint her insides. You fill her to the brim with your seed.

"Yes, baby."

Joy sighs, the warmth of your cum overwhelming her.

[a-hazbin-reader]

how about a reader who's been feeling pretty overworked recently?and just needs to rest but is to stubborn to Al does something about it?

Now it's Alastor's turn to pamper~

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None I think??

Description: ☝️⬆️

You've been going nonstop all week and it's been taking it's toll on you physically and mentally

There's so much that needs done and you're only one person, you don't have time to sit and relax

Which means you're unintentionally taking time with you away from Alastor

Not his ears drooping and folding back when he realizes you're going to turn him down

"I'm so sorry, Alastor, I'm just too tired to go out and I really need to finish this."

"Y/N, it's our date night and I insist that you-"

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you later, I promise."

But you pass out and Alastor has to carry you to bed, hating that you're so overworked right now, that you have no time to spare for him

Which in his deer brain, means that you're neglecting him because you're so fried from work

And that means he's gotta fix this

But you're stubbon and won't relax willingly so he's got to get creative

"Darling, won't you take this bubble bath with me? I need help getting my back~"

🥵🥵 s-sure

He takes special care to massage and scrub every part of you until you're a gooey mess in his hands

Despite his claws, he can be surprisingly gentle, it's rather soothing to feel them ghosting over your skin

It's not until later when your back is against his chest and he's kissing your shoulder that you realize he's been spoiling you the entire time

Literally carries you to bed bridal style and dries your body with a loving reverence that makes you blush

"Alastor, I can do this myself-"

"Hush now, let me do this for you..."

Rubs fancy lotions and creams into your skin, massaging until you inevitably fall asleep under his care

Nobody is allowed to wake you or bother you at all for the time being, he'll make sure of it

He finds excuses to interrupt you during your work, forcing you to take breaks

"Darling, I accidentally made too much jambalaya! So I thought I might bring you some as I am quite sure you haven't eaten today~"

"Alastor, I don't have time to-that smells really good..."

It's so good you could cry, devouring the entire thing while he stays and has lunch with you, turning it into a mini date

You didn't even realize how tense were before Alastor showed up, feeling full and relaxed after he gives you a parting kiss

You really don't want him to go, watching him leave with a longing expression

Not him purposefully stealing something you need so that you have no choice but to seek him out

"Have you seen my folder? I can't get back to work without it!"

"Hm? I can't say that I have, but have you seen what a beautiful day it is outside? Why not just skip work today, and we'll take a stroll through Cannibal Town?"

Won't take no for an answer, already looping his arm with yours and marching you outside

It is actually a beautiful day outside

Takes you to all your old haunts and spends all day buying anything you even look at

It feels good to catch up with Rosie and some of your old friends, not having realized how long it's been since you've seen them

He also takes you out dancing, which leaves you tired and sore, but in the best way possible, he was always exciting to dance with

Will carry you home if he has to, will actually find an excuse to do so

"Do your feet hurt? Here, let me carry you~"

You pass out before he puts the blanket over you, soothed by his scent on your pillow

It's not until later when you wake up to him putting your folder back in your bag that you realize what he's been up to

"Alastor..?"

Oh fuck he's been caught

"Darling! I was just-cleaning off your bag and-"

"...just shut up and come back to bed..."

Literally climbs right on top of you and flops on you like he's your own personal weighted blanket

Kissing your neck and shoulders before whispering into your ear with a slightly guilty voice

"Are you angry with me?"

"Mm...not if you keep giving me attention like this..."

Well, he wouldn't want his darling Y/N to start getting angry with him now, would he?

The next day you feel more renewed and refreshed than you have in weeks, waking up tangled in Alastor's arms

You chuckle softly and push some of his hair out of his (totally not pretending) sleeping face, admiring his handsome features

He's a sneaky man who tricks you into relaxing and taking time for yourself because he loves you

And you love him all the more for it

This one was too cute! I hope you like it

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

After the War

The night before Tom is sent back to his ship, he spends one last night with his best girl and makes plans for what they'll do when the war is over.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x Reader (2nd person)

Warnings: kissing, fingering, Tom being a lil nasty but it's ok he's hot

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

My Masterlist

After the War

Prompt: Dreams & Dirty Talk

Tom’s navy uniform had long been discarded on the floor beside the bed; no doubt it would be hopelessly wrinkled when he boarded his train the next day. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that at all.

Not when Tom was getting on a train tomorrow, one that would take him to war.

You hated him for getting arrested. You hated him for agreeing to join up to get out of jail. You hated him for going back on his promise to register as a conscientious objector. And you hated him most of all for having the gall to be excited about leaving.

“So, since I won’t need to use my wages on the ship, it’ll be sent back here to Dad. And Lois too, I guess.” Tom quirked his brows and took another puff of his cigarette – his fourth of the night so far – and idly played with your hair as your hair while you rested your head against his chest.

He’d been talking nonstop since he rolled off of you after your last round of lovemaking.

No, it wasn’t lovemaking. It was fucking. Frantic, desperate fucking in lieu of actually talking about what would happen tomorrow, or the next day, or even the next year.

“I told him he could use it if he needed it, but that I want to come home to at least a bit of a stash, you know?”

‘Come home.’

That is what broke you—those two little, uncertain words. There was every possibility that Tom wouldn’t come home, and this last night would be all you had.

You started crying, suddenly and fiercely, burying your face in the smattering of hair on his chest.

Tom instantly sat up, wrapping his arms around you and cradling you against him. “Hey, hey. None of that, love. Tonight’s a happy night, yeah?”

“It’s not!” you insisted through your tears. “It’s not happy at all, Tom!”

He tilted and shook his head in a way you knew meant he was about to argue with you, so you continued before he could. “You’re leaving tomorrow – to go to war! You aren’t going on a fucking holiday! You’ll be on a battleship, not a river cruise!”

“Love, I…”

“No,” you pled, burying yourself in his shoulder. “Don’t make promises we both know you won’t keep. Don’t give me that hope.”

Tom scoffed, “You want me to tell you I’m gonna die?”

You grabbed one of his nipples between your fingers and pinched. Hard.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman!” Tom shouted, gripping your wrist tightly and yanking your hand off his nipple. “I was joking!”

“Don’t joke then!” You were sure your face was red as you yelled at him.

He slapped a hand over your mouth and lowered his voice. “Your mum is gonna hear us if you don’t quiet down, love. I don’t want my last night here to be spent being chased down the street naked by your fuming mum.”

You moved to tear his hand away, but when you met his eyes, you saw that there was fear there. And sadness, longing, grief. He was just as terrified as you. More, even.

When he felt you relax, he removed his hand. “Now,” his voice had become gentle, if a little strained, “are you going to yell at me again? Or try to rip my nipple off?”

You shook your head.

“Good.” He pulled you into him again, and you let him. He held you with your back toward him, one of his large hands splayed on your stomach and the other stroking your hair. “Then… what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” You leaned into his chest, resting your head against his shoulder. He did nothing to egg you on, only held you close as you thought. “Tell me about the future,” you finally said. “About our future.”

“Alright,” he took a deep breath before he began narrating. You may or may not have prayed to God to grant him the gift of prophecy.

“Well… tomorrow, I’m gonna climb down outta that window there,” he pointed to your bedroom window, “and I’m gonna run down the street and climb up into my own window. I’ll have breakfast with Lois and my dad. Then we’ll all go to the train station, and you’ll meet us there – no sailor can leave home without a goodbye kiss from his best girl.”

You blushed at that, then blushed further when he tweaked your nose.

“I’ll go to training. Obviously, they’ll recognize my amazing natural talents and promote me right off.” You made a snarky comment about his overwhelming humility that he quickly silenced by tickling you. “I think I’ll get a few days leave between training and shipping out, so I’ll come back here.”

The joking grin mostly faded from his face, his eyes focusing on your face as his voice lowered. “I’ll use my wages from training to buy a nice ring, or, as nice as I can afford. I’ll have you wear your best dress and take you to the Palais for a night of dancing. Then, I’ll take you to the register office and marry you.”

Your breath vanished from your lungs. “But, there’s a waiting period…”

“Nah,” he said all too quickly. He’d been thinking about this, you realized. Planning it. “They’re waving that for all the boys going to fight. And this way, you’ll get the marriage allowance. And the widow’s pension, if…”

Tears threatened to come to your eyes again, and Tom barreled on. “I expect a good amount of that allowance to go to buying yourself some lovely lingerie to entertain me whenever I get leave.”

“You’re disgusting,” you half-heartedly teased.

Tom began moving the hand he had on your stomach lower, drawing random circles and loops and other shapes you couldn’t identify. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it. Besides, I need something to motivate me to live, don’t I?”

Any protest you had to his dark humor died when his long fingers traveled lower, teasing you just enough to take your breath away. And to prove him right.

“Well, look what I found…” he whispered huskily in your ear. “A wanton young woman who loves it when her man is ‘disgusting?’ Lucky for you, I like my best gal a little loose.”

You moaned in both offense and pleasure as his thumb started rubbing soft circles on your pearl, and his middle finger began just barely dipping in and out of your entrance. Not enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“I’m going to write you letters every day when I’m at sea,” he promised. “Each day, I’ll give you new instructions. New little ways you can entertain me even when I’m half a world away.”

“Like what?” you managed to ask as his finger finally began to go deeper, but achingly slowly.

“Mmm… one day, I may ask you to do something as tame as leaving your panties at home. But when I’m really missing you, I’ll want you to be the biggest slut in Manchester. A faithful slut, mind you, but still.”

Something about his words, mixed with the way he began stroking that glorious rough patch inside you drove you absolutely wild. Seeking more speed, you began bucking your hips against his hand. But he only rested his other on your hips to keep you still.

“Maybe I’ll ask you to touch yourself in a particular way, and then tell me how much you liked it. Or maybe I’ll have you touch yourself somewhere new. Say, the Palais? Or your parents' kitchen table?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be as arousing as it was, you knew. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that these wicked things would be the only way you could get close to fucking him whenever he was away.

“I may even have you take some pictures to send in your letters. Didn’t you say your uncle offered you a job at his photography studio? Yeah, I think you need to take him up on that one.”

His musings seemed to fade as he moved his fingers faster, even slipping another into you. He no longer wanted just to tease you, but to satisfy you. “I’ll be desperate, love. Stuck in a tin can with a bunch of other blokes. And I know I can’t last with just the pin-ups. None of them come close to you.

“Will you do it for me? Will you buy the sluttiest lingerie you can find? Touch yourself for me? Whenever and wherever I want you to? Send my pictures like you’re no better than the whores who mail their photos for a couple pennies?”

You arched your back, feeling his words speed your climax along. “Yes, Tom. All of it. I’ll do anything for you.”

He leaned down and planted a sloppy kiss on your lips, swallowing your screams as he brought you to the edge, never stilling his fingers until you begged him to. “That’s my girl.”

You turned toward him, having felt his cock hard against your back. But he did not let you. He held you in place, not even griding into you.

“Not yet, greedy thing. I haven’t finished my story yet.” You fought him a little, but ended up lying back when he refused to relent. “Now, where was I?”

“I was being the most faithful slut in Manchester.”

“Oh yes, I love that part. But after that, once we defeat the Jerries and good triumphs, I’ll come home to you. We’ll both have saved enough to buy our own place, or at least rent a decent flat. And…”

Tom probably talked for hours until he fell asleep. You wondered if he ever took care of his erection. But you weren’t sure.

Not long after he started telling the rest of the story, you’d fallen asleep. Some part of you must have kept listening, though. Your dreams were full of visions of the life you and Tom would have.

A tearful reunion when he came home for good. Kissing at the train station so long that everyone else would leave and only you two would remain.

Him carrying you into your new home. Somehow, he’d managed to snag a gorgeous flat in the heart of the city, with grand windows that gave you a magnificent view of the sunset.

He’d find some job he loved (even in your dreams, you couldn’t imagine what job that would be) and make enough that you’d never have to worry about money again. Maybe you could even help your parents out.

Eventually, you’d have children. And since it was a dream, childbirth was a breeze, and the kids were perfectly behaved.

It was a perfect life.

A perfect dream.

But when you woke, you watched Tom climb out your window, and reality came crashing back down.

[atxxokirina]

Boyfriend's Brother (pt.2)

Lo'ak x Fem Omatikayan reader | 18+, MDNI

contains: oral (m receiving) deepthroat, cheating, reader's heat approaching, breath play, dom/rough lo'ak, let me know if i missed anything.

part one here

After dinner, you, Lo'ak, and a couple of others were stuck doing chores around the village. You just wanted to go back to your hut and rest, but he's been teasing you nonstop. You couldn't really pinpoint why he was doing this again, but you had some sort of idea.

-

3 days ago, an argument between you and Neteyam.

The two of you stood behind the backwoods of the forest, bickering back and forth. "But why? I don't see why you can't just fight this for me!" You yelled at your partner, eyebrows furrowed and body pulsing with anger. "Y/n, I-I'm sorry, my dad needs me to go. You know how he is, please understand." Neteyam pleads. His father and a group of other warriors had been planning a hunting trip for some time, but of course it fell on the day your heat would arrive. You scoff in disbelief. "Neteyam, my heat is coming soon, you can't just leave!" Your lips quiver as you choked back a cry. "Please?" In the midst of your sentence, you spot a familiar figure in the clearing. Squinting your eyes to get a better look, you instantly recognize the man spying on you.

Lo'ak. Great. Of course he's the one who ends up seeing this.

You've started to tune out your boyfriend, all of his excuses and worthless attempts at making you feel better. You subconsciously stare back at Lo'ak, who gives you a sly smirk before walking off. "Y/n are you even listening?" Neteyam waved his hands in your face, snapping you out of your trance. You sigh, folding your arms and looking Neteyam dead in his eyes. "It's fine, do what you want. I don't care." You say without hesitation, but your tone surely implies that you're conflicted. "It's not like you can't miss a single hunting retreat, right?? Not like you go to every single fucking one?!" You raised your voice, frustration making your face heat up. "You know what? Just go do what your daddy wants. Like you always do." You spoke under your breath, stomping away.

-

And since that day, Lo'ak has been giving you subtle hints that he wants you again. The entire night, he'd been tugging his loincloth down when you were looking, making sure that you got a good eyeful of his v-line. "Accidentally" brushing his hand across your ass whenever he'd walk by. It was.. frustrating, to say the least. You might have liked the rush it gave you, but you weren't in the mood for him, or his little games.

After setting up a bonfire for the village, you step back and take a moment to admire your work, confident that everything is in place, and now you can finally go home and rest. Turning around, you see Lo'ak who's now standing behind you, his tall figure pressing against you as he snakes his arms around your waist. "I know what you're trying to do, Lo'ak. Just leave me alone." You sigh, unlatching his grip and walking off. but He pulls you back by your arm, earing a gasp from you as your backside presses against him. "That’s too bad," he tilts his head, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I was actually hoping to catch you alone tonight," He pushes his hips into you now, making sure that you feel him growing. "I saw what happened the other day." He grunts at the feeling of your ass being backed up against him. "I know you saw me there baby. It's not fair, is it? He doesn't even try for you.." Lo'ak grazes his fangs against your neck, his breath making you shudder under him.

Your eyes flutter shut, feeling extra submissive as you practically melt under his touch. "I'll make you feel good again, how about that, huh? Better than my brother was ever able to." His hands begin to find your chest, trailing down to your cleavage. You wanted this, you wanted this so fucking bad. Lo'ak's hands weren't stopping anytime soon, either. They only traveled lower. And since you were still out in the open, you had to make your choice fast.

"Okay," You finally speak, a breath following after. "Take me." After those words, he turns your body around, pushing you into the direction of his hut. Walking in behind you, he shoves your body onto the cot like it's nothing. You gulp, not sure what he plans to do next, but it still gets you hot.

Lo'ak climbs on top of you, staring down at you with a dark gaze. He looks at you like a Palulukan ready to devour it's prey. Before you know it, he's pulling at your top with force. The beads attached fly off, causing you to flinch. "I made that piec-" His palm comes up to your mouth, shutting you up in an instant.

You struggled against his hand, words coming out in muffles. Your eyebrows furrowed as you shook your head at him, lifting your body up. "Lo'ak, wait-" He stops you again, shoving your body back down and keeping his muscley arm on your chest. He straddles your waist, moving his lower body up to your face and staring down at you with a dark look in eye. "You're gonna good, and take what I fucking give you," he began untying his loincloth, once he got it loose, he pulls it down, dick springing out to meet your mouth. "Understand?" Lo'ak aligns his member with your lips, teasing the tip as he groans.

You hesitantly nod your head, pupils fully blown as you maintained eye contact. He looks down at you, grabbing your chin with force and squeezing.

"I didn't hear you. Do. You. Understand?" Lo'ak demanded an answer. His tone deep and intimidating. "Y-Yes, yes I understand" You said below a whisper. He releases your jaw and gives your cheek a soft slap. "Good girl."

"Now," He pushes his cock into your mouth, leaning his head back and moaning at the warmth radiating from inside your mouth. "I'm gonna fuck this cute throat of yours" he declares. "And then, later on.. I'm gonna take this sweet cunt again." Lo'ak finally thrusts his cock deeper, the mushroomy tip kissing your uvula while you choke. "Mhhmmm.. take this fucking dick down your throat." You coughed as he continued to jab the back of your throat, saliva dribbling to your chin.

His thrusts feel endless, his cock is filling the entirety of your mouth now, not giving you a chance to breath. "Lo-!" You try to speak. He's distracted by your hot mouth. Grunting at each advancement his hips make. "Yeah.. hnnghh.. yeah", he moans in a low tone. You're trying to form a sentence, but it's impossible with the amount of relentless pounding, along with the overwhelming spit. Your vision is getting blurry, feeling like you're going to pass out, you can hardly breathe.

Lo'ak hears your cries and the way you cough, but he couldn't care less. He's so focused on his climax that all he wants to do is fuck your pretty throat. He now grips both sides of your head, face fucking you into oblivion, which only causes you to cry out more. "Pleaseeee!" You beg, but you don't know what for. He looks down to see your tear filled eyes and grins at the sight. "You're so.. mngh!" One hard thrust that makes you scream on his cock. "..fucking hot."

"Hmh.. gonna cum, gonna cum down your throat." He speeds up, squeezing your head, fucking it like your pussy. Now you're really going to pass out. Your heart is pounding, you've never felt so scared, yet so horny in your life. You flail your arms, kick your legs, and attempt to pry his hands off of your face.

"Stop wriggling, bitch!" Lo'ak grunts, holding your body down and placing his leg on your chest to ensure you stay still. He chucked as your movements slowed, "That's right." He seems to be enjoying this, oh yeah, he's gotta be. After a few more rough hits into your mouth, he releases a loud, long groan of pleasure. You felt his tip twitching at the roof of your mouth as his warm, slimy cum spews in your mouth. "Fuuckkkk.. take it, take all of my cum, ohhh s-shit" He sighed as his hips stutter.

Pulling out of your mouth with a pop, he shuts your jaw before any of his liquid can seep out. "Swallow it all." He tells you, somehow still admiring you in this state. "I.. I c-an't." You try to respond with a mouth full of seed, he closes your jaw again. "I said, swallow." Lo'ak's tone is becoming more husk, he tilts your head back, causing the cum in your mouth to reach the back of your throat. You almost cough, but his large hands keep your jaw closed.

He watches as your throat contracts, humming in content as you gulp. You look at him, eyes puffy and red from crying. "I don't care if you're tired, we aren't done yet." He reaches to wipe your cheek, beaming down at you. "I'm gonna keep this pussy full of my cock all week."

[issi-loves-dannyric]

Was it really a mistake?

LH44 x Reader

-pretending he doesn’t own his Monaco home

Warning: shitty writing and rushed since I’m at work

I’ll fix it when I get home

Was supposed to just be a simple hook up, that’s all. Following him around the world was simply because they were just friends before this mistake. Not y/ns words but his words, the next morning exactly. Y/n knew she had feelings for Lewis but never got the chance to act on them so she hid them.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The Monaco sun coming through the curtains of the hotel room Y/n happened to be staying in. Feeling a weight on her stomach she looked over to see a shirtless Lewis. Laying there for a minute thinking about what happened last night.

They were at the club drinking nonstop, dancing together with their bodies pressed against each other, then kissing each other in the elevator like the kisses were air, suddenly in his room stripping clothes off each other.

The movement of his arm breaks Y/N out of her thoughts. “Fuck” he says rubbing his face.

“Yeah” she mumbles shifting upwards, Lewis following same movements but with sheets to her chest.

“This was a mistake” he mutters grabbing his phone checking social media to make sure no one saw.

“Mh” was the only response she could from feeling like he’s sticking pins in her chest.

Moving to the side of the bed, she grabs her shirt that was on the ground to get dressed. The faster she’s out of there, the better.

“No one posted anything about us being together since it’s a normal occurrence” he says still on his phone. Holding my heels and phone in one hand as I open the door to leave.

“I’ll see you later?” He questions looking up at her as she pauses facing the door.

“Probably” she says weakly before making her way to where she was staying, thankfully only a floor below.

That had been over 2 months ago and basically the last time they spoke. Lewis tried to reach out for her to join him during races again like nothing happened. At first she contemplated whether that would be good for her, ultimately deciding that it was a bad idea. She was going to stay in paris away from him for as long as possible. The no contact will cause her to lose feelings…or she hoped. Seeing paparazzi catching Lewis making out with another woman dug the knife even deeper.

“Y/n, get dressed” Lily says walking in her apartment.

“No, why?” She stubbornly said still watching the show playing.

“Because you been here moping around for the past week. Let’s go party, you never get to see me now that you stopped traveling with…” she trails off

“I’m not moping, just don’t have the energy to party now”

“Sounds like moping to me, let’s go now” she demands turning off the show. Y/n rolls her eyes but does as she’s told.

“Look hot” Lily yells from the other room.

Lilymhe story

Caption: guys help I lost Y/n in the club

LewisHamilton replied: what club are you even at??

Seen

Lilymhe

Caption: Nvm found her…

Danielricciardo: 10/10 would do it again

Story Seen by LewisHamilton

Y/nofficial

Liked by LandoNorris, DanielRicciardo, Lilymhe, and 1,800,540 others

I don’t remember who I kissed but would do it again

Lilymhe: I don’t remember either but crying cause it wasn’t me

-Alex_Albon: uh hello?

-Lilymhe: not about you

-y/nofficial: not about you, go away

-alex_albon: wow that’s…insane

Danielricciardo: I think we were at the same club…

-y/nofficial: wait really, I barely remember last night

-danielricciardo: and it was me you kissed…

-y/nofficial: omg Danny I’m sorry 😭

-Danielricciardo: you’re a good kisser so that makes up for it.

Liked by Y/nofficial

-user1: UH HELLO NO LEWIS LIKE AND SHE KISSED YOU???

User2: lewy/n gang how we feeling

-user3: love doesn’t exist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Looking at Danny’s comment the night comes back to her.

“Y/n! It’s been a while” Danny says over the music hugging her

“Danny omg yes” she says leaning into his hug

“Where you’ve been? We all miss you.” He asks letting go slightly to look down at her

“Oh yeah kinda fell out with Lewis” she says looking away.

“Wait…you had a crush on him though” he says confused.

“Yeah, well mistakes happened, his words not mine. But we don’t talk and he was seen kissing someone.”

“Let’s take a picture together…kissing. You know to show him what he’s missing”

“That’s insane…let’s do it” she says turning to Lily who’s witnessing the exchange. Pulling out her phone she hands it over to Lily who knows what to do.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It’s not long that her doorbell is going off cause the slight headache to get worse. Groaning she gets the door not looking into the peephole being surprised by Lewis standing in front of her.

“Oh dang what are you doing here” rubbing her forehead to calm the headache down. Moving aside to allow him in.

“You’ve been avoiding me then I see you kissed Daniel”

“Oh” all she can come up with

“That’s all? No explanation?” He says sitting on her couch.

“Fine you want an explanation!” She groans crossing her arms over her chest before continuing, “I had feelings for you, we hooked up and you said it was a mistake so I distanced myself then you were seen kissing someone.”

“What?” He whispers looking down.

“Yeah everyone else knew about the feelings, including Danny. So he kissed me to get back at you” she finished explaining while staring at his shocked state.

“You had feelings?”

“Yup” she says monotonously.

“I fucked up” he says to himself

“Yeah you did.” She says sitting down next to him but still far enough he doesn’t touch her.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s whatever” she says looking forward at the turned off tv.

“No, no it’s not” he sighs looking at the side of her face. Putting his hand under her chin he forces her to look at him. “I love you so much and I’ve known it but was scared to say anything” Leaning towards her, he gently presses his lips to hers. Not a second goes by and she kisses back.

[madammidnightsblog]

Kirisaki Daiichi Edging

Warning : edging, handjob, mommy kink, dacryphilla, slight pain kink, degrading, fingering, gagging, rimming, eating out, vibrator, thigh riding, marking

Hanamiya

"Fuck, Mommy please, shit, please slow down, oh god, please Mommy!" He cried, warm tears falling down his tear-stained face as your hand only pumped his dick faster, giving his angry purplish tip more attention.

The precum and lube made it easier to move your hand on his sensitive cock, loving the high pitch whines and cries from as the pleasure built up quickly. You loved seeing the usually sadistic and cocky man becoming a babbling and crying mess under your touch no matter what you did, it made your pussy clench around nothing. His hands were weakly pushing your hand away, but your free hand was quick to hold his wrists to his chest as your hand only faster. His hips raised while weakly thrusting into your wet fist, but you pulled away which made him whimper and beg you to touch him again. Scoffing at his needy behavior, you decided to smack his dick that stood proudly, and it earned you a sweet mewl along with a sob. It's been an hour of nonstop edging and teasing which he rightfully earned, but they didn't stop him from demanding for more.

"Such an indecisive whore you are. One minute you're telling me to stop then the next you're begging for more. I can't believe how fucking dumb you are to think I would even give in though as if you didn't basically beg for a punishment from your attitude. You're lucky I'm even fucking touching your pathetic dick." You spat with every smack to his dick, and it only made him throw his head back onto your shoulder, moaning like a bitch in heat along with small whines.

"Y-You're acting, shit, like you're..you’re not enjoying this." He moaned as his dick twitched from the arousing abuse you gave it.

Furuhashi

Two fingers of yours were thrusting eagerly in his sopping hole, watching how it fluttered and clenched around your fingers as he held his cheeks apart for you. A ball gag was placed in his mouth as drool dripped from the white gag as moans muffled and vibrated behind it as your fingers curled slightly, hitting his abused prostate. Lust filled eyes watching you as his eyebrows knitted together when your fingers scissor him open ever so slightly before pulling them out which earned you a soft whine from him. His hole fluttered and twitched at the sudden emptiness, and he silently pleaded for something to fill him which you gladly did so by giving his hole a small kiss which made his breath hitch before you pushed your tongue into him. Your tongue swirled and probed at his velvety walls that had his hips jolting away but pushing back on the small muscle as airy groans behind the gag filled the room. His eyes were blinking away the tears that formed as your tongue was massage his swollen gland which made his toes curled in arousal.

"Mmh!" He moaned as his nails dug into the fat of his ass to keep him grounded, his knuckles turning white along with his nails that where pressing crescents into his skin.

Pulled back you teasingly licked at his hole with a giggle, "You're so cute." You purred before shoving your tongue back at it, teasing his walls by swirling your wet muscle as the taste of the strawberry lube filled your senses.

Hara

"You like that huh?" You moaned as you pressed the vibrator to his leaking tip which he dumbly nodded.

His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to focus on not cumming yet despite your other hand fondling his balls which had him on edge, "Like it a lot! I like it a lot, Mama!" He moaned as the vibrator was trailing down his shaft and balls before pressed against his twitching hole since his legs were forced open by your knees.

Seeing him twitching and moaning so much, you knew he was close to cumming so you lowered the volume of the toy before drawing circles on his balls to get a soft grunt. He loved his balls being played with so you were making sure they got a lot of attention while leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pushing his bangs back to see his eyes slowly opening to stare up at you in lust. He whimpered for a proper kiss so you pulled him into a soft kiss, lips slowly moving in sync which he moaned into it as you dragged the vibrator up his base back to his tip and smeared the beads of precum that was bubbling up. Pulling away, Hara licked away the strings of saliva before biting his lip as you tell him how pretty he looked right now.

Yamazaki

"Mommy.. Mommy.." He whines as he grinded down on your thigh, dragging his cock painfully slowly against your leg in an attempt to edge himself.

He was pent up from practice and games. He needed to do something to get him off and what better way than riding his Mommy's thigh that he loved so much. Your mouth was busy kissing his neck and shoulders as your hands held his hips to help him and he melted into your touch so easily which made him desperate to make you tell him how much of a good boy he was, he was in desperate need to be called your good boy. His hips moved faster as your teeth brushed against his collar bone before you sucked on the soft skin. Pooling of precum on your thigh made you coed when you pulled away and watched how his face became a dazed and needy expression as he looked at you for any praise which you happily gave.

"My good boy using Mommy to get off, hm? Using my thigh to feel good just like a good boy would." You cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his nose which made him almost cum on spot from

[bleedingoptimism]

The Stray

part four

“What… are you doing?” Eddie asks him softly, afraid of the answer as if he can’t already tell. 

Steve sniffs and looks at him with an apologetic smile, a single tear hanging off his long eyelashes.

“I talked to Robin. I told her the truth. She wants me to go live with her.” 

Right. Robin. The best friend who lives across the fucking country while she’s finishing a master’s or something. The one Steve didn’t want to find out the truth because he didn’t want her to worry. The only family he has left. Eddie had talked with her once or twice on the phone, Steve told her they were roommates… She seemed nice. He kind of hates her now.

“You want to leave.” He doesn't mean to sound so intense but he can’t help himself. His whole world is turning on its axis. Just like that first morning when he got home to find Steve in his kitchen. 

He hadn’t even thought of the kitchen as his in such a long time. It was theirs. Steve’s and Max’s and Eddie’s. Their kitchen.

Why would he leave?

“No!” Steve tells him taking a step closer and shaking his head, “No, but…” He crosses his arms around himself and does that little shrug of his, “It’s been months, Eddie! And I’m not any closer to finding a job or fending for myself! I can’t keep living off of you! Not when-” But he cuts himself and shakes his head again hugging himself harder.

“You are not! You are so much help! And you make us happy and money it’s not a problem-” Eddie tries to assure him.

“But it is! It is for me! I can’t-” Steve frowns at him and Eddie quickly lifts the notebook back from the floor and walks inside.

“What if I gave you a job?” He asks, a little desperate.

Steve's frown deepens as he looks confused at his notebook in Eddie’s hands, “What?”

“I- I’m sorry I found your notebook and I read your songs and they are so good Steve-” He grabs Steve’s hand and gives the notebook back, “Corrored Coffin could hire you as a songwriter! Or I could put you in contact with my agent and-”

Steve throws the notebook into his open bag and takes a step away from Eddie, he covers his face with his hands and moves them up to his hair, tugs on it. And Eddie fumbles in place because he doesn't know where he went wrong.

“So you- you and Max, you- help me and take care of me and give me support and a family, a ho- a home. And now you want to give me a job?! Eddie I- it’s too much. I can’t-” And whatever he was going to say gets lost behind his hands as he covers his face again, shoulders shaking and taking short intakes of air.

Eddie steps right back into Steve’s space and holds him by the shoulders, hands going up and down in a soothing motion, “Woah, puppy, yes, you can! Of course, you can! I’m not offering it, I’m asking you. I need you.”

Hiccuping, Steve slowly moves his hands away from his face, he blushes and his eyes search Eddie’s as he wipes his tears away pointlessly, since more keep falling nonstop.

“Why do you call me that?” He asks seemingly out of nowhere.

Eddie is so thrown back he chuckles, “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks, moving a strand of hair away from Steve’s eyes. He knows he doesn’t, he’s been calling him that for months, and Steve blushes and bites his lips like he’s holding back a whimper every. single. time. It drives Eddie insane. But he’s never asked him why before.

Steve shakes his head and bites his lip, “Why puppy?” he asks.

Maybe it’s not the confession he was hoping for, but still, Eddie tries to lay it all out there. Instead of answering why he calls him ‘puppy’, he answers why he’s in love with him.

“Because you are cute and kind and bubbly. Because your smile is so bright and sincere when you see us, you make coming home the best part of the day. Because your happiness is contagious, your hair is soft and wavy. Because you are bad at taking care of yourself and always put everyone else’s needs before your own. Because you sing like an angel and you are so pretty it makes me want to cry. Puppy.”

Steve blinks and Eddie caresses under his eye, wiping another tear away, “Not because I'm a stray?” Steve murmurs under his breath and before Eddie can answer, Steve grabs Eddie’s hands away from his face but moves a little closer and holds them between their chests.

He shakes his head with a little frown between his brows, “I lied, I do mind when you call me that. It makes me want to do stupid things.”

“Like what?” If he could move closer he would, but right now they are toe to toe.

“Like fall in love with you.” Steve says looking right into his eyes, “Like stay.”

“Fuck, Steve would you?” Eddie whines and lets go of their entwined hands to grab at Steve’s waist and pull him closer, “Would you stay?”

Steve keeps his hands over Eddie’s chest, one palm over his heart and there’s no doubt he can feel how hard his heart is beating right now, “Eddie, I don’t need-”

“I know you don’t, of course you don’t. But I want it.” Eddie interrupts him. And this is it. This is where he comes clean.

“I want you. I want to take care of you, to touch you, to make you feel good, to keep you close and safe. To give you things and stop you from working too hard and remind you when you haven't eaten all day or not to work out too much or forget to take your jacket when it’s cold. I want you to wear my jacket when it’s cold.” 

Finally, Steve’s hands move from his pecs to his shoulders and he circles Eddie’s neck with his arms, the heat of his body warming Eddie from head to toe.

“That sounds like so much work. I’d be so needy,” he whispers shyly, a little unsure. But there’s a glint in his eyes, and Eddie knows he is already in.

“I want you needy,” Eddie says, his lips almost touching Steve’s, “I want to be what you need.”

Steve does whimper at that but he doesn’t move closer. He’s waiting for Eddie to kiss him first but Eddie needs to know. Needs to know if Steve’s still going to leave.

“Puppy, please. Stay.” He begs.

A whine and nod is all he needs.

fin

part 1: 🎸

part 2: 🐾

part 3: 📓

part 4: you are here!

coffee?☕🥐💕

[bisexual-apocalypse]

Stressful Situations

Hello! The fic below the cut was written by the lovely @suueeeeeee ! They messaged me asking if I would be willing to edit and post this for them and after reading this delightful fic I had to say yes!

To the 2 people who requested fics! They are in the works but may take a little longer as I'm leaving for the weekend! Thank you so much for the love and support y'all!!

It was yet another day, another rehearsal and another stressful session of Andrew and the band trying their best to make sure they’re all set for today’s concert.

Ever since (y/n) had started to accompany Andrew on tour, she’s been nothing but a delight in everyone’s eyes. She made sure they all ate, stayed hydrated, and well-rested and genuinely cared for them as if she was their mother.

She sat down on the side watching them with those eyes that said ‘I’m so fucking proud’. She enjoyed every part of this tour, everything about it made her happy. She loved Andrew and therefore watching him do what really makes him happy tickled her insides and made her all giddy.

She noticed how on edge he was today, and how he was taking it out on everyone else. She felt bad for everyone but she bad for him specifically. Poor lad’s been extremely tired and exhausted. Anyone would be the same if they’d been touring nonstop for almost 2 months now, and having to put so much energy into shows every couple of days.

She felt bad for Andrew but also for the band, they were trying their best but for some reason something was messed up every now and then which resulted in Andrew cursing loudly, not at anyone in particular but just out of frustration.

She sighed and got up, heading towards him. She placed a hand on his back, stroking it softly.

“Love, take it easy, don’t stress yourself much, it’ll be okay.”

She says with a soft smile attempting to comfort him and calm him down a little bit. She felt a vein was about to pop in his forehead and he’d get a headache from frowning so much. He looked up at her with a blank expression.

“(Y/n), please. The last thing I need is distractions. Don’t tell me what to do, we have shit to get done.”

He snapped at her and this was the first time within their 9 month relationship that he had done something like this. She was taken back a little. This attitude definitely was weird cause Andrew never behaved this way even in times he was stressed out the most. She gulped and nodded her head, fighting off the tears.

“Yes yes, of course. I apologize, ehm- I’ll just wait in one of the dressing rooms, sorry guys.”

She looks at them with a sad smile and Alex turns to Andrew with the angriest glare.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Alex spit at Andrew and slung off his guitar then followed her immediately. They weren’t particularly close but he appreciated her taking care of Andrew and of the whole band. The woman was sweet and kind and it hurt him to see Andrew speak to her that way. He ran after her and he could see her shoulders shaking which confirmed his thoughts that she was crying.

“(Y/n/n), wait.”

He calls for her by her nickname and places a hand on her shoulder. She turns around to look at him with teary eyes and a wet face. She wipes her eyes quickly and sniffs not wanting to seem weak or like a crybaby. He just takes her in for a hug.

“He didn’t mean it, you know he’s crazy about you, but he’s just stressed. It’s not an excuse though. You have every right to be upset just don’t take it to seriously, okay? I’ll kick his ass.”

She pulls back, chuckling a little then nods her head with a sigh.

“I know, Alex. I’m not upset with him, I’m just upset for him. He’s been so exhausted and it’s starting to take a toll on him. I’ll just give him some time. Maybe after tonight’s show he’ll feel a little less stressed.”

Alex blinks at her and wonders how the fuck someone could be this peaceful and kind. Now, Alex was 10x angrier with Andrew for hurting her feelings and he intended to give him a piece of his mind but after tonight’s show. He softly rubs her shoulder.

“Just go get yourself something to drink and don’t think about it much, I’m sure he’ll apologize in no time.”

She nodded and thanked Alex and walks away, but it was obvious she was still upset. He sighed and walked back to the main stage area to find Andrew still strumming the guitar with the same frown except it was now deeper. The tension was too thick and the vibes were really bad unlike how it would normally be. He picked up his guitar again and when Andrew noticed they started rehearsing again.

———————————————————-

One time while performing, Andrew finished his water bottle and he kept on looking around for someone to refill it for him but for some reason everyone was busy with technical difficulties going on so she took it upon herself to get him another water bottle. She didn’t think much of walking on stage as she just wanted to get Andrew his water cause poor thing’s vocal cords must’ve been screaming for help.

When she walked on stage, everyone was confused, including Andrew himself. She handed him the water bottle, took the empty one with a smile. His heart exploded at that moment and he instantly reached out and hugged her which caused her to blush deeply. He was openly hugging her in front of everyone, which was something she wasn’t used to, which also caused the fans to go crazy for that moment. After he let go, she ran backstage, but ever since that moment, (Y/n) made an appearance every concert when handing Andy his water bottle which was always thanked by a side hug.

Andrew was thinking to himself, would she do their ritual tonight even though he was a total ass towards her? He openly admitted to himself that he was mean and rude towards her, but his energy lately had been so low. He’s starting to get exhausted from the constant traveling and performing. Therefore, he decided to get her some flowers and take her out for dinner after they’re done with the show. However, he was upset at the fact that there’ll be no water bottle from her tonight which will get the fans talking and it’ll just create a hassle he’s in no mood for.

Much to his surprise, amidst his performance, he heard loud screams and cheers which confused until he felt someone place a water bottle down on the floor in front of him and he looked and saw his beautiful partner. She looked up at him with a tight smile then walked back. At this point, his heart exploded with so much love for that woman and his love for her grew a million times.

——————————————————-

The show was an absolute success, the vibes were very nice despite everything happening prior to the performance and everyone was happy with how everything came out.

Everyone was putting their things back in place and was making sure they’re all set to retire to their rooms to relax after a long, stressful and emotionally draining day.

Meanwhile, (y/n) was in the tour bus, packing a small backpack to spend the night in a hotel. She kept reminding herself that he never meant it and it was his tired mind talking but she just couldn’t accept the fact that someone spoke to her that way in front of the whole band. Had they been alone, she would have just ignored it, joked about it and teased him until he became less grumpy but the fact that he snapped at her like that, for some, reason felt humiliating.

She walked out of the tour bus when Alex was going in. He saw her bag then frowned.

“Where are you going? It’s late.”

He asked her, feeling genuinely worried. He started thinking the worst. Is she going to leave Andrew? Is she going to fly back to Dublin for a break? She was the one mostly keeping their times fun on this exhausting tour leg and particularly keeping Andrew’s strength to keep going despite the exhaustion.

She sighs, looking away, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m spending the night in the hotel around the corner, Alex. I don’t think I could be around Andrew tonight. I might say something I regret and make things worse.”

“Did you at least let him know?” He knows he can’t change her mind but he also thought this was a good solution cause as chill as they both seemed to be. When they get angry, they’re monsters.

“Well- that’s going to be your job. Don’t you dare tell him where I am, Alex. Just tell him I’m fine. Let me torture him a little.”

She grins evilly and Alex lets out a laugh. That was her typical behavior, managing to make fun and humor out of dark situations.

“Alright, but let me know when you check in and come back first thing in the morning.” He pulls her in for hug then lets her go before watching her walk away.

————————————————————

She got settled in and changed into her night shirt, getting into bed. She decided to scroll down through instagram for a little, seeing that Andrew posted snippets from today’s concert as he does every time. She liked them but it was obvious to her that he wasn’t really in his normal state. She pouted, starting to feel guilty for leaving him when he’s feeling like this. She was supposed to support him through everything and the first time he does something like this, she reacts like this? Then again, he was rude towards her in front of other people. Her mind was racing with thoughts and she was feeling as if she was drowning in this dilemma when she heard knocking at the door.

She curses to herself, knowing it’s probably Andrew, cause Alex couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Deep inside, she was hoping he’d come to her. When she peaked through the door, it indeed was the one and only Andre Hozier-Byrne. She sighs, opening the door and steps to the side, nodding for him to come inside.

He walks in silently and she sees the flowers in his hands. He got her Verbenas, her favorite. He clears his throat and hands them to her.

“Ehm- I got you these.”

Truth be told, he didn’t know what to say, as the situation was awkward and it was the first time they'd dealt with something like this. They both were really chill and peaceful, when they disagree about something they just leave it and agree to disagree without forcing their own views on each other or anything like that. They both always treated each other with respect whether they were alone or with other people. She accepts the flowers, placing them on the bed next to her where she sits as he takes a seat in front of her on the small sofa.

“Love, I’m incredibly sorry. I know what I did was wrong, but I’m just so down, exhausted. I don’t feel the best. I know that this isn’t an excuse and you have every right to be mad, but please, don’t leave me.”

She could hear the desperation in his voice and she looks at him, surprised.

“Andrew, are you insane? Why the fuck would I leave you? Yes, I’m upset. I understand your point, but still upset. For you to apologise and acknowledge your mistake is more than enough. It’d take much much more than this for me to leave you. You’re stuck with me.”

She grins, sitting next him and taking him into her arms. He cuddles against her, resting his head on her chest, enjoying the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair. This was the only thing he needed. To be alone with his beloved after a long day, wrapped around each other.

[halfmoondaze]

Jack request

Jack and reader get into a heated argument about something small. Jack can’t control his emotions which leads him to raise his voice and say things to reader and crosses the line with his hurtful words. He realizes how bad they were and quickly apologizes but reader kicks him out the house. He ends up at urban’s house upset and cries so much out of guilt. Days pass and he’s calling, texting reader in hopes to talk but she ignores him. He finally shows up at y/n house and tries to take accountability for what he said to reader.

Second Chances

Y/N and Jack had just gotten home and Y/N was usually quiet. 

“C’mon babe. I know something’s bothering you” Jack said as he entered the front door of their shared apartment.

“I said I’m fine” 

“You haven’t uttered a word since we left the restaurant” he said as he followed her behind.

“Jack just let it go” 

“No” he crossed him arms. 

“No?” 

“We’re going to talk about it, because if there’s something that bothered you, I need to know” 

“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong? This, whatever we have going on is wrong” 

“You mean us?” he asked hurt. 

“Is there even an us? Because being your secret does not translate to a serious relationship” 

He sighed. “Babe you know it’s not that easy”

“Yeah but I don’t think it’s supposed to be this hard”. 

“I know baby” his voice softened as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “I just need more time” 

Y/N squirmed from his embrace and walked away. 

“Ugh! You always say that” Y/N stormed out of the living room into their shared bedroom. 

Jack followed behind. 

“Ok, what is it you want from me?” he said defensively. 

“Um I don’t know” she said sarcastically. “Maybe for you to claim me as your girlfriend instead of pretending you’re single to the rest of the world!” 

“And risk my career? Because that would make you happy, huh?” 

“What? No!”

“I can’t believe you’re even asking me this” 

“You know what?” he put his arms up dramatically. “I don’t need this. I can get any girl I want, so I don’t know why I settled for you!” 

“What?” she asked in a low voice taken back by his comment. 

His words cut deep. 

In that moment he realized what he had just said. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean that” 

Y/N put her hands up. “I don’t wanna hear it, Jack. Just leave” 

“Y/N-”

“Now!” 

Feeling defeated, Jack took his things and left. 

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions and broke down crying as the sound of Jack’s footsteps faded.

After crying for what felt like an eternity, Y/N’s eyes were swollen and her body felt drained. With exhaustion settling in, she mustered the strength to drag herself to bed. 

She curled up in her side of the bed, her body shaking with sobs every now and then as she recalled their argument in her head. Eventually, her breathing slowed down and she succumbed to falling asleep. 

The next morning, Y/N woke up, to the other side of the bed empty. The only remain of Jack’s presence was in his scent that lingered in the sheets. 

To her relief, Urban had texted her last night. Jack had stayed the night at his place, indicating he was safe. 

The following days, Jack blew her phone nonstop with calls, voicemails, and messages; which went unanswered. 

Then one night, Jack who couldn’t bare the distance between them, decided to show up to her doorstep.

Y/N opened the door and was taken back by the sight in front of her. 

“Jack” 

“I know you hate my guts right now. Rightfully so. I shouldn’t have said those awful things. I didn’t mean that.  The moment those words left my mouth, I know I fucked up. There’s no one else I rather be with than with you. You didn’t deserve any of that. And even thought I failed to show you otherwise that night, I love you and I miss waking up next to you. I’m so sorry”

Her initial anger softened by Jack’s sincere words. 

“I appreciate your apology. But you really hurt me Jack” 

“I know” he paused. “And I hate myself for being the reason for your tears. You mean the world to me and if you give me another chance, I promise I would make sure you never feel that way again because of me” 

Y/N silently nods. 

“C’mere” she says. 

Jack wasted no time and embraced her while repeatedly kissing the top of her head. 

“I love you”

Y/N looked up at him and smiled. 

“I love you too” 

[ah0minecchi]

BETTER THAN THE REST…★ (knb x fem!reader)

index ☆ next chapter →

NOW PLAYING! 💿 let me love you - ariana grande

PROLOGUE: “if it feels right, promise i don’t mind.”

<𝟑.𖥔 ݁ ˖

“CMOOON Y/N I DON’T WANNA BE ALL BY MYSELF!!” momoi, my best friend form college, practically screamed through her phone and into my ear.

“you’ll be with your highschool friends, what will i do there? plus, i’m not in the mood to be honest…” i calmly responded. honestly why does she want me to go to that stupid party anyways. i don’t know anybody there besides her. “i can introduce you to my friends! they’re soooo nice i swear! aaaand they’re tall basketball players…” she added suggestively to try and convince me. like a group of men would convince me to do anything… “but tetsu is-“ “yours. i know momoi…” i completed her sentence while giggling a bit. she’s been talking about this ‘tetsu’ nonstop ever since i met her.

“do you have anything better to do anyways?” sounded mean but i knew she asked sincerely. “mmm not really. just cry myself to sleep and watch saiki k.” i responded nonchalantly. “goshhhh please don’t tell me you’re still crying about your ex, y/n… it’s been like AGES since you two broke up.” she whined “two weeks momoi. it’s been two weeks.” i corrected her. “MY POINT EXACTLY!!! maybe you can get your mind off of him tonight… and who knows? someone may help you with that…” she tried to cheer me up, adding a hint of mischief by the end of her sentence.

she was right, i have been digging myself in a hole for two weeks, maybe it is time to get my mind on something else… maybe someone else… just for the night.

“you know what? fuck it, i’ll go with you, but let me borrow that shiny dress of yours.” i said suddenly feeling confident. “DEAL!!” i’ll pick you up at 10. see yaaaa luv yaaaa!!” momoi replied a little too excited, making me laugh before she hung up.

maybe it’s not too bad of an idea. i haven’t been too a party in quite some time, and i’m craving vodka shots and some dancing. even some male attention wouldn’t hurt me… just to boost my ego of course.

i look at my phone. damn, almost 9pm, i should take a shower and pretend that i don’t look like shit right now. i showered, put on some sweatpants while i didn’t have momoi’s dress, did my makeup and straightened my hair. “ate.” i commented out loud looking at myself in the mirror.

9:45. i still have some time to laze around and do nothing. i started wondering how tonight would go. who even are momoi’s friends. curiosity got the best of me, so i opened instagram and started stalking through momoi’s following. i don’t really know their names, just heard of this ‘tetsu’, and momoi’s childhood friend aomine.

i typed his name into the search bar and a private account popped up. fuck, now i can’t go on with my daily dose of stalking. i take a close look at his profile picture. he’s not bad looking at all, but considering he had 2.685 followers and just 108 following, i could assume his ego was through the damn roof.

i gave up on him and look for this ‘tetsu’ boy. kuroko tetsuya was his full name apparently. another private account. why does everyone now seem to be so fucking misterious?. he had a small following and very few followers, seemed low profile. his profile picture showed him smiling with a puppy on top of his head… kinda cute.

i almost got a heart attack when my doorbell started ringing on full fucking blast. it was momoi for sure. i opened the door to my apartment seeing her in a cute black tight dress and a leather jacket. she gave me no time to say hello as she handed me the shiny dress i asked her for and told me to ‘hurry tf up cause the uber would be arriving in no time.’ i hurried to my bathroom, put on the dress, and settled for a pair of converse, since this wasn’t really formal or anything. i took my purse, my phone, and ran to the door to meet my friend there. “stunning! you’ll have all my friends drooling over you! except tetsu, he’s-“ “YOURS I KNOW! and thanks bestie, you look beautiful as well.” i laughed and thanked her.

we got off the elevator and the uber was already there. we then head off to this oh so exciting party… maybe i am excited tho.

“AOMINE COME MEET US AT THE FRONT DOOR WE’RE ALMOST THERE” momoi shouted excitedly into her screen. “jeez… okay just stop screaming into my ear for fucks sake.” the boy responded. he had a deep voice and a tired tone. kinda suits his face.

we finally arrived, when we got to ring the bell, the door opened, showing someone neither of us were expecting.

“kise?!”

a/n: FIRST CHAPTER DONE YESSIR!! ngl i’m excited for what i have planned for this.

LIKES, COMMENTS & REBLOGS are veeerrryy appreciated !! <3

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Tagging @aitathrowaway1234 to know when it gets posted

AITA for trying to set a friend up with her crush (and having it backfire horrendously)?

I (F28) am married with my wonderful husband Lucas (M31) for eight years now and I'm convinced he is my soulmate. I am as in love with him as I was all those years ago and I'm convinced I'm the luckiest woman on Earth for having him in my life. Yes, I'm cheesy like that.

Thing is, because I'm so happy with Lucas, I want to see all of my friends equally happy and in love, so I have a tendency to play matchmaker sometimes (only with their permission, of course). A lot of these friends are in happy relationships with the people I set them up to, so I can say confidently I'm good at matchmaking.

Recently my friend Darcy (F32) commented on how she had this huge crush in one of my husband's friends, Peter (M30). I got super excited because Darcy went through a bad divorce around 5 years ago and she haven't expressed an interest in anyone since then. Since Peter always seemed to be a cool guy, I asked her if she wanted my help to get closer to him. She said yes.

For context, Lucas was never a fan of me playing matchmaking for people, mostly because he thought I could get in trouble for it. He knows it's something I like to do, though, so he never tried to make me stop it, he just always made it clear he wants no involvement in this. Since I knew I would have no help from him, I started to invite Peter myself to hangouts with me, Lucas and Darcy, and I would go out of my way to talk to him and compliment Darcy in our conversations, saying how amazing she was and listing her qualities etc. In our hangouts, Darcy and Peter would talk nonstop and, in my head, my little matchmaking plan was going smoothly.

Until this one night last week when we went out for a bar. Lucas had a long day at work and was feeling really sore (he has a bunch of disabilities that make him stay most of his time on a wheelchair and also make him feel a lot of pain), so he decided to stay at home, but encouraged me to go out with Darcy and Peter as planned. I didn't want to leave him alone, so it was then that I had an idea: I would go out with them, stay half an hour and leave, saying Lucas wasn't feeling great and I didn't want to leave him alone, which wasn't even an excuse. So I could go home and cuddle with my husband on the couch watching some Netflix while Darcy and Peter would be out just the two of them for the first time. Perfect plan, right?

So I went out with them and, around ten minutes after we arrived at the bar, Darcy went to the bathroom and that's when things started to get weird.

Peter was very straightfoward; he said he knew what I was doing and that I was very smart to keep inviting Darcy to have an excuse to be around him, and now that Lucas finally wasn't with us we could "get rid" of Darcy somehow and go somewhere more private. I was so shocked that I started to laugh and I think he saw this as an encouragement, because suddenly his hand was on my thigh and he was way into my personal space. I pushed him off, kind of screamed "What the fuck?!", got up and left. I was in my car on the way home when I remembered of Darcy. I don't know why she left my mind like that, I guess I was too shocked to think of anything else at the moment, but when I parked at home my phone was full of texts from her, asking what was going on and why everyone had left. I just texted her an apology and promised I would explain everything to her on the following day, because I wasn't in the right headspace at the moment.

When I went home Lucas asked me what was wrong and that was enough for me to start to cry. I told him everything and he just held me and comforted me, he didn't really say anything because he knew I just needed him to be there for me at that moment, I guess. On the following day, thought, we talked a lot about what happened and I could see he was really upset about Peter. He reassured me I didn't do anything wrong, though, but he confessed he didn't like my matchmaking habits because he knew this could happen and he didn't want to see me hurt like this.

After that, I texted both Peter and Darcy. To Peter I simply said I never had any kind of interest in him, that I was simply trying to help a friend out because I thought he was a good person but that was clearly not the case. I also told him to stay away from me and my husband and blocked him. To Darcy, I just told her what happened and apologized. She never answered me, so I guess she blames me.

Lucas keeps insisting this wasn't my fault, but I can't help but think that, if I didn't got involved, this would never have happened, and maybe I should stop meddling in other people's love lives, even if they want me to do it.

So, AITA for trying to help a friend out?