#stylist!reader

[the-whispers-of-death]

When Actor! Stone finally worked up the courage to ask his stylist to put him in a dress for the upcoming event, they scoffed and sneered. Naturally, Kali fired them on the spot and introduced Stone to Stylist! Reader, who took one look at the huge, burly figure that is Stone and said “You would fucking rock a gown,” and immediately got to work hand-making a slutty dress with a slit on each side. 🫧

I at first thought the stylist in the beginning was Stylist!Reader and I got very scared and then I read the entire ask.

Actor!Stone would rock a gown, you're so right. He goes out to the event in the slutty gown you made him with Actor!Kali on his arm looking very dapper in the suit you made him. They sing your praises in the interviews, Kali twirls Stone around so the camera can see the gown from every angle.

You did such a great job that the media sings your praises in the news the next day, gushing about how well Stone and Kali looked in your clothes. And perhaps, your clientele goes up, every other celebrity wanting you to design their clothes for their next events.

[didyoulookforme]

need you tonight

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au as briefly described in this tag)

warning: 18+, smut. probably grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

“sorry—‘m sorry”

you’re pretty sure those are some of the only words that stumble past his lips as you go down on him. perhaps an apology for his ring getting tangled in your hair, trying to keep you close. but to be honest, the more cynical part of you hopes it's pure regret for fucking someone else just hours before.

it was not strange for you to crave a nicotine hit at this time, more often than not stepping out the bus to smoke a cigarette or two prior to calling it a night, that first inhale always making your head buzz a little as the all-too-familiar warmth runs through your limbs, a much welcome sensation to try leave the tiredness behind.

every day was like clockwork. bus arrives at the venue. stage and lighting are assembled. band soundchecks. you have a quick dinner. then it's time for him. after all, it's what you're here to do, work as matty's own personal stylist during the tour.

you had no clue luck had finally struck when you opened those dms earlier this year.

(13:43) trumanblack: hey (13:43) trumanblack: i found your profile via my friend (13:44) trumanblack: i really like your style n you look pretty cool

(13:58) trumanblack: sorry if this sounds creepy. promise i'm a real human tho (13:58) trumanblack: x

you didn’t recognize him. however from a swift scroll through the feed, you gathered that his name was matty. apparently the front man of a seemingly popular band with a fanbase head-over-heels lusting for them.

mostly him, though.

you couldn't help but gaze at his lanky frame and pale skin adorned with ink, zooming in on certain posts to try decipher what they were. he definitely had a point of view when it came to dressing himself—sometimes a bit messy and chaotic, but for the most part pleasing to the eye, a quality you appreciated given your line of work. his seemingly playful demeanour across photos made it seem like he was perhaps younger than you, this time a google search confirming that, in fact, he was born three years later. april 1989.

countless press photos appeared under his name and you spent the next half hour swiping back and forth between articles, finding him intriguing enough and giving you the surge of confidence to respond.

and that's basically why you're leaning against this tour bus now. the friendly banter with a stranger led you to travel the world and do what you enjoy most. the fancy clothes. the colourful glitz. the wild after parties. this stuff that you always dreamed about was somehow now your own reality that you often had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't just passed out cold on the sofa back home.

however, this almost too good to be true gig also led you to fall for a guy, the same one whose collar you straighten almost every night.

the most fucking cliché story. some assistant falling for her boss just months after being hired. it actually makes you feel sickeningly stupid, embarrassed. still you can't seem to stop digging yourself deeper into a hole with every hour you spend caring for him, not being made any better by matty being nothing but affectionate towards you behind closed doors.

you know he’s the reason your nicotine addiction has increased tenfold, always finding yourself alone at this hour enveloped in smoke, part of you still wanting to pretend you do so to numb out the sleepless nights. took you a while to finally admit you did it as an attempt to cloud out any thought of him.

tonight’s really no different.

you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for the cold to start settling on your skin. perhaps it’s your queue to stop and go back in. you snub out your cigarette, watching the red embers fade just as a car rounds the corner. it halts to a stop only a few meters away, and you catch the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the murmur of voices filling the night air.

then you hear it. that unmistakable high pitched laugh that can pull you awake in a single second. him.

and, of course. you immediately know why.

you’d learned pretty early on this was a common end to the routine: matty picks up a girl at the gig, goes fucks her somewhere, and has her drop him off right after.

reminds you of the number of red and purple bruises you often cover up before his show. it wasn't rocket science figuring out the cause, yet he never really addresses it, choosing silence and averting his gaze as your fingertips dab foundation on tender skin, temporarily hiding any remains of nights prior.

you didn't even notice your eyes had closed. not until the car door slams shut, jerking them open just in time to see him blow a kiss in her direction. your heart fractures at the sweet gesture, but only hurts for a second before he's walking towards you, his stupid wide grin mending it better.

"didn't expect to see you out here.”

open button-up untucked. blazer over his shoulder. dark curls frizzy and disheveled. everything making it crystal clear he's just slept with someone else and still not you.

"only making sure you make it back alright so i can tuck you in." of course, you wish that were the case.

it's only a few seconds until he settles next to you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. soft lips gently brushing against your skin. the way he always greets you—but only when no one's watching.

"aren't you sweet, then?"

"trying my best." given the circumstances, it's pretty much all you can do.

he pulls out his beat-up cigarette box, flicking it open and offering you one. you decline, showing him the smothered tip of your own before finally tossing it aside.

"guess it must've been a pretty good time today," you lick the pad of your thumb before rubbing a lipstick mark off his jaw. it’s always ruby red or deep maroon. those same tones which he'll compliment you on. a similar shade you left on his lips the only time your mouth had been on his.

you finish cleaning the stains off his skin, matty murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ for having done so. it’s your turn to kiss his temple. “‘tis my job, you know? making sure you look good.” you should be mad, upset, have some sort of negative emotion. instead, you can’t help but have your heart intermittently flutter when he returns a sheepish smile, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close.

neither of you say much, but that’s alright. you rest your head on the crook of his neck, noticing how nice it feels. how nice he feels. you see the chipped nail polish on his fingers. the wrinkled fabric of his flowered shirt. the dark hair down his torso. the unbuckled belt at his waist. it’s only then that jealousy creeps itself back in and suddenly your shoes seem all that more interesting than the man standing by your side.

"why do you do it, matty?" the sweetness of your voice never fails to mask the envy you actually feel. or at least you hope it does.

"hmm?"

"the sleeping around.” you finally lift your head to look at him, surprised that his pretty eyes were already on you. the toothy smirk is gone, though, replaced by a thin, expressionless line at his lips. he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you know that. thus why you’re surprised when he actually starts to talk.

"dunno, really.” he lights up another cigarette and you notice as he gets lost in his mind. “i mean, it’s kinda difficult to say no to sex or a blowjob when they’re literally throwing themselves at you.” he seemingly tries to joke, but you don’t have time for funny right at this moment.

instead you wonder if it’s actually that easy.

“let me do it, then.”

“so—sorry?” he chokes mid-drag.

“let me give you a blowjob just like those other girls do. just like she did,” you point at the ghost of that green car from before, “ just tonight.”

it’s like his face cannot figure out which expression to land on, flipping between confusion, surprise, and something else that reads between need and desire.

“what the fuck?” his voice is shaky and it stings when he pushes you aside, yet, he doesn’t try hard to put much distance between you two so it’s not difficult to invade his space, standing right in front of him until your face is a breath away from his. large, calloused hands grasp your shoulders tight, halting you from inching closer.

“don’t.”

“what’s the difference between them and myself, then?” seems like a simple enough question to you. “why can they have you and not me?”

but he has no answer, at least not one that he can properly voice. his hold on you starts to lessen, perhaps giving you some permission to let you do whatever you want.

you bring your hands up to his and pull them away, kissing his knuckles before placing them on your waist. an almost incoherent ‘fuck’ leaves his lips, and, as if on cue, his head falls back willingly, giving you the space to kiss his neck. the faint smell of her still on him.

“please let me,” you whisper against his skin.

it’s not even a question at this point.

his fingers dig into your hips as you look at him once more, now noticing a mixture of lust and care in those almond coloured eyes. for a minute there, you get lost in them, admiring how his pupils dilate when your hands find the button of his pants, and how they shrink back as you finally undo the zipper. you don’t want to waste any more time—you’ve already waited too long—so you slide your palm down his pants to grab his half-hard cock, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head when you wrap your fingers around him.

“is this okay?”

you take the buck of his hips as a confirmation, giving you the courage to spread the precum along his length. he feels nice. having him in your hand seems just right and you only hope that he won’t regret this when he wakes up next morning in bed.

tonight is your turn to suck on the skin alongside his jaw, the thought of having to cover your own marks making you smile.

“fuck, baby.”

you’re not sure if he even noticed that sweet name leave his mouth, but you like the sound of it, and it’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

you look up at him once more, his left hand coming to tangle on your head, his other loosely holding his cigarette, almost done and fully forgotten. you kiss his tip, your gaze still not leaving his, thoroughly enjoying yourself as he bites his bottom lip each time your thumb hits that spot under the head of his cock. his scent is almost too much to bear so you take him in one go, feeling his cock twitch inside your mouth. it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and hitting the back of your throat.

the plastic taste of latex is still on his skin. a sad reminder that you weren’t his first tonight. that maybe you are an afterthought. just another girl who he uses to make himself come. but at least it means you get to have him even if it’s just this one time.

matty. that’s all that’s on your mind. once again. somewhat difficult to not think about him when you’re sucking him off, those heavenly sounds coming from his mouth making your own slick drip down your leg.

you pull away to catch your breath, using your hand to keep stroking him, pleasantly surprised when he pulls on your hair each time your red fingernails graze the underside of his cock. you do it again and again until he breaks and fucks your hand, apologizing for not being able to help himself. it’s a sight you’ll commit to memory as long as you’re alive.

now that you’ve had a taste, it’s only so long you can go without having your lips around him. and that’s what you do, take him again, hands urging his hips to fuck your mouth. to fuck himself senseless in the hopes that you’ll be the one he turns to when he needs somebody else. he doesn’t deny your request, throwing away the wasted cigarette to guide you, setting a pace that allows him to stay steady on his feet.

purely drunk on him, you're barely aware when his phone vibrates in his pocket, matty muttering 'sorry' before grabbing and letting it drop onto the grass at your side. nosiness always gets the best of you, so you can't help but glance down, catching sight of a text from an unsaved number asking if he could fuck her again tomorrow.

you feel his hips falter. he knows you've seen it.

“’m sorry.”

this time it's a mix between a cry and a whimper. perhaps he did feel bad. perhaps some part of him did care about you in the way that you needed him to.

you reach back to place your hand on top of his, making him push your head further into him, to thrust into you until tears pool at your lashes just as he spills hard and fast down your throat. his taste overtakes every cell of your being as you swallow, feeling him soften against your tongue before you reluctantly pull away.

you didn’t even realize your knees were so sore until you stand up, not wasting a second to ask him is he's going to see her again the following night.

"do you want me to?" his thumb wipes away some of his cum off the corner of your lip. you reach out to suck it, slowly shaking your head in response.

he laughs nervously as his mouth clashes against yours, stealing both the air from your lungs. this wasn't the first time you’d kissed, but this wasn’t like before. the way he quietly moans against your lips. the softness of his fingers resting on your face. the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he pulls back.

"can i see you tomorrow, then?"

you could’ve sworn you heart stopped. can you truly believe those words after watching him leave you behind all those nights? the soft circles his thumbs draw on your skin do feel sincere, the reassurance you need to perhaps let him in, give him a chance even though you know it’s a slippery one.

it’s your turn to brush your thumb against his mouth, slowly pulling at the bottom lip and watching it bounce back up into place. you kiss him one last time before confirming 'okay', immediately turning to finally head back in. not wanting to linger for too long in case he changes his mind.

you catch his reflection on the mirror, noticing as he tucks himself in, and it’s that slight smile on his face which keeps you awake for hours on end.

-----

for this lovely anon here. thank you for the inspo :) <3

[emphistic]

Écoute Chérie

A/N: grr

<- Series m.list

When a certain someone — specifically a blond male, showed up to Sukuna’s door that next morning holding a wad of cash in his hand, Sukuna wanted nothing more than to sock him in the jaw. But he contained himself, saying, “Keep that shit for yourself. I don’t want it.”

“Oh? You backing out now, Captain?”

“. . .You’re one sick fuck, Zen’in.” He snatched the money out of the younger’s hands, before slamming his door shut.

Pride is a terrible, terrible thing, and Ryomen Sukuna was full of it.

“Oh, my God, girl! I feel like we moved on a little too quickly. Pause: He—you—you guys KISSED? Stop, don’t—don’t play with me right now. I can’t even get a guy to let me cheat off of him on a final, but you kissed someone on the FIRST date. Let me say that again, FIRST date?! As in the first EVER date you two have been on together.”

If you were counting — which you weren’t, this would have been the seventy-ninth time you giggled out loud this evening. You and Nobara were sitting — no, standing, actually, with you leaning forward with your elbows on the counter, and the brunette doing likewise. You decided — well, you were forced — to fill her in on all that happened the day before. You had just gotten off of your shift, and, obviously, were still in your uniform, but Nobara insisted you tell her anyway. She wouldn’t and “couldn’t” wait until you got back to your apartment.

“Yes, Nobs, for the hundredth time. We kissed and even added a little bit of tongue and then he walked me back to my apartment and we fucked all night.”

The look on her face was absolutely priceless, her jaw dropped to the floor and even broke through the tiles and went further beneath the surface. Just kidding; because that’s not possible, but her expression was even more funny after you said, “I’m just messing with you, girl. I have some self-worth left, believe it or not, and I wouldn’t sleep with someone after the first date.”

“Funny how you decided to deny only that part.”

“. . .”

“Don’t—don’t tell me the rest was true. Oh, my God! STOP! I was only kidding; but you—you actually added tongue? What the fuck? And, you just decided to not call me right after? Wow.” Nobara crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air for only a few seconds before she went back to gripping your shoulders and shaking your body. “You are such a freak, my God.”

“He also walked me to my door, y’know. No need to focus on only those parts.” You tried to bring her focus onto that, because you found that part the most adorable.

Truth was, the only reason you didn’t immediately call Nobara that night was because you spent the last few hours of that night screaming into your pillow like a schoolgirl and reminiscing on all that happened.

“You know,” you started, turning to face the man behind you, “you didn’t have to walk me all the way to my door, right? I could’ve just gone by myself.” 

You had insisted and insisted to Sukuna that you would be fine, and that the other residents of the building were friendly and cordial, but Sukuna ignored every one of your pleas and walked right next to you anyway. From the parking lot, to the elevators, and down the hallway, Sukuna never left your side, and actually, was surprisingly nice company. You two talked on the way about how good or bad the food at the game was, how hot and humid it was, how annoying the older gentleman beside your seats was, you two talked plenty enough.

“I know. I wanted to.” Sukuna stopped to lean against the wall beside your apartment, crossing his arms as you pulled out your keys.

“Hey, so, I had a lot of fun today. I guess baseball isn’t as boring as I thought it was,” you laughed, scratching the back of your neck. “Thanks for inviting me.” You had tried to tell him on the car ride to your place, but you chickened out.

Sukuna snorted, “No problem; my pleasure, actually. And, I had a lot of fun, too. I think I enjoyed today more than I would if Yuuji was there instead of you. So thank you for coming.”

“Oh, please. Don’t lie; he’s literally your brother. Besides, Yuuji’s not even here to defend himself. Kinda rude, if I say so myself.”

“I’m not lying, though, really. I enjoyed today. I can’t even remember the last time I was able to leave the house for anything fun and actually, sincerely, enjoy it.” Sukuna moved his head as he spoke, as if in a way to accentuate his point. You found that completely and utterly adorable. Just the thought of you being part of making his day alone made you blush, and you looked away sheepishly.

“I’m glad you had a nice time, Sukuna. And thank you, again, for today.” You caught Sukuna by surprise — beyond surprise, actually — when you cupped his face in your hands and brought your lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss. Mwah! The sound was audible through the night. And it was the sound which replayed over and over in Sukuna’s mind as he lay completely awake for hours past midnight in bed. The only thing he dreamt of — when he eventually fell asleep, that is — was you. You.

Now that he thought of it, there were no words to describe you. No words to describe your beauty, though, ethereal did come close. No words to describe the smile which you gave him when you two passed each other on campus. No words to describe how friendly and comforting the melody of your voice sounded to him; if you were a siren, and he, a pirate, Sukuna would dive headfirst into the water. No words to describe how drunk, how dizzy, how pathetic you made Sukuna, even with mere eye contact. But, there was a word to describe Sukuna.

It’s quite simple, actually.

Sukuna was whipped. Absolutely enamored of you. But. . . Very unfortunate he only noticed now. And, it was such, such a shame that he was also full of pride.

“Okay, that’s so romantic, though! I can’t believe it. My friend is gonna get with the love of her life, and I don’t even know how to turn the stove on. Oh, my God. My friend’s getting with the love of her life. OH, MY GOD!” That was not even close to the last time you would hear Nobara say “Oh, my God” that night.

-

“You wouldn’t happen to . . . y’know . . . have plans . . . this weekend?”

You didn’t know why Sukuna kept on pausing, but you knew it was oddly suspicious.

“And if I did?”

“Then, I wouldn’t ask you to . . . help me . . . with some . . . math.”

“Sukuna, are you okay? You sound like you’re being held at gunpoint.” You crossed your arms, failing to stifle a giggle. You really couldn’t fathom why he was acting so strange. Sukuna couldn’t, either. 

Ever since the day you both went to that baseball game together, Sukuna’s been different, to say the least. And yeah, maybe after kissing someone for the first time changes your behavior towards them, but still, it was strange. 

He wasn’t as cocky when going over his daily feats at basketball practice; he wasn’t as blunt and insulting to freshmans whom you two came across while on campus; he wasn’t as teasing or sharp with his remarks as he usually was; he wasn’t as assertive and casual whilst slinging an arm ‘round your shoulder. He wasn’t him. Then again, Sukuna also didn’t know why he was acting this way.

“I’m . . . fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay. . . Anyways, I am free. So yeah, I can. My place or yours?”

“Ah, you don’t have a lot of good alcohol,” Sukuna tapped his index finger repeatedly on his chin, as if contemplating which location to use was very difficult for someone like him. “I get bored with just water. So, it’ll have to be mine. ‘Sides, I don’t think Gigi likes me that much anyway.”

You laughed. Sukuna wasn’t very keen on having you tutor him while your apparently “murderous” cat was present. Giselle, also known by her nickname ‘Gigi’, was a black-furred breed, with very sharp, untrimmed nails, which proved useful whenever Sukuna came over to hang out with you or do some other shit. Maybe it was because of how provocative Sukuna and his usual cold demeanor were. Maybe it was because of how close Sukuna got to Gigi’s owner whenever you sat down on the couch together. Maybe it was because of the fact Sukuna took your attention off of your so precious cat whenever he stepped foot into the apartment. Maybe it was because Sukuna was just Sukuna. And Gigi didn’t like that one bit.

“Alright, since you’re afraid of a mere feline, which — mind you, is less than a quarter of both your height and size.”

“Well, that feline comes from the depths of Hell. So yeah, excuse me if I prefer to stay sixty miles away from it.”

“Gigi comes from Hell, now? Pfft—she’s probably just excited to see her previous neighbor, then,” you snorted.

Sukuna gave you a side glance, hiding his growing grin. He was not about to openly admit you were even slightly funny. No, he would never give you that kind of satisfaction.

“Okay, so can you tell me what the variable ‘d’ is?” You had explained the formulas as best as you could, even taking it a step further and dumbing it down immensely. Then you left the living room to put away the dishes, leaving the pink-haired male to attempt his assignment on his own. — With some guidance here and there.

Sukuna and you had ordered Chinese, deciding to study while eating. And while your plan for energizing proved to be frustrating at first — since a certain someone didn’t know how to eat with his mouth closed, you had become used to it by the end. Your tactic? Drowning out the audible chewing noises. Eugh.

“Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll show you.” Sukuna leaned his head on the cushions, wrapping an arm around the back of the sofa.

You scrunched up your face in reply, pausing in the middle of scrubbing food and gunk and whatever off of the porcelain plates. “Pass.

“I told you already, Sukuna. The exponential functions are the ones that slowly curve up; think of it as this: good things happen to a bad thing. Get it? Like, their lives are getting better. And, since I know you’ve already forgotten, a ‘y’ value can have as many ‘x’ values, but the ‘x’ value is . . . unambiguous, so it only has one ‘y’ value. Now, does that help?” 

“Ugh, this is such a bore. How can anyone pay attention to these types of things long enough in class to be good at it? Fuck.”

You took his consequent silence as him giving up on life and continuing to work on solving the problem in his evident misery, but oh, how wrong you were.

“S’kuna, what are you doing?” you sucked in a breath. He was so close. So close, to you. You thought it had only been two seconds, but in those two seconds, it only took Ryomen Sukuna four easy strides to end up here. — With his chest pressed almost right up against your back. Key word: almost. Yes, Ryomen Sukuna was so close, but still, so far.

“Helping you.” God, did he have to be that ambiguous all the time? He was like a walking enigma, a puzzle, a riddle, for you to solve. A mystery for which you would soon lose sleep over.

Sukuna easily grabbed several dried plates, removing them from the rack, and storing them in the cabinet above your head. His hand left lingering touches on your arm as they passed by each other. You slowly, gradually, accumulated a mountain of goosebumps.

It was infuriating.

He was so close, but not close enough.

Every time he moved to grab another plate, he would rest his hand upon your hip or on the curve of your waist. Sometimes he ran his large-scaled hands up your middle; sometimes he moved them lower, and lower. Was he trying to give you heart palpitations?

“Y’know,” he started, his voice dripping with honey, “you can keep breathing, right? What, do I smell that bad?” he snickered.

“I—what—why—what the hell are you doing?” You wanted to argue that he had no sense of personal space, which, yes, was true, but you feared he would stop whatever he was doing at the moment. And, you didn’t want that.

“I’m . . . helping . . . you.” He bent down to your level, lips brushing your ear as he spoke, and his hot breath fanning your ear. 

There it was again. That ‘pausing thing’ of his. But, this time, it was different. Earlier he was pausing as if he was unsure, but now, he was pausing just to create suspense and further rile you up. He clearly knew what he was doing; he knew what he was doing to you. Poor ol’ you, who just innocently wanted to wash some dishes.

You had previously wanted to turn around and properly face him in order to confront him better, but now, you didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not like you could, anyway, you were stuck between the counter and him. Your eyelashes fluttered, as your eyes darted here and there. And your palms began to sweat, you quickly wiped them on the material of your sweater, but your continued attempts were futile.

“No—no, you’re not.” You struggled to stifle your heavy breathing, and it took you quite a time to form a sentence without giving away the tight feeling in your chest.

“Yeah? Then, how could I help you, hm? Tell me,” he spoke your name firmly, like he was anticipating your breaking, and egging you on nevertheless. Then again, how could he not be? It had been days, days, since you two went to that game. Days since he felt like he was in heaven and talking to an angel. Days since he felt your lips on his. Days since he felt well. Days. And for days, he’s been restless, hungry, thirsty, empty. Hell, forget about your predicament, he was the one close to breaking.

“Tell me,” he said your name, again. “Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“. . .You can help by telling me what the fuck we’re doing right now.”

“Don’t you already know? And here, I thought it was obvious.” Sukuna bit his lip, but that didn’t help any bit in suppressing his laugh.

“What . . . are we . . . doing?” You repeated.

Sukuna was silent, for a moment, “You’re tutoring me, on math.”

“I already know that, dumbass. I mean, what are we doing?”

“You’re gonna need to be a little more specific than that.”

“Oh, my God—what are we doing? What are we? For fuck’s sake. How thick is your skull really, damn.” You finally mustered the courage to twist your body around, and though you were only met with his chest, you sighed and looked upward to meet his face.

“That’s a little harsh.”

You glowered at Sukuna.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk,” he cleared his throat. “We’re . . . just us. I don’t know what to tell you. Sukuna and you. You and Sukuna. That’s all there is to it, right?”

For a second, you thought he was referencing what you had previously said to Nobara, but then the rational side of your brain kicked in and said, “No, there’s no way he could’ve overhead that,” and so, the surprised expression disappeared from your face as you looked down at the floor of the kitchen.

“We’re friends, yeah, that’s all there is to it. . . But friends don’t do . . . this. So we clearly, definitely, shouldn’t be doing this.”

“So, we can pretend we’re not doing this, right? There, fixed the problem.”

“And if I don’t want to pretend we’re not doing this?”

“Then don’t; we don’t have to pretend.”

“But—”

“Please,” he looked at you with such an earnest expression on his features, “don’t say that word. Not again. You’ve no idea, no idea, how much it drives me crazy when you say that word. Mad, insane, deranged. Anything but that, please, anything. We’re clearly not friends. We’re clearly not just friends. So please, don’t call whatever we have as that. I’m sick of it.”

“If we’re not friends, then, what are we?” Your voice was just above a whisper, and you couldn’t even recall when it turned out that way. 

“. . .We’re whatever you want us to be. . . What do you want us to be?”

“No, you decide, Sukuna. What do you want us to be?” You gingerly laid a palm on top of his chest.

“I decide?”

You nodded, “Whatever you want to be . . . will be.”

“I want us to be . . . us. Together. Just us. No one else; just you and me.”

“Okay. I’d like that.”

He took your hand from his chest and held it in his, as if in a way to seal his promise. “I’m glad.”

Having had a couple beers — in favor of Sukuna giving up on attempting any more math, you were a little drunk. Just a little. 

“You have a stupid, stupid face, but it’s still my favorite. It’s my favorite to stare out. It’s my favorite to kiss. It’s my favorite to rub — your skin is so soft. It’s my favorite. My favorite.” 

He let you pepper as many pecks as you wanted onto his cheek, but when you tried to give Sukuna a proper kiss on the lips, he quickly moved his face to the side so you unintentionally planted your lips on his cheek instead. 

For, he didn’t want you to freak out in the morning and think he was the type of guy to take advantage of someone while they were even a little bit tipsy.

Besides, he had just gotten you. He couldn’t lose you now, could he.

A/N: i love portraying raw emotion

[your-nanas-house]

Cillian x stylist!reader (bonus points if it comes with age gap 👉👈)

Really loved this Pairing! Sorry if it took me so long. 🙇🏼‍♀️

Imagine Cillian having Y/n as his stylist

◇ Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Stylist!Reader

◇ Warnings: age gap (both off age), drinking, business, cheese (?), fluff

◇ Summary: Y/n calls Cillian in the middle of the night to show him a new 'creation' of hers.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

"Thanks for coming, Cillian. I got this pieces that screamed just three things... ireland, Cillian and old-ish. And I couldn't wait to show you" the young woman informed as she kept walking quickly to her studio followed by the famous irish actor Cillian Murphy.

She had took her father's place as the older actor's stylist since some years now and had been lucky enough to be that close that she could call him at 2am and receive an actuall answered.

"Ireland, Cillian and old-ish?" The man repeated bit amused but yet confused, not understanding if he should take it as a compliment or as an insult

"And this couldn't have waited at all. You called me asking me to be here as soon as I could to show me some clothes?" He asked, his tone bit harsher than intended... not that Y/n minded, though.

She was used at worse.

"Of course not, Cilly. I have two beers in the fridge and some cheese I want you to try. It's from France" she informed him with a grin as she opened the door and switched on the lights to show him the outfit he would wear in some weeks

"There it is.... it just screams, am I right?" She asked again making Cillian's poker face drop, a laugh breaking the silence

"If you say so, darling. I like it, though" he nodded inspecting it casually with a slightly smile

"It will fit you perfectly, it matches your salt-pepper hair and your eyes" her voice informed him from another room since she had left her 'work room' to get the beers as soon as Cillian had moved to check the outfit and the fabric.

"Dad isn't so sure but I would bet on it. You look good in lots of things but this kind of style is just heaven to see on you" her praise made the older actor chuckle under his breath and take a big sip from the cheap beer before following her back to her living room.

They both sat close to each other, chatting about absolute nothing while enjoying the cheese, the beer, their company and... the time (2am) was suddenly forgotten.

[lovecanyon]

HARRY X STYLIST!Y/N INSTAGRAM BLURB

MASTERLIST | PATREON

-

liked by harrystyles, mitchrowland and 201,749 others

yourinstagram mrs. styles (me) looking like a proud mom.

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harryfan6 I AM CRYING AND THROWING UP

harryfan10 knowing anne took this photo of y/n makes me 🥲

harrystyles Forever my pretty girl.

yourinstagram i love you sue!

harryfan8 A LITERAL POWER COUPLE

harryfan11 everyone’s mom and dad 💕

pillowpersonpp Truly the most gorgeous woman on earth xx

harryfan4 y/n is the most supportive wife ever

kidharpoon How many bracelets did you get from fans?

yourinstagram my left and right arm is covered! don’t be jealous! 🤭

liked by harryfan12, harryfan15 and 162,820 others

harryflorals “My wife and daughter are here tonight so let’s give them a round of applause. Let them know how loved they are.” HARRY ON STAGE TONIGHT TALKING ABOUT Y/N AND JULIET!

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harryfan18 he’s forever a family man 😭

harryfan14 JULIET MY FAVORITE NEPO BABY

harryfan16 she is going to get us the one direction reunion we all need

harryfan20 this is so cute omg

harryfan13 juliet needs a sister or brother…or something

harryfan19 harry deserves another child!!!

harryfan11 him being down bad for y/n needs to be studied 🙏

harryfan17 i’m getting hysterical over this

harryfan21 you can tell harry loves his family so much, i’m sobbing

harryfan23 I NEED HIM BADDDD

liked by harryfan24, harryfan27 and 201,639 others

stylesdaily Y/N AND JULIET OUT IN LONDON THIS MORNING!

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harryfan28 BEST MOM AND DAUGHTER DO

harryfan29 i just know juliet has that post concert depression

harryfan25 YOU ARE SO 😭😭

harryfan30 the life i need

harryfan22 okay but imagine being harry styles’ daughter…

harryfan33 juliet is our style icon

harryfan36 they are slaying

harryfan31 going to have myself reborn at the next styles child

harryfan34 the realest thing anyone has said 💯

liked by yourinstagram, gemmastyles and 4,902,482 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. London ll. June, 2023.

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harryfan41 THE PHOTO OF Y/N??? I’M GOING INSANEEE

harryfan48 why is this so adorable 😭

yourinstagram i love you forever!

harrystyles I love you for infinity!

harryfan40 losing my shit over this

harryfan46 they are never breaking up, that’s just the truth 😩

mitchrowland My wine buddy 🍷🍷

harryfan49 need a man to me obsessed with me like this

anthonypham Two of the best people ever

harryfan42 not getting over this anytime soon

liked by harrystyles, jefezoff and 6,127,669 others

yourinstagram can’t believe i’m spending the rest of my life with my best friend

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harryfan52 crying over the caption

harryfan58 Y/N AND HARRY BESTIES!!! YUPPP

harrystyles I love every moment with you.

yourinstagram don’t make me cry

harryfan51 LMAOO ME

harryfan55 harry and y/n’s love is so goddamn strong 😭

gemmastyles So sweet ❤️❤️ I love you three

harryfan53 julet wearing old merch is so real

pillowpersonpp Your story is truly a fairytale!

harryfan59 y/n wins at life officially

yourinstagram via stories

-

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @seguin-styles1996 @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @kaitieskidmore1 @cherryfragrancx @ssuziess @milkiane @golden-hoax @flwrmuse @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia @b-reads-things

[introspectivememories]

tim is the ceo of wayne ent. and therefore makes the most money in the relationship and i just know bernard "obessed with shitty wattpad fics" dowd, laughs every time he sends tim off to work. just laughing to himself in the kitchen saying, "i married the billionaire ceo?!"

[thereareotherwaysofpersuasion]

The Storm of Vengeance Which Consumes

Yeah. It's that scene. The swiss cheese scene. The Sushseidon scene. But it's Poseidon POV with a lot of internal emotions. This was written as part of a personal series I'm working on where one of my OCs is looking into Poseidon's history and experiences this memory.

A lot of this was inspired by the various fanarts/animatics I've seen. Such as Gwendy's use of Hermes' sandals, HAH Studios' Get In The Water (specifically Ody's hand on Horseidon's nose), sloansloan's Ody pulling Poseion's hair. So if you're reading something and are like "hmm, this seems familiar" it was probably inspired by something. The discorporation is part of the lore in my series.

Enjoy!

Words: 2300 Warnings: Torture (obviously), graphic descriptions of violence, uhh. Yeah. It's that scene, soooo Characters: Odysseus and Poseidon (with various others mentioned/referenced)

Anger consumes his heart, his mind sharp and clear on the currents of vengeance. The mortal escaped him once. But not this time. His shadow consumes the single man on a raft, his towering figure of water imposing an air of terror. At long last, it will be over. At long last, he will have his revenge. 

“We’re both hurting from loss. Why not leave this here and just go home?” the mortal offers, pain in his features as he pleads. 

The words make the god hesitate. The anger that has carved a home in his heart leaves his chest aching. The minuscule hope that he could let this pain go, that he could be free from it; it tempts him. Could it really be that simple? And yet— “I can’t,” the near broken voice of Poseidon leaves his mouth. 

The mortal dares to raise a hand in offering. A soft gesture. 

And despite himself, the god leans down towards it, ready to receive it. He’s desperate for the relief from the storm, desperate for it to finally be over with.

“Maybe you could learn to forgive,” the mortal offers a gentle smile. 

He stops short, his face a mere few feet from the mortal. What is he doing? Is he, the King of the Seas, swayed by a few silver words and a decade of chase? Is his resolve so fragile? His eyes sharpen. “No.” He pulls back, his form cracking and growing as more water rushes up to join his form. 

The seas grow rougher, almost becoming like solid glass pillars. The wind swirls around harder, creating tornadoes of water.

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” he declares his mantra once again as he raises his trident, spinning it before plunging it into the water. “Die!”

The water shatters into thousands of rugged pieces. The raft on top of it falls into the depths. 

He watches the mortal that has evaded and outsmarted him at every turn finally sink beneath his power, finally drowning under his wrath. A sharp sense of satisfaction stabs at his heart, adding to the burden of vengeance he carries. But he counts it as worth it. Because he finally did it. His mission is complete. His anger is satiated. 

At least it should be. Why does it feel like he’s not done? He killed the man. He enacted justice. For his son’s pain and his own pride. Why does he not feel satisfied?

The wind continues to whip around, stringing out his long wet hair. The storm rages on. Both outside and within. At long last, he turns to leave.

“Poseidon!” a voice screams in anger behind him.

He turns, his eyes widening. 

The mortal floats high in the air, windbag in hand and Hermes’ winged sandals on his feet.

Fury fills the god as the mortal has once again escaped his demise. He bares his teeth and turns fully around. He barely gets to raise his trident before he feels himself being pummeled. 

Though the mortal’s weapon can’t break his skin, the speed at which each blow is delivered leaves him dazed. Like six hundred men are beating his body. Like the souls of the mortal’s lost crew have come back for revenge of their own. Water is knocked from his form in showers of droplets from every strike. His eyes try to track the mortal, but he’s nothing more than a blur in the air.

In the span of a mere few seconds, his form has been beaten down to its smallest height. His concentration has been shattered, his vision spinning as he falls from the sky, landing on a rocky outcropping.

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the storm of his design raging around them. The second is the mortal standing at the rock’s edge, looking out at the consequences of his actions. A twisted sense of irony and victory worm their way into his heart despite his aching body working to heal itself from the borderline magical onslaught. 

And he laughs. 

“You idiot,” he spits at the mortal, pushing himself up by the rock behind himself. “Can’t you see? You sealed your fate just to beat me!” he continues laughing. The pitiful thing about mortals. For how clever they think they are, their hubris will always be their doom. “You really thought you could control my storm? That it would bow to your whims, King of Ithaca? You will never get back! And it is all by your own hands. Just like the lost lives of your crew.”

The mortal’s head slowly turns towards the god drunk on power. “You’re going to call off that storm,” he growls as he stalks towards him.

A scoff leaves the god. “Or what? You can’t kill me.”

The mortal bends down towards the golden trident laying between them. “Exactly.” He picks it up.

The trident shines in the hands of the descendant of Hermes.

The god’s eyes narrow in confusion at the statement. But as he looks at the prongs coming closer to him, then the mortal’s no longer human eyes, a new sensation fills him. One he hasn’t felt in centuries. The predatory steps unlock something almost human within him.

Terror.

“Wait.” The god starts trying to get up. “Wait!”

But he isn’t fast enough. In his arrogance, he let the mortal breach his weakness. In his own hubris, his own haughtiness over his immortality, he forgot the warning of Prometheus’ fate. Immortality can be a curse.

The metal embeds itself in his chest, pinning him to the rock. For the first time in eons, the cosmos hears him scream. For the first time since Titanchomy, he feels real pain. The sting of a death he cannot have, the tearing of flesh, the warmth of ichor seeping out of his wounds like currents withdrawing from oceanside caves at low tide.

And when the barbed ends are withdrawn, it pulls his body with it until a foot on his stomach stops him. He gasps as the metal is freed, but the relief— if he can even call it that— doesn’t last long. He sees the next blow coming and raises his hand to stop it. 

But the mortal sees this and aims directly for the shoulder.

His arm goes numb, limply falling to the side as he cries out again.

“How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?” the mortal mocks as he dislodges the weapon with a struggle, the barbs getting stuck again and pulling more flesh with them.

His ears burn at the humiliation, his chest tight as he breathes laboredly. His mind is assaulted with the sting of pain, an overwhelming force like none he’s ever experienced before. No one dares to strike the King of the Seas, especially not in a truly hazardous way. No one… except Nobody.

The next stab plunges into his stomach, slicing through muscle and intestines. His own howls join the chorus of wind and thunder.

It is no doubt music to the mortal’s ears as he continues to lay out the god’s sins against him, as he continues to enact his justice.

The god slides further and further down the rock, his eyes and markings glowing as his body desperately tries to heal itself. He’s never been discorporated before. He’s never had his physical form stripped away from him. He’s never experienced the shame of being trapped in his own domain from his failures. But as his body is torn to shreds by the overzealous mortal, he fears for the first time that this may actually be it. This may be the first time he experiences as close to death as gods get.

His power is split between trying to heal himself and trying to start a counter attack. An earthquake, a tidal wave, anything. 

But the mortal, once champion of the Goddess of Wisdom, accounted for that too. And he strikes where he knows it will hurt. The soft flesh of the abdomen, the already broken ribs and pierced lung, the knee, the other shoulder. Every blow breaks the god’s concentration, keeping him trapped against the rock. “Look what you’ve turned me into!”

The god can’t help but comply, staring up at the monster of a man he made. A mortal pushed too far, a man immeasurably beyond his breaking point. It’s almost in slow motion as the god’s gaze fixates on a droplet of rain washing his ichor off the mortal’s face. He can only breathe laboriously, unable to attempt to stop the trident from sinking into his collarbone.

The mortal grabs his hair, pulling the god’s head back to look at him. “Look what we’ve become.” 

His eyes sting, his throat raw from his screams. He’s lost the strength to even try to turn his face away, to fight back for control of his head. The warm vengeance that kept him on the shores of Ithaca for ten years has been transferred into the mortal, leaving the god cold and broken. 

Like a forest that has been consumed by wildfire, leaving fragile dead trees in its place. Like a hurricane that levels towns, like tidal waves that wash everything that was once held dear out to sea. The god has lost everything. A new monster was birthed from his storm of vengeance. 

And even when he thought he finished it, even when he got what he wanted, it didn’t feel like enough. He was left disappointed, unsatisfied. Killing the mortal didn’t end the storm. His revenge has consumed them both, eating them alive as the god’s father had once devoured him.

Up until now he thought Zeus stripping him of his divinity and enslaving him to a mortal king was the worst blow his pride could be dealt. But another mortal king is proving him wrong.

The mortal throws the god’s head backwards into the rock, twisting the trident as he pulls it out.

The god gasps, clutching his stomach. This has to end. He has to make it stop. Before he fully experiences defeat. Before he takes on more shame. “Enough,” he orders.

But who is the king to stop? Who is wielding the trident? And so the mortal continues his assault, reopening half-healed wounds in the god’s shoulder.

The god squeezes his eyes shut, a long groan of agony leaving him, “Stooop!” He feels sick as his voice dips further and further into desperation, pleading with the mortal, begging of all things. He cries out louder, as if the mortal couldn’t hear him the first time over his ranting.

But no. The mortal did hear him. The begs were clear as day. And they were ignored. “You didn’t stop when I begged you!” The trident’s aim is true, an extension of the mortal’s emotions, plunging into the god’s throat and left eye at the same time.

The god’s body locks up, convulsing. His whole head is engulfed in pain, the sharp point that penetrated his eye having sunken into his skull. His remaining eye widens as what would have been his loudest scream is silenced by the prong piercing his vocal cords. The sweet metallic taste fills his mouth and drips off his lips. 

The scene goes black. For a moment, he feels himself slipping away. No. He can’t give the mortal that satisfaction. He can’t let him win. Even if he already has. He barely hears the distant words of the mortal, though is mouth is slowly moving, “You…”

“You told me to close my heart! You said the world was dark!” The mortal makes an upwards strike with the trident, lifting the god’s body off the ground a bit to glare at him.

The god weakly glares back with one blue eye flickering in its glow. “Monster!” he cries out, hoping that will break the man, hoping that will end this torment.

But instead, it just seems to fuel the monster in the man as he rips the trident out. His response to the accusation comes in the words the god was so fond of as he raises the trident, unknowing how close he is to finishing the job, “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our—”

And the god’s resolve shatters. His own words being used against him are almost more painful than his own weapon. “Alright!” he cries out.

The mortal hesitates, trident raised overhead.

The god forces his remaining eye open, though his sight of the mortal is obscured by rain and blood. “Please,” he rasps, brought to his lowest of lows. Subjected to begging for mercy from a mere mortal.

The mortal grips the trident tighter before dropping it with a clang.

The wind and waves die down as the god’s vision flickers. His head slumps forward as the scene turns dark. He barely feels his body hit the cold rocks. Every muscle pulses in pain. He doesn’t know when the mortal flew off on Hermes’ sandals. He doesn’t know how long he laid there trying to heal. Perhaps Apollo would be gracious enough to tend to him. But as time goes on, no one shows. He’s left alone on the tiny island, laying in his own ichor. Olympus has shunned him, probably mocking him.

The god finally begins to move, though immediately crying out as a sharp pain flares in his chest, a crack sounding like something broke. He lays back down, but the pain doesn’t lessen. His head gets lighter and lighter. His body gets weaker. It feels like fluid fills his lungs. Which shouldn’t be a problem, he can breathe underwater. But apparently he can’t breathe ichor.

There’s no storms for months. The tides are the calmest anyone has ever seen. Not a single earthquake is recorded anywhere. For the God of the Sea was nowhere to be found in the mortal world.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Outdrawn

f/f contemporary romance

two cartoonist who’ve been rivals since uni, and now have competing webcomics online, have to work together on the relaunch of a cult classic at the comic press they both work at

they both struggle with art-related physical and mental health issues, and complicated families

[be-with-me-so-happily]

hows my babies doing??? i miss themmmm <3

Eeeeek! It makes me so happy when someone misses and asks about EWTNC Harry and Stylist YN! I love them so much! So here's a little update.

~~~~~

Photo credits to the owners.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY

Harry hears the bedroom door creak open, keeping his eyes closed and pretending to still be asleep. He can hear the giggles getting closer, and feels the bed shift as two little bodies try to subtly crawl up on top.

"Quietly, okay?" You whisper. "One... two... th-"

"Happy Birthday, Daddy!"

"Hap Bir-day, Daddy!"

Harry pops up in the bed, and turns over to see Winnie grinning, Milo picking at a booger, and you holding a cup of tea, and placing it on the bedside table next to him.

"My goodness! Thank you, my loves!" He exclaims. He grabs both of his children into his arms and tackles them on the bed, causing a burst of laughter.

"Ah! Daddy! No!" Winnie exclaims, her eyes squeezed shut and her smile stretching across her face.

You can't help but feel your chest fill with warmth as you watch them all interact. Doesn't matter what they're doing, if it's together, you always feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and joy.

"Alright you three, time to get up."

"No…" Harry whines, quickly matched by the children.

"Okay, I guess I'll just head to the kitchen and eat all of the delicious birthday breakfast by myself then." You state, slowly turning around as you pretend that your intention is to walk away.

"Oh no you don't!" You hear behind you, as you feel Harry grasp your wrist, twisting you around and pulling you onto the bed. Winnie and Milo quickly pounce, using their little fingers and giving their best efforts to tickle your sides. You glance over to Harry, being met with a look of pure admiration, and he gives you a sweet smile.

"You win! I surrender!" You throw up your hands and they maneuver off you, giggling at their victory. "How about we have that breakfast now."

Winnie and Milo hop off the bed, and you watch as they shuffle out of the room. You turn back to Harry, who still has that same beautiful look on his face, and you sit up on top of the sheets.

"Happy Birthday, Rockstar." You reach your hand up to his cheek and lean in for a kiss. "Who would have thought that the boy in bandanas would be a husband and dad at twenty-nine! Feel old yet?"

"No, just lucky."

A blush forms on your cheeks and you still don't understand how he can manage to do that to you, after over eight years of being with him.

"Alright, you sap, let's get out of bed before they make a mess."

You grab his hand to pull him up off the bed, but he lets out a low growl, pulling you back down and shifting his body to hover over you.

His short curls fall into his face, his necklaces hang down in front of you, and his lips meet your neck. That same spot that he knows so well.

"Maybe later we can get back into bed and make a mess of our own."

"You need to-" You take a quick breath, as he seems to have taken it out of you. "You need to focus. You've got a show to put on tonight."

"Oh, I can definitely give you a show."

"Harry!" You exclaim with a chuckle, weakly attempting to push him off of you, though not much of your strength is put behind your effort.

"It's my birthday…" He replies, lowering his entire body onto yours, and you wish you could give him exactly wants. And, frankly, what he deserves. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling his face closer for a deep, passionate, and lustful kiss, causing him to let out that low growl once again.

One of his hands squeezes your hip, pressing his own into you, and you let out a quiet moan. At this point, you don't care how the kitchen looks, you just want to look at him, like this.

However, you both pull apart as soon as you hear a little yelp from Milo and Winnie instantly telling him that she is sorry. You sigh, feeling the heat between your legs and the bulge between Harry's. He gives you one last, quick kiss and then moves off of you.

You scoot off of the bed and swiftly turn around, meeting his gaze, showing that he hadn't taken his eyes off of you.

"To be continued." You quietly tease, and his eyes widen along with a grin.

"Well, Happy Birthday to me!"

~~~~~

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You don't like it?" He dramatically hits his palm against his chest as his mouth drops open, knowing full well that you love his outfit, considering the way your eyes are traveling up and down his body. "Winnie helped pick it out. I think she's following in her mummy's footsteps."

"Mhm." You hum, still running your gaze all over his body, focusing on his bare, toned, tattooed chest, that you wish you could lick all over.

"Sunshine, I've worn stuff like this before…" Harry chuckles, stepping forward and placing his hands on your hips.

"I know. There's just something about it tonight…" You reply, letting out a breath you didn't even realize you had been holding. Even after all of this time, after the thousands of outfits you've seen him in, and styled him in, he still somehow manages to take your breath away. You look up to him, placing your hands on his chest and running them down his smooth skin. "But… I have to say… I do prefer you in your birthday suit."

"Fucking hell, YN." He whimpers, leaning down to take your bottom lip between his teeth. "Already ripped one pair of pants on stage… I'm not 'bout to go out there with m'dick standing straight out!"

"Right… it's a family show…" You smirk, leaning up to place a kiss on his earlobe. "But it won't be tonight."

"Oh my god." He mumbles under his breath.

"Daddy! Daddy!" You suddenly hear Winnie's little voice coming from the hallway and Harry gives you a quick kiss on the lips before stepping back and swiftly adjusting himself. Then he looks over and gives you a smile with so many meanings. Lust, adoration, maybe a little disappointment, but also happiness in its purest form.

"I love you, Sunshine." He utters.

"I love you too, Rockstar."

Winnie comes through the doorway, rushing over to the two of you, with Milo trying to keep up behind her. "Look what Milo found for you!"

Milo moves in front of his sister, with his hands in front of him, holding the blue balloon that the two of you clearly spotted as soon as he walked in.

"This is for me, Bub?" Harry asks, kneeling down to his son, who hands him the string.

"Ba-woon, Daddy!"

"It's for your birthday!" Winnie squeals, with just as much excitement as Milo, showing off some pride for her younger brother.

"Thank you, darlings! I love it!" Harry expressed, with a smile as wide as theirs, and his heart full of joy. He looks up to you, smiling with all the love he can portray through just an expression, and then wraps Winnie and Milo into a big hug. "And I know exactly what m'gonna do with it."

~~~~~

Series Masterlist

~~~~~

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If your name is blue, I couldn't tag you.

[becca-e-barnes]

Hiii I have nothing to do at work so of course I have to day dream about different dark!Bucky scenarios (I do not condone cheating but this is really hot to me aaaa)😩 like imagine your husband and Bucky have always had an ongoing rivalry, They worked together, went to college together, hated every ounce of each other. One night you’re at the bar with your friends when Bucky comes over to you and buys you drink after drink after drink, taking you back to his house. He’s throwing you on his bed and ripping your clothes off, kissing you hungrily. “Get ready baby, this is gonna be much tougher than you’re used to.” “Please.” “Yeah? Is he not satisfying you baby? This pretty pussy deserves to be treated right, luckily I’m here now.” He’s so rough with you, fucking you harshly, the dirty talking is driving you crazy. He’s so cocky and cruel, bending you in several different positions and pounding into you for hours. If only you had seen the camera… (part 2??? Bucky making your husband watch the video 😭) -💒

This, a thousand times over 😵‍💫 and I can just imagine throwing all the stuff at him that you wouldn't dream of doing with your husband. Maybe your husband really doesn't let you explore your fantasies and if you've got one chance to do that, you're determined to take it.

Especially if Bucky is quite a bit rougher than you're used to while still being so respectful. He got the impression that you're not being fucked how you want to be and he wants to give you everything you dream of when you touch yourself. He's not necessarily rough with you because he wants to be. He's rough because that's what you want.

If he's feeling extra filthy too, he'd fuck you in the bed you share with your husband. You're on your hands and knees on the bed, presenting your glistening pussy to him, enjoying the sensation of him smearing your arousal over the tip of his cock.

"Fuck, do you know how bad I want this?" He hums quietly, trailing his leaking tip over your slick folds. "Do you know how badly I want to press inside you? You've made such a mess. Bet you feel like fuckin' Heaven and he doesn't even appreciate it."

With his free hand, Bucky grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing just enough that you feel it hurt.

"Don't want to rush this though." His tip lines up with your entrance, teasing the little fluttering hole and God, you're desperate. "I want to take my time. Want to make sure every time your head hits this pillow, you remember how it feels to have every. Last. Inch of me slip inside you."

You can't have him wait any longer though so you press your hips back onto him, feeling just the tip slide into you. "Good girl, that's it. Fuck yourself on me. You need this, don't you? You need to be fucked right for a change."

He's not wrong. You couldn't stop now, even if you wanted to so you keep going, taking all of him. The weight of him inside you is delightful.

"Oh God, you're perfect. You feel like you were made for me." He doesn't dare move. Instead, he takes a second to just enjoy the wet heat of your body and the snug fit of you around his cock.

"You are. A fucking. Dream." He tests the water with a few shallow thrusts, rutting his tip against the sweet spot inside you. You're so wet, you're convinced you must be dripping onto the sheets and your eyes roll back in your head at the very thought.

This is how sex is supposed to feel. You didn't think you could crave anyone the way you do now. "Buck, please." You whimper, rolling your hips back against him, pressing him as deep inside you as possible. "Don't be gentle."

You hear him groan and feel his fingertips trail down your spine, making you arch your back into the bed. "Is that what you need, sweetheart? Can tell just by looking at you that you need it hard and fast and rough tonight. I'll be gentle with you tomorrow morning, I promise. Gotta work some of that tension out of you first. Bet you haven't cum in months."

You don't like that he can tell so easily but you're not surprised either. The first sharp thrust knocks the air from your lungs but all you hear is a pathetic sob, followed by the crack of a hard spank to your ass and the blossoming, stinging pain he's inflicted.

You're not surprised that it only makes you wetter.

[ynnova]

ateez | grand mint festival 2024

inspired by ateezjuliet

[didyoulookforme]

sight of you

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au)

because you’re his stylist, you of course have to help him get ready before shows. and this is one of those days. happens a few weeks after need you tonight.

warning: 18+, smut. he’s still a jerk. grammatical errors and typos likely.

au masterlist here

—

turns out you did end up seeing matty that night after you went down on him, part of you hoping that more would happen but nothing actually did. you guess you’d expected him to want to fuck—you’d obviously say ‘yes’— so you were taken by surprise when you just spent hours talking instead.

“are you enjoying yourself on tour?” yes.

“was this job what you expected it to be?” for the most part, yes.

“do you like this shirt i got?” to be honest, not really. doesn’t fit you properly but there’s another one that i think might look better. just ask me next time.

“last night was nice, y’know… ” really? 

“i, um, do want to see you. but i don’t want to hurt you.” you won’t.

but you knew all too well that was a blatant lie.

yes, you started to spend more time together. yes, you two would kiss for hours on end on some nights. yes, you swallowed his cum whenever you could. yes, you started having sex when your hands and mouths weren’t enough anymore. and yes, it did fucking hurt to see him come back from sleeping with someone else.

there were plenty of nights when you’d patiently wait on that same spot against the tour bus or even seated at the end of your hotel bed (when you had one) just in case matty showed up as he'd said he would. honestly, you preferred for him to not arrive at all than having to see him make his way with another girl. if that happened, he would just walk past, not giving you an ounce of attention. it was usually the women who would wave “hello” or compliment your dress instead, probably a garment you choose because he had previously loved it on you.

you knew the consequences when you decided to start having this thing—whatever you want to call it—with him. you understood he probably wouldn’t stop sleeping with others, but at least you were now one of them, too. 

“no strings attached, right?” yes, that's okay…

—

“matty, what exactly are you doing over there?”

you’d been focused on steaming his blazer, carefully smoothing out every wrinkle that when you caught sight of him in the mirror, you had to do a double take. he’s sitting at the vanity, shirtless, staring at his reflection as he seemingly applies paint on his stomach. guess he’s lost inside his mind as he doesn’t bother to answer, so you walk over to get a closer look.

“love me, huh? is that your favourite song now?” it’s definitely one of yours. “or are you really that desperate?”

he finally stands up to admire his work, capping your now ruined eyeshadow and tossing it into your makeup bag. “can’t hurt, darling.” in another reality, you’d be smacking that smug grin off his face, but in this world, he loves it when you try. go figure.

the letters stand out starkly on his pale skin, some of the loose powder already smudging at the edges. they’re messy, fading in places, and curiously it suits him—bold but never too precise. feels almost careless, like everything else he does.

love me.

such a him thing to do. put his need for attention out in the open even though he never has to worry about having a lack of it. not like dozens of girls don’t write that same line on cardboard signs they hold up night after night.

it’s a familiar dance between you two—him always needing to be the sole focus, you pretending it annoys you when really, it’s half the reason you’re so down for him. honestly, though, all you can do is laugh, rolling your eyes as you turn back to finish getting his garments ready.

but just as you start to walk away, you feel his arms snake around your waist, pulling you back to him.

“matty, if you mess up my shirt, i fucking swear...” you protest half-heartedly, trying to break free from his hold. however, you don’t really mean it. there’s something undeniably comforting about the way his chest feels pressed against your back, his breath warm against your neck, curls brushing against your cheek. weirdly feels like home, but you’re terrified to admit it.

“just take it off, then.” his voice is just above a whisper, a combination of amusement and lust that sends a jolt of electricity straight to your heart. “plus,” he turns you around, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s fast, messy, just the way he seems to like it. “‘m pretty sure it is mine, anyway.”

there’s never been anyone who could take over every single cell in your body the way he does, and you can’t find it in yourself to deny him. his hands work at the buttons of your now stained shirt while his tongue invades your mouth, making you dizzy with need. he pulls away only long enough to shove the fabric off your shoulders, leaving you in a wine-colored bra—the same shade as your newly manicured nails. never a coincidence and he knows it.

the warmth of his gaze lingers on your chest, taking in every inch of your skin before his fingertips ghost over the mesh fabric, circling your nipples until they harden under his touch. you can practically feel the smirk on his lips before he leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth to roughly suck on it, leaving a damp mark behind when he has to kiss you again.

it doesn’t take long before you're straddling his thigh on the couch, your body already moving on its own, want overtaking reason at that second. “we don’t have time,” the words come out breathless as you grind on him, the friction delicious against your clit. matty's hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements to become faster. “don’t really care. not like they can start without me anyway,” his lips brushing yours before pulling you into another kiss that only makes you want him more.

your body feels like it’s already burning from the inside out, every nerve on edge, your heart pounding as you nod in silent agreement, words no longer able to form. his fingers move with ease, undoing the clasp of your bra and finally freeing your breasts. the second his mouth is on your flesh once more, teasing and bitting, it’s like you’re completely under a messed up spell.

you can’t help the way you squirm, your hips rocking forward without a thought anymore, making a mess of the dark material you’d so carefully picked out for him that same afternoon. but you don’t even care. not right now, anyway. you just want focus on how good it feels, how his mouth on yours pulls these desperate little sounds from his throat, and how his hands somehow keep you grounded in reality, even though your body feels like it might fall apart at any minute.

leaning back, you arch just enough to give him a full view as you ride his thigh, your wetness now definitely soaking into his pants, the evidence of just how much you want him impossible to hide. his teeth pull at his bottom lip when he notices, and his fingers find your nipples again, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. it’s too much, but you don’t want him to stop, not when your whole body is trembling, not when you can feel the pleasure building, relentless. and when you come, shaking and grinding hard against him, the rest of the world finally dissolves around you.

"jesus, fuck, you’re perfect," his voice low and rough. "need to be inside you. now." you don’t hesitate, your fingers rapidly moving to unbutton his pants. matty tears open a condom with his teeth, sliding it on while never breaking eye contact, the intensity now almost unbearable. as you sink down onto him, the stretch and pressure is heavenly. every inch of him hits just right, and it leaves you too dazed to think about anything else, just the way he fills you completely.

his hands grip your hips, guiding you, urging you to ride him faster. the leather couch beneath you creaks with every movement, but it's a distant sound compared to your high pitched moans and his countless praises. you can’t ignore how he watches you, his head tilted back but his stare locked on your chest, following every bounce of your breasts like he’s memorizing the way your body moves. his hands slide up your ass, fingers pressing into your skin just hard enough to leave a mark, and part of you likes that. knowing you’ll have a reminder tomorrow, a physical trace of this moment when he was completely lost in you and only you.

it feels like you're about to give out, your legs aching, but it doesn’t matter. every time he pulls you down harder, it sends a surge of pleasure through you, and the way his gaze now shifts from your breasts to your face—it’s like he’s seeing right through you, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

and just as you're getting near your release, teetering on that delightful edge, the door swings open. your heart nearly drops to your gut as george steps halfway into the greenroom. “hey, matty, i—" he freezes mid-sentence, eyes widening as they lock onto the sight in front of him. matty's arms wrap around you, pulling you close to shield your nakedness. you knew it was too late, though. 

“what in the actual fuck.” george’s voice is caught somewhere between shock and a laugh he can’t quite hold back. “holy shit, i knew it. i always knew something was up with you two.”

matty’s grip on you tightens. "get the fuck out, you idiot!” his almond coloured eyes are glued to yours, almost as if to make sure you’re okay, but you know he's annoyed.

“chill, i’m going. not like i wanna watch you go at it anyway.” george takes a step back but pauses just before leaving. “by the way, you’ve got, like, five minutes ‘til we’re onstage, so hurry the fuck up, yeah?” he's clearly amused as he slips out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

you’re breathless, cheeks burning with a mix of disbelief and fear, trying to act like george didn’t just walk in on you mid-fuck with his best friend. “well… that was…” you mutter, the awkwardness settling in alongside the fact that matty is still inside you.

"embarrassing?" a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he starts to move his hips again, his annoyance rapidly melting away. "hmm, maybe. but not gonna lie, it was also kinda hot." his pace quickens shortly after, pulling a sharp gasp from you. “sorry that happened, love," he adds, voice dripping with anything but apology.

“you—you’re not.” you nuzzle into his neck as it all starts to feel good once more.

“not even a little,” his hands grip your ass to pull you closer. “do feel kinda bad that he saw your tits, though.” he punctuates his words by biting gently on your ear, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through your limbs.

you pull back to watch him, a teasing smile on your face. “maybe he liked what he saw and will finally sleep with me.” the suggestion hangs in the air, you trying to push him just a little.

“don’t think so, babe. these,” he squeezes both of your breasts before leaning forward to place open-mouthed kisses on them, “are all mine.” 

sure.

“please, like you don’t touch a different pair every night.” your grin immediately grows, but disappears just as quickly as he starts thrusting into you harder, faster.

you feel a pang of pain as he bites your nipple before looking up, putting on his best display of pleading puppy eyes that he can muster up.

“but i always come back to you, don’t i?”

you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that matters to you, even if it's just an empty promise in the end. so you just urge him to fuck you harder until you are coming around him for the second time, almost—almost—forgetting about the fact that he won't always come back, even if he says so.

you barely take any time to steady yourself before you drop to your knees in front of him. your hands work quickly, removing the condom, before taking him in your hand, stroking slowly at first and grinning at the way his body responds to your touch. his eyelids flutter closed, his head tipping back as a deep groan escapes his lips, and you can feel the tension beneath his skin as he edges closer. it’s intoxicating, the way he’s laid out in front of you, on the verge of falling apart. you never grow tired of watching him come, that moment when he completely lets go.

your eyes meet his, everything else in the room falling impossibly still. his breath rises and falls on his chest, lips parted slightly, waiting, watching, always wanting. that’s the thing about matty—he’s always hungry for more, always craving something or someone, but never just for you. 

with a few more deliberate strokes, his body tenses, and you feel his release building. warm cum spills across his chest and stomach, painting his skin in long, messy streaks. you’re transfixed by the way it glistens, dripping down and covering the hairs on his navel. again, there’s always something so satisfying about seeing him like this, bare and undone beneath you.

more often than not you lick him clean because you want to taste every single bit of him. but today, you gather some of the cum with your fingertip, using it to trace over the words he wrote. love me. you touch each line and curve, smearing his release over the black pigment, the sticky mixture marking him. there’s a strange satisfaction in it, as if you’re claiming him in some small, invisible way.

matty’s eyes flicker open, watching you through heavy lids as your hand trembles. his chest moves rapidly, still catching his breath, but there’s something in his gaze—surprise, maybe even vulnerability—as you trace the words on his stomach for a second, third time. you don’t rush, letting your finger move slowly. the letters blend together in a mess of black powder and white, but the meaning is still there. love me.

you want to say it—i love you—but you can’t. not when he’s the way he is, not when you know he’ll be with someone else tomorrow, probably touching her the same way, kissing her the same way. it feels like handing him your heart just so he can continue to step on it.

yet his eyes are still on you, his hand moving to cup your cheek, pulling you closer. his thumb brushes your lip, and you almost break, almost let the words slip past. but instead, you press your forehead to his chest, trying to hide from the weight of it all, looking down at the mess you made—the mess that you’re a part of now.

[kachowden]

Yandere! Fem! Hairstylist x GN!Reader

terms such as “Pretty & Beautiful” used to describe the reader

—————————————————————

Pink and purple coffin nails tapped rhythmically against the granite counter top. Chewing gum popped, her favorite flavor, accompanied the beat of her pretty acrylics.

It was a slow day. She didn’t mind much though. No, not when she had such an important guest coming to visit. Her favorite customer. <3

Not someone famous. Not a model nor a singer. Just a sweet pet shop owner, with the prettiest eyes she had every seen.

She often begged to do the customers makeup. Such pretty eyes would look wonderful with a splash of color on their sweet pretty skin. But she wasn’t pushy, and her darling customer always declined.

“I wouldn’t want your work to be wasted on me. The animals will smear it within an hour anyway.”

But her work could never be wasted on you! Didn’t you know that? Others sure, but never you! She laughed it off though. In favor of finishing your hair cut.

Moments like this were where she loved her job so dearly. Getting to touch you, and hear you talk about your day as if you to were just lovers enjoying each others company. So what if her hands lingered too long? You wouldn’t notice. You wouldn’t know.

Your head was always in the clouds. You were so beautiful that way. Your eyes always misted. Like you were looking through her. You day dreamed so often that she often wondered how you ever got work done.

Though maybe your dreamlike personality was what soothed the animals. What brought people in.

She wished though, at times you would look at her. That through your foggy mind you would come to her. Dream of her, the way she so often dreamed of you.

Perhaps someday. Not today though. Another. Just not today. The thought made her nervous. So not today, but soon. Very soon.

She loved to run her fingers through your hair, once or twice. Maybe three times. She knew you liked it. The feelings of her nails scraping softly against your scalp.

She’d offered you a facial. A massage. You denied her though as you always did.

“I’d hate to take up your time.”

You were too sweet. Too considerate. She loved that about you. She hated it to though. She wouldn’t mind if you were selfish with her.

The sound of her special bells rang softly in the air, signifying the arrival of her dear customer.

Her perfect glossy pink lips curved into a sugary smile at the sight of your haggard form.

You were just too sweet. <3

“Same as usual?”

“Actually. Can I take you up on that facial? If it’s alright with you?”

…..perhaps today could be the day.

[danisbrainrot]

supermodel

tigris x reader

tw: smoking, drugs, alcohol, implied/mentioned ed, coriolanus is his own tag, (maybe a slight) power imbalance where tigris is a stylist and reader is her model (I don't know how modelling works LMFAO).

I'm purely using information I learnt from ugly betty; the title may or may not be inspired by a certain måneskin song.

you drag on your cigarette, watching the puff of smoke vanish in the afternoon air. you were waiting patiently outside as your stylist, tigris, added last minute modifications to your outfit. you'd gotten there early in the morning like she requested and you thought the photo shoot was going good, until you almost broke the shirt—her assistant struggled to zip it up. it didn't matter how tigris insisted it was her fault for not getting the correct measurements, your stomach dropped as you realise that you hadn't lost enough weight.

it was a miracle you'd managed to book this gig at all. tigris was an elusive stylist—the cousin of the president himself—and your modelling career was still in its infancy. you wonder what's taking her so long; your cigarette butt the only part still left. you groan, flicking it on the ground and stomping on it, before knocking on the door.

tigris opens it, apologising profusely for keeping you waiting, before she welcomes you back inside. you smiled tightly at her, trying to conceal the insecurity coursing through you. she directed you behind the divider and began to personally assist you, the zip sliding up smoothly. "there we go," she mumbles, a proud smile on her face.

the photographer had you try a few poses, but it seemed whatever you did it wasn't working—the angles were too unflattering, the lighting too harsh or your expression looked pained. you felt nervous, knowing how desperately you needed this gig, how it would shoot you into stardom.

tigris, noticing how anxious you were, pulls you aside. "are you okay?" she asks, placing a comforting arm on your shoulder. "it's not your fault, I promise," but you shake your head.

"it is. I'm not good enough," you reply, holding back the tears threatening to explode. she sighs softly, embracing you tightly.

she pulls away, staring directly in your eyes. "I chose you. I think you're exactly right for this photo shoot. for my clothes," she whispers, smiling reassuringly at you. you return the smile, your heart beat quickening—you couldn't help but admire the woman; you also felt a warmth in your stomach. the beginnings of a crush was forming.

"thank you," you blush softly. you tuck your hair behind your ears, a newfound confidence filling you as you step out back in front of the camera.

the rest of the day went by fast, as you struck pose after pose, leaving tigris cheering and clapping and the photographer calling out praises. you could hardly contain your infectious laughter, filling the room with joy.

after the shoot, tigris invites you back to her apartment. she offers you wine, champagne, all kinds of alcoholic beverages, while showing you more sketches she designed just for you. you don't know how she knew about you, or why she picked you, but you were eternally grateful.

it was a massive commercial success; tigris was receiving huge praise for her new line and your agent couldn't put the phone down. everyone who was anyone wanted to book you. however, you always made time for tigris—after all, she made you famous.

you had been invited to an exclusive party, for the elite of the capitol, in the president's mansion. you have no idea how, but you suspected it had something to do with the fact his cousin was obsessed with you. it was hard not to be, when you were the covergirl of nearly every magazine.

anxiously, you snorted a line of cocaine in the car, feeling the familiar buzz bring you to life. it was a typical occurrence that you were the life of the party. there wasn't a song you couldn't dance to, a silence you couldn't fill and a party you couldn't liven up.

alcohol was shoved in your face everywhere you went —it was rude to reject it, you concluded, so you gladly drank every drink offered to you. noticing how fancy everyone was dressed, you felt almost out of place in your mini dress and high heels. tigris had designed it specifically for you, however, so you couldn't not wear it. she designs most of your wardrobe, now that you thought about it.

you were conversing with some important gamemaker when tigris intercepted you, wanting to introduce you to her cousin and his wife. you smile politely, shaking hands with president snow before kissing his wife livia on the cheeks. tigris began gushing about how wonderful of a model you were, and that she was proud to have discovered you. you couldn't help but feel your stomach churn as the president eyed you up and down.

as an avox walked past, you grabbed a glass of the finest panem wine and almost downed it immediately. tigris eyed you warily, worrying about how quickly the alcohol was flowing through you. livia, noticing her husband's gaze, scowls and excuses the two of them—heading in an old academy friend's direction instead.

"are you okay?" tigris asked, taking a hold of your hand and stroking it with her thumb soothingly. "livia and coriolanus can be cold, I understand—"

"no it's not that," you lie, smiling your million dollar smile. "just feeling a bit weird, that's all." in reality, you felt yourself coming down.

you head to the bathroom and do another line, waiting for that delicious buzz to hit. the door opens suddenly, and you look up in shock to see tigris' face fall. "oh no, not you too," she sighs, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you elsewhere.

stumbling over your feet, you let her lead you to a guest room in the president's mansion. she sits you on the bed, forcing water down your throat—she also begged you to eat something, but you refused; her pleas falling on deaf ears. you couldn't afford to put any weight on as you had too many gigs lined up.

it hurt her seeing you this vulnerable. you had passed out on the bed, your hair a mess, your makeup smudged and reeking of alcohol. she sighs, sitting next to you and brushing the hair of your sweaty face. she leaned down hesitantly, unable to help herself, before pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

she scolds herself for taking advantage of you, getting up to leave when she hears you stir. "please don't leave me alone," you whimper. she turns to face you, smiling reassuringly.

"don't worry, I'll stay right here," she promises, holding your hand.

when you woke up the following morning, your head pounded and all details from last night were muggy. the only memory was of soft lips pressed against your own.

you groaned, holding your head in pain before getting up. you found the toilet, sticking your head in it and emptying last night's dinner. you almost jump in shock when you feel someone hold your hair back, rubbing their hand up and down your back soothingly.

"you're okay," tigris affirms, holding you in her arms as you cry softly. sobbing into her chest, she rests her chin against your head, her grip on you firm and comforting.

"I hate how out of control I get," you sob, sniffling as you pull away from her.

she sighs, wiping your tears away with her thumbs. "I'll help you, I promise," she squeezes your hands reassuringly.

"did you kiss me last night?" you blurt out. you'd been dying to know ever since you realised it was her hand rubbing your back as you vomited.

tigris cheeks turn a deep scarlet, as she grows flustered and tries to come up with an explanation. "i-um, im so sorry I shouldn't—"

you interrupt her, "it's fine if you did. I just kind of wish you did it when I was sober," you tease, a soft smirk appears on your face. she bites her lip and avoids your gaze in embarrassment.

"are you sober now?" she asks, refusing to meet your eyes.

you laugh, shaking your head—mostly in disbelief. "I've got vomit breath," you reply.

"I don't mind," tigris whispers, suddenly looking at you lovingly.

you pause, your breath catching on your throat as you process what she said. it's your turn to blush, as she leans in slowly. you get up, however, scouring the cabinet and finding mouthwash. tigris giggles as you swish, gargle and rinse your mouth.

"now I'm ready," you exclaim, as she stands up. awkwardly you crash into her, placing one hand on her hip and the other on the back of her head. she laughs, wrapping both her arms around your waist and kisses you back passionately.

you throw yourself into the kiss, finally letting go and enjoying it—you've wanted to kiss her ever since she'd been so understanding and caring on your first photoshoot. it was actually mortifying hiding your huge crush on her. now that you had her, you'd be sure to enjoy the blissful moment with her.

[lovecanyon]

STYLIST!Y/N GRAMMY BLURB!

MASTERLIST | PATREON

Y/N couldn't believe her luck as she walked arm-in-arm with her husband, Harry Styles, towards the red carpet of the 65th Annual Grammy Awards.

While she took in the sights and sounds of the most prestigious music event in the industry, she couldn't help but feel proud of the role she played in preparing her husband for his big night.

As Harry's personal stylist, Y/N had worked tirelessly to create the perfect ensemble for him to wear when he took the stage to perform his latest hit song. As they made their way down the red carpet, cameras flashed and fans screamed Harry's name. But Y/N's attention was focused on their ten year old daughter, Juliet.

She looked beautiful in her little black dress, which Y/N had carefully chosen and accessorized for her. Being able to share this special moment with her family made Y/N feel incredibly grateful.

Once inside, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the grandeur of the event. Everywhere she looked, she saw music legends and industry heavyweights.

But as Harry's performance drew nearer, her focus shifted once again. She made sure that he was looking sharp and feeling confident before he took the stage.

As Harry's performance began, Y/N felt her heart swell with pride. She couldn't believe how far he had come since they first met on the set of The X Factor. Now, here he was, performing at one of the most prestigious music events in the world.

Y/N knew that her role in his success was small but she couldn't be happier to support him in whatever way she could.

When it was Harry's turn to accept an award, Juliet was jumping up and down with excitement. Y/N held her hand tightly as they made their way to the stage, feeling like the proudest wife and mother in the world. Harry gave a heartfelt speech, thanking his fans and family, including Y/N for always keeping him looking sharp. Juliet couldn't stop clapping and cheering for her dad.

Throughout the night, Y/N and Harry were constantly being approached by fans and reporters alike, but they made sure to keep Juliet close and protected from the crowds.

Juliet, on the other hand, thrived on the attention and was more than happy to snap some pictures with fans and even some of the other celebrity kids in attendance.

After the show, Y/N and her family joined the after-party. She mingled with other stylists and industry professionals while Harry and Juliet danced the night away.

As they left the party, Y/N looked back at her family with a sense of contentment. She was proud of everything that they had accomplished together and couldn't wait to see what the future held for them.

-

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[cuntdevil]

hey my last ask was no hate. i understand that a lot of writers don’t have time or money for editors or proofreads. it was just a suggestion to make your work more readable. take care!

and no malice towards you, love, but im pretty anti-ai and it says that in my rules. not even just with character ai, but just in general. yes, i can see the pros of ai but i can also see its many faults and i dont really trust it when it comes to my writing, yk?

and im ngl, "... to make your work more readable," rubs me kinda the wrong way. it basically sounds like you're saying that it's not readable just because i made a mistake every once in a while? i can be reading too deep into it but bleck!