#tips from a hairstylist

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART 2

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Chapters: Part I / Part III

Synopsis: To help you moving on from your break-up, Chan takes you out for a night. However, he doesn't expect you will find a potential new love in someone else. (9,5k words)

Author's note: Here's one you've been asking for. Please tell me what you think about it! Nevertheless, enjoy x

"I think we're done for the day, huh?" You sigh in relief after dumping the dirty towels into the laundry bag and tossing it to the back room.

"No, actually, someone just walked in and wanted a haircut," your co-worker says while holding a stack of clean towels in front of her.

"Keem can have it," you resolve, you've finished all of your appointments for the day, and you're tired and ready to go home.

"Yeah, that's the problem. He specifically asked for you," your co-worker answers, putting the towels into the shelf full of them.

You plant your hands on each side of your waist and shoot a puzzled look at your coworker, "Huh?"

Is this customer aware that the salon is about to close and there's another hairstylist on duty? That exciting feeling of getting home soon is slowly fading as you head in to meet this customer who specifically asks for you.

The second you walk in, Keem, the other stylist, grabs your elbow and then leans into your side to whisper, "He's so cute."

Hearing it doesn't lift your mood at all, you just want to get it over with and go home.

"Where?" You ask as you put on your apron.

"He's right there," she whispers, pointing to the middle seat hidden behind the big mirror then detaches herself off you to go back behind the counter.

For a customer who chooses an awful time to get a haircut, you put on a phony smile and shove your hands into the pockets of your apron as you greet.

"Hi, what can I do for... You!" The infliction in your voice changes as you see who that customer is.

It's the shit-eating grin, the stupid dimples on his stupid face and

"It's enough torture to have you as my neighbor and now I have to you see at work too," you say as you cross your arms together in front of you.

"Oh, wow, is this how you treat your customer?" He says with a fake concerned look.

"Only the select few," you say with a sinister smile.

"I made it on your list of honors? Is this because we had sex—"

You hurriedly cover his mouth with your hand and make sure no one is seeing what you're doing to him, or worse, letting them acquire that piece of information.

"What do you want?" You scold him with a piercing glare.

He takes your hand off of his mouth and dramatically gasps for air, "I want a haircut," he simply answers.

With a huff, you swivel his chair to face the mirror and grab the cape for him, putting it around his neck, then clip it together. You put on a phony smile as you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

"So, what do you want me to do with your hair besides setting it on fire?" You sarcastically ask him.

It's amazing how his grin doesn't wear off even just for a second, "We don't need to cut much, I guess just the tip," he says.

"Just the tip," you repeat, "Is that the title of your sex tape?"

Chan cracks a sonorous laugh, "That's a good one!"

Once you hear the sound of the scissors snipping away the hair, you get in the zone. You focus on giving his hair a nice shape that accentuates his strong jawline and makes his facial features more prominent.

"Don't talk much, huh?" He asks, slightly turning his head to the side.

You grab the nape of his neck and forcefully turn his head back to the front, "just here trying my best not to snip you somewhere else," you calmly mutter.

"Ooh, chills!" He responds with a shudder.

You switch your scissors with a hair clipper and it starts buzzing as you turn it on, you're holding it in his hand as you look at him and say, "You're going to regret coming here and allowing me to be this close to you with a sharp object."

Seeing you bringing the hair clipper close to his face, he reflexively closes his eyes so tightly and you hold the urge to not laugh at it.

"Oh, okay, I regret it now," he says like a frightened child left alone by his parents.

You gently place your hand on his jaw, "Stay still," you warn him.

He obeys you, keeping his head still and his eyes closed as you're carefully trimming his sideburns. You suddenly find yourself admiring his face and his beautiful features of a long, big nose and voluptuous lips.

For a split second, you so badly want to run your thumb on his lips and feel how soft they are. You did feel it once with your lips but you were too sad to notice and now you realize how much you regret it.

Before the temptation returns, you turn off the trimmer and put it away, then proceed to help brush the hair on his face and around his neck with a soft brush.

"You're all done," you announce, taking the cape from around his neck.

Chan stays on his seat as you brush the excess hair off the nape of his neck and make sure they don't stick to his skin. You put all of your equipment on the cart next to you and anticipate his reaction to your haircut.

Not trying to brag here but you did a good job here because he looks even more attractive with a fresh cut.

"Aren't you going to tell me how handsome I am and then kiss me on the cheek?" He asks while blinking his big eyes at you.

"I'm not your mom," you reply with a plain smile.

When you think you already got rid of him after giving him a haircut, you see him lounging around the counter and putting on his charms for Keem. You plan on keeping it a secret that you know each other but if he starts flirting with your co-worker, then there's a possibility you'll see her walking out of his apartment the next day and it only gets messy from there. You come up to him and tug at the sleeve of his jacket, then pull him to the side.

"Why are you still here?" You ask through your gritted teeth and keeping your volume low.

"I'm waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're going out tonight," he answers.

"We?"

"And no, my panties are not in a twist," he says with a teeth-baring grin, "You can check it yourself if you want."

"Ugh. No!" You groan in refusal.

What is it about him anyway that makes the girls go crazy for him? If you're thinking with your depraved, brutal, and cavewoman brain, it must be the body that is inexplicably electric and sexually charged, braced with heavy muscles, and injected with a high dose of testosterone. In other words, he's hot, and it's hard not to be biologically attracted to him. But if you're thinking progressively and in the 21st century way, you know you should avoid this fuckboy at all costs.

"If you don't want to go then I'll just take Keem," he says, secretly threatening not only you but also your workplace dynamic.

"I'm sure she's keem for it," he makes a pun.

"Ugh. Okay," you groan in agreement this time.

And then, there's something called human error.

-

At first, Chan thought that you have that stoic expression only whenever you're around him but he was wrong. He learns that it's just your default expression and you wear it like a defense mechanism to keep the predators at bay. At least, he shouldn't worry about leaving you alone in the bar as he's working the DJ booth.

Once he's done with his set, he ignores the calls for his name and walks up to you, seeing you rather unimpressed by what he just did. What did he expect though? You're not most girls.

He taps the table, signaling the bartender to come and tend to his order, "The usual, please?"

The bartender nods and is about to turn away to make his drink when he calls for him again, "And one more for this nice lady," he adds, gesturing at you and flashing you a sly smile.

Chan turns around to face the dance floor and leans his back against the counter, "So, what do you think?"

"It was good," you answer after sipping your drink.

"You have a filthy expression on your face," he teases you and gently elbows your side, "go on, tell me what you're really thinking."

"Strangling you with my bare hands," you answer without a beat.

Chan leans in close enough that he can get a whiff of the smell of your shampoo, "so that's your kink?"

"Only when I see fear in your eyes," you answer with a wicked smile.

"Wow. You know how to excite a guy," he praises, not entirely lying about it because he gets a little excited from your snarky comments.

The bartender comes with both of your drinks and you hurriedly finish your previous one to go ahead with the next. He watches as you take a small sip and then waits to see how your nose scrunched at the bitter aftertaste.

"You're single now and maybe it's time for you to get out there, you know, find a new love," he says, secretly hoping that you'll find it in him when he looks at you.

"Hey, Chris," a girl comes and without hesitating, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Great set!"

"Thanks, Alicia," he says to the tall lady with beautiful braided hair.

"This one is on me," she says as she gives him a drink from the ones she ordered.

"Cheers then!" He says, clinking his glass with hers with his charming smile on.

The lady leaves to take the drinks away and is soon engulfed by the crowd. Chan notices that you remain calm about that interaction, and again, what did he expect?

"At least, one of us has no problems getting some tonight," you take a jab at him.

"I'm taking you out so we can have fun tonight and enjoy yourself—"

"The only way I can enjoy myself is when I'm alone."

"Oh?" He gasps and gives you a wild glare.

You roll your eyes and sigh once you realize he's taking it the wrong way, "I just want to go home and binge my favorite show and sleep," you finish your sentence with a big gulp of drink and he gets to see another nose scrunch from you.

The intention was to take you out of the apartment and perhaps, he can get you to loosen up a little bit, making this getting to know each other thing a little easier for him. It seems like he's forcing it on you and maybe it wasn't a good idea after all.

"Okay, then, we'll go home after this one," he says, lifting his glass close to his mouth.

"Or you can just stay here and do your thing, and I'm going home," you suggest a better idea after finishing your drink and you grab your bag as if you just can't wait to get out of here.

Chan is quick to grab your arm and stops you from leaving, "Hey, at least, let me finish my drink first," he protests.

"You don't have to leave with me. I can go home myself," you say to him.

"Just wait for me," he squeezes on your arm and adds, "Please?"

You consider it for a moment and then say, "I'll wait for you outside."

Since he's done a gig here, Chan has to make a proper exit out of the club, he greets a few people who work there and grabs his backpack of equipment, carrying it in his hand as he walks out of there. He finds you leaning against the street lamp and the light casts a glowing halo on your head, making you look like an angel... with a stoic expression.

He grins when you notice him coming, "Okay, I lied, there's another thing we have to do tonight," he says.

"Goodness, Chris, just bag a lady and call it a night," you groan in complaint.

Both of his eyebrows ratchet up at your words, "It has nothing to do with that."

"What is it then?" You cross your arms together in front of you.

"Only the best part of the night," he answers with a cryptic smile.

Chan knew he should have started the night with food. He can see that your mood gradually elevates with every bite you take from the delicious kebab he recommended to get after a boozy night out.

By the time you both arrive at the apartment building, you get all quiet like a drowsy child after a day out at the park and he finds it cute, especially with the way your lips slowly jutting out and you keep widening your eyes to stay awake.

"How about next Friday night we're doing it your way?" he suggests as he keeps the elevator door open for you with his back.

"If that means you'll leave me alone then yes," your eyes turn small as you politely moan into your hand.

"We're going to stay in and binge-watch your favorite show and sleep," he lists everything you mentioned earlier and an idea pops into his head.

"We'll have a pajama party!" He announces along with a poor imitation of tooting horns.

"No!" You flatly reject the idea.

"I'll bring the snacks," he offers.

You steadfastly shake your head.

"Then I'll keep knocking on your door until you let me in," he annoyingly moves into your side until he's rubbing elbows with yours.

"Then I hope you get abducted by aliens," you come out with an absurd wish and it cackles him.

"You would miss me," he confidently remarks with his signature grin.

"Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"Why?"

"I know I'd get to see you again someday—"

Chan can't help himself from smiling but little does he know, you're not done with your sentence yet.

"— in hell."

That wipes the smile off his face, "but I'm a good person. People like me," he says while making an innocent face.

"Because they don't know you, if they did, someone would have kicked your ass already."

"They'd try," Chan easily says with a nonchalant shrug, and at the same time, you both burst out laughing.

This is not flirting and he's aware there's something wrong with this interaction but you know what? He likes every bit of it.

Chan's heart sinks when it's time for the two of you to part ways and before you get to slip away from him, he tugs at the strap of your bag.

"Hey, can't wait for our pajama party," he says.

You pull your bag until the strap slips out of his hand and head to your apartment door.

"No response," he points out, "it's as a yes then."

"No!" You shout.

"So... it's a no?" He asks in confusion.

You push the door to get inside your apartment and lingers by the doorway, facing him.

"No," you cheekily respond and then close the door, leaving him with a different kind of thrill for what comes next.

-

From the way this person treats your door like a tambourine, you can safely guess that it's Chan knocking on the door for the so-called pajama party.

Ugh, why did you agree to it in the first place? It's so unlike you to let someone in on your space but it doesn't matter whether you let him or not, the boundaries have been crossed so many times that there's no such thing as personal space anymore.

Before letting him in, you check through the peephole, and just as you expected, he comes undressed, literally. He's standing on the other side of the door wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips.

"Please have mercy on my eyes and put some clothes on!" You shout through the door with your hand holding the knob.

"I don't wear pajamas. This is what I wear to sleep," he responds and you can hear him faintly laughing with your ear pressed on the door.

"And what makes you think you're going to sleep at my place tonight?"

"I don't know. A hunch," he playfully responds.

"Pajama party is officially canceled!" You say through the peephole.

"Okay, okay, I'll put some clothes on," he sighs in defeat.

You watch through the peephole to see if he's really going to his apartment to change. With his broad shoulders, all hunched up, he walks back to his apartment and doesn't even bother to close the door, he grabs whatever lying close to him and puts the dark t-shirt over his head. Even under the poor lighting, the ridges of his muscles are visible and inviting you to feel it with your touch.

As though he knows he's being watched, he looks your way and then trudges his way back to your door. The first thing you see after you open the door for him is his big grin that sends his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

With a glare at his empty hands, you ask, "And where's the snack?"

Chan puts his arms on each side of the doorframe and leans in close, towering you with his big figure, proudly he answers, "Ma'am, I am the snack."

Can't tell if he's trying to charm you, intimidate you, or both, doesn't matter because he failed at all of them.

"But you promised!" You can tolerate people when they make jokes about anything but you can't accept when it involves food.

Chan takes his phone out of his pocket and shows it to you, "It's being delivered. See?"

Your jaws unclenched in a second and you open the door wider for him, "You may come in!" You sweetly say with a curtsy.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" He says with a bow before steps into your apartment.

It's ironic how you prepared everything despite you were grudging it, you set the sofa, put some cushions and since he said he was bringing the food, you bought drinks for tonight.

"I have juice, soda, and beers," you list everything you have in your fridge as you're looking at it.

"We'll have the soda for now and beers for later," Chan strategically plans.

The food he ordered only lasts for two episodes and from there, you both run on beers and chips while sitting on opposite sides of each other on the couch with your feet touching.

"I like seeing white stockings on women," Chan comments after seeing the female character wearing it under her dress.

"This is why I hate watching with a man," you say in a condescending tone.

"I'm not even saying anything about her body," he defends himself and playfully rubs his foot with yours.

"Just shh..." you hush him, getting back at him by tackling his foot with yours.

The whole time the TV show is playing, your attention is on him, you're merely curious if he's genuinely invested in it or just wants to annoy you with his presence. From your observation, it seems like it's the former but the jury's still out.

"Wait, is that it?" He asks as the first season has just ended and the credit title rolls down the screen.

"That's the end of the first season," you say, starting to gather the trash on the table and put it into a plastic bag.

"But there's another season, right?" He says, looking distressed that the show ends with a cliffhanger.

"Yeah," you answer.

"Then let's watch it!" He says with a grin and slowly blinking his eyes at you.

"No, Chris, it's late," you show him the time on the screen on your phone that it's close to midnight.

"But I want to know what happens next and I need to know now," he speaks like a spoiled little brat.

You get up from the sofa to get rid of the trash, "You can watch it on your own."

Grabbing the back of your sweater, Chan pulls you hard until you plop down onto the sofa next to you then he puts his arm around you to keep you down.

"Let's just party all night, eh?" He persuades you as he leans in close to the side of your head you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

You leer to the side at him and ask, "I can't make you leave, do I?"

"Not a chance," he shortly answers.

Seeing that there's no other way to make him leave but to fulfill his wish, you give in and sit back down on the sofa as Chan hits the play button.

With your stomach full and the exhaustion from the day, and you feel snug on the sofa wrapped in your blanket, you're getting drowsy as the night gets late. You manage to stay awake for two episodes but not long after that, your eyes get really heavy and you can barely keep them open anymore.

Going to rest my eyes for a bit, you tell yourself in your head but close your eyes, slowly drifting into deep slumber.

-

It's not new that Chan wakes up not knowing where he is, he lifts his head and looks around, taking in his surroundings to give him clues of his whereabouts. One look at the TV screen that shows a question whether he's still watching or not, he immediately recalls where he is, what he's doing here, and—

"Owh!" He lowly gasps as you accidentally elbow him on the ribs.

There he is, lying next to you on the sofa, your back pressed close to his chest he can feel every rise and fall of your body as you're breathing. He doesn't know how it comes to this and he's not complaining though, if anything, it's an opportunity for him to admire you up close.

Cautiously, he removes the hair covering your face to the side and takes an intimate look at your facial features, first at your eyes with your eyelashes fanning out so beautifully, he runs his fingertip down your nose and eventually at your lips which he dreams of kissing.

Do you know that you're so beautiful yet so unaware of it?

Chan gently buries his nose in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent that gets him intoxicated, putting himself in a test of restraint that he'll be likely to fail. All of a sudden, you stir in your sleep and nuzzle closer as if you're seeking warmth from his body heat.

What did he just put himself into? He frustratingly asks in his head.

Soon enough, he can feel your body start to mold against him and it feels nice, you're fulfilling his need for this closeness but unfortunately, he can't control how his body is reacting to this as it wants to do more than just being pressed close to yours.

Chan carefully places his hand on your hips and quietly, he tries to push you away to make a safe space between your bodies even though he has to suffer the loss of your warmth against him.

As if your body knows what he's trying to do, you push back even further and the curve of your ass sits right on the bulge growing inside his sweatpants, putting him at a greater risk.

"Fuck!" he mouthes in distress.

If it wasn't for the TV light that casts a hazy glow on you, he wouldn't notice that your eyes are open and you're waking up to him with his hand on your hips which he's afraid only giving you the impression that he tries to pull you close instead of the opposite.

"I—" he can't say anything without sounding like he's lying because he knows that a greater part of him wanted it, wanting you.

In the next moment, he finds your hand reaching for him and unexpectedly, you put your fingers across his lips, asking him to stop talking as you bring his head close until your lips touch. He doesn't dare to do anything but when you stroke his lower lip with your tongue, his instincts take over.

To no one's surprise, Chan claims your mouth like a starved man.

However, Chan doesn't plunge right into it, he's starting the kiss with innocent brushes of his lips on yours and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again in a deeper kiss.

When he draws back, your lips are parted on soundless gasps of desire. It takes a moment for your eyes to clear enough to focus on him and with a low voice, he says, "I couldn't resist it."

He can't waste a second without kissing you so he indulges in another dizzying kiss, "I thought about kissing you all week."

Days, weeks, months, it comes to a blur to him but he learned the agony of waiting so he counts the time until his lips can reunite with yours again, hopefully, once and for all.

"Now, I can't seem to stop," As he speaks, he threads his fingers into your hair and angles your head back. He trails kisses along your jawline, nips your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

A murmur humming in your throat as he kisses you yet again and your hand flies into his hair, fingertips lazily scratching at his scalp. You suddenly pull away from the kiss and gaze into his dark eyes, "Then don't stop."

So Chan hasn't been the only one, after all.

Planting his mouth on yours again, he twines his tongue with yours, and oh... this taste, this softness, your hand in his hair, kiss after kiss after kiss.

He allows himself to run his fingertips down the length of your arm and smiles when goosebumps ripple outward. Nuzzling your neck, he breathes in the soft scent of your skin and kisses the sweet spot just behind your jaw. Your lips are calling him, but instead, he sucks on your earlobe and bites it, startling a shaky sigh from you.

He allows himself to explore more by running his hand along the length of your body, cupping the curve of your breasts, and even through the layers of fabrics, he can feel the firm buds of your nipple. He so badly wants to pinch it, love on it, but there is too much fabric in the way. He simply resolves it by slipping his hand under and he finds your soft mounds in a second, not wasting another second to fondle on it.

As he kisses you harder, and you arch into his body, you're undulating your hips against the aching bulge inside its confine, forcing him to bite back his groan.

Oh, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in... Has he ever wanted someone like this?

He reels himself back to the present, glancing down at his pale hand and your nipple caught between his fingers, it's an erotic sight indeed that he can't resist pinching it and enjoying your sharp intake of breath.

"Chris..."

The sound of his name falling from your lips is just as unexpected as it is hot. He sees you breathe through your parted lips that's swollen and glistening wet from all the kissing, and then at your wide, lustful eyes that tell him you're ready for more.

An impatient hand glides down your stomach and slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, his gentle fingers caress you with slow strokes. He is touching you there, right where you need him and you shiver, then burrow closer to him as more goosebumps dotted your skin.

"My God, you're drenched," he says and with each syllable, his lips grazed your ear.

Your body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he presses a finger deep into you, filling you. He massages your clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, making you start trembling against him.

He lowers a kiss on you again, tongue and teeth invading your mouth and that's all it takes to send you climbing quick and sharp toward your release.

His mouth finds your ear and with his hot breath tickles you, he lowly asks, "Does it feel good?”

There's no answer but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you throw your head back, inhaling sharply. Chan can feel tiny muscles fluttering around his fingers, and he knows you are close.

He doesn't need to see to know the answer, he can feel it with his hand, "You’re drenching my palm," he whispers again.

With your hand in his hair, you bring his head close and peck his lips, "Chris, I want it," you mutter as you pull away.

"It?" He asks to confirm if you're thinking of the same thing and he's not taking the wrong sign.

You lightly nod, "Mmh-hmm."

"Condom?"

"No need," you shortly answer, "I'm on the pill."

A jolt of excitement surges all over his body just from the thought that he'll be inside you with no layer of protection and it utterly exhilarates him that he needs to calm down for a minute. He uses the time to remove your shorts and then his sweatpants next without taking his other arm from around you.

Once he settles himself behind you, he puts his hand between your legs, lifting a leg and putting it over his hips, allowing his hard member to get between your legs. It feels a whole lot different to feel how wet you are on every inch of his length.

"Feel that?" He asks you with his mouth nestled close to your ear and his swollen cock rubbing between your folds, "I'm aching for you."

Chan kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck as hard flesh prodding at your sex, making you stop breathing for a moment and you feel nothing but a sensuous stretching that goes on and on until he seated himself fully inside you and oh, he fits perfectly.

"It's too good. You feel– oh... I'm going to lose it," he can't comprehend what he's feeling right now.

The heat, this tightness, so perfect for him and his body asks for nothing but more and more and more of you.

Responding to his body's needs, he withdraws and then thrusts back into you, soon enough, he sets a steady pace. His free hand slides down to your bundle of nerves, touching you there for added stimulation. You grip his wrist, seemingly intending to pull him away, but your hand refuses to cooperate.

The twin assaults of his fingers and his cock that fills you full kindle a flame inside you that spread all over you like wildfire. Your mouth is parted open but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure so instead of words, you communicate how you feel through your body. You spread your thighs wider and writhe to match his thrust for thrust.

There's nothing but the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock that incessantly slipping in and out of you, and he likes how he finds peace despite his body being in pure chaos.

With his mouth lingering close to your ear, he knows you hear every shudder of his breath to the lowest of his sultry moans slipped out of his mouth, and honestly, he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for your hand tangled in his curls and keep pulling him for a kiss, before finding his hand that rests on your chest and hold it.

"Perfect..." the word tumbles out of his mouth as your fingers slip right between the spaces of his fingers and lace it together.

"Ah, ah, ah," more moans fall out of your lips as you arch into him, and through it all, your eyes locked in a gaze with his, letting him see the pure pleasure that builds up inside you.

Chan has slept with a handful of people, but he’s never been so in tune with someone's body. He’s never been so desperate to please or so elated when he hears you cry his name as you cum around him.

The high takes you over and also your ability to move, speak, and think. You curl up, making you feel smaller against him. The hand interlaced with his tightens as he speeds up the motions of his hips and with one last deep thrust, he joins you in falling apart.

Using this tender moment to pour his affection for you, he's whispering your name and kissing you softly, then slowly, he eases out of—

"No, don't!" Your hand grabs at his hips, hard, nails digging into the flesh, "Stay."

Obeying your words, Chan holds you close, limbs to limb, skin to skin, hearts lying so close to each other with mere flesh and bones in between. He doesn't know what this was, but it sure as hell was not fucking. He kisses you hard and soft to find out.

It's when he pulls away and looks into your eyes that he figures out the answer as the most incredible feeling of being loved washes over him.

-

When Chan wakes up the next morning. He registers the sunlight on his face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and the delicious smell of buttered toast and coffee, it's all around him and—

It just hits him that he's waking up on your sofa and he burrows into the blanket with a happy sigh once he recalls everything that happened last night to the tiniest details, summoning the butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.

The sound of your footsteps forces him to get out of his daze and he scrambles to get up when you walk past the sofa on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning!" He cheerily greets you while covering his naked lower half with the blanket.

Without looking and with your hands tying your hair, you fainty reply to his greeting, "Morning."

You didn't reply to his level of enthusiasm but that's okay, he just doesn't expect you to be this stoic this early in the day. Instead of searching for his sweatpants, he wraps the blanket around his hips like a towel and waddles his way to the kitchen.

"You're up early," he says, noticing that it's barely seven and he knows you usually leave for work a little after eight, sometimes close to nine.

"Early appointment. Have to do a client's hair. Wedding," you concisely explain as you quietly sip your coffee from a big red mug.

It's strange, the way you speak and how your eyes are looking anywhere but in his direction. For now, he's going to think that you're just tired and not fully meeting your dose of caffeine yet

"Okay, so what's for breakfast?" He asks, excitedly tapping the dining table with his hands and grinning at you.

"Toast and coffee," you say while standing on your toes to get a glass from the top cabinet.

"Anything but coffee, please?" He politely asks, watching you walk the other way to get a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.

It's a sunny day but the room shares the same temperature as the glass of orange juice you pour into his glass. He observantly watches you, searching for any clues whether this is how you are in the morning or something is actually off with you.

There's one way to know, first, he takes a small sip of his juice to help with his dry throat and then jabs around the topic, "Last night was fun, don't you think?"

There's no answer and he can't see your reaction toward it when you're standing with your back facing him and he begins to think that it's the latter.

"I'm thinking we should do this again next Friday but I'll get to pick what we're going to watch and you bring—"

"Chris, I'm sorry but..." You swiftly turn on your feet and check the time on the clock, "I have to leave now."

"Sure, yeah, you can't be late for a wedding," he playfully says while keeps searching for your eyes to make you look at him.

You walk around your apartment to gather your things, your phone, and your wallet, stuffing them into a purse. You grab another bag which he guesses is one you usually carry for work and that only confirms that you're indeed leaving for an appointment.

"You can stay for breakfast and use the spare keys to lock the door when you leave," you say those things in a hurry as you drag your bag to the foyer.

He turns on his chair to look at you as he jokes, "We've only slept together twice and you're already giving me your apartment keys?"

Unfortunately, the jokes fall short as he hears nothing but the sound of the knob turning and you're getting out of the apartment.

"Have a great day at work!" He shouts at you but all he gets in response is the door closing and then clicks in place.

Chan can't tell anymore if you're leaving for work or you're leaving him, but it feels like he's getting his karma for always being the one leaving in the morning.

-

It's wedding season and that explains why there are a lot of scribbles on your calendar, you have a lot of appointments to do this month, and you get so busy that he's hardly seeing you lately.

Work is one thing he can understand but you can't possibly work 24 hours a day without a day off, right? At one point, he should have caught you leaving or coming home from work, whichever it is, the chance never comes to him, not even once.

Chan begins to wonder if you're avoiding him, he knows because there's a slight difference to it and it's in the purpose. You've been purposely doing things to avoid him.

With an excuse prepared in his head, Chan comes knocking on your door the next Friday night. He's been keeping your spare keys and can easily let himself in but that would be impolite, he needs to be on your good side to earn your trust.

After a few times knocking with no answer, he lets himself in but not because he has the spare keys, the door is unlocked so he figures you must be at home and doing something that makes you unable to get the door.

"Anyone's home?" He shouts into the void in your living room and hesitantly walks further inside.

Hearing the loud humming of a hairdryer, he walks to your bedroom. Unexpectedly, you're coming out as he's about to walk in.

"Oh, God!" You gasp in surprise as you hold the front of your bathrobe together, "What are you doing here?"

In contrast, Chan laughs seeing your shell-shocked expression in his presence. He then crosses his arms together and leans the side of his body against the doorframe, not forgetting to wear his grin as he answers to you, "Just checking to see if my neighbor is alive."

"Well, I'm alive," You're talking as you're taking dresses out of your closet, "and I need your help."

Looking at your mood and the way you talk normally to him, he concludes that the thought that you've been purposely avoiding him was just a silly thought after all. Other than that, you need his help and he likes being needed by you.

"I'm at your service," Chan says, permitting himself to step into your bedroom and sit on the end of your bed.

You're standing in front of him, holding up two dresses in your hands, one is a white line dress with a v-neck and the other is a body-hugging velvet dress in a deep burgundy color. Both will look good on you but he needs to know one thing before he gives his vote.

"Are we going out tonight?" He playfully asks, feeling a buzz of excitement filling him.

You turn around to face the full-length mirror while holding the dress in front of you in turn to give you ideas on how it will look on you.

"I have a date," you tell him.

Hearing that, the excitement in his body vanishes in a second and is replaced by a cold shudder of panic. He tries to laugh it off in denial.

"A–a date?" He stammers.

"Uh-huh," You end up settling the dress situation yourself by choosing to go with the white linen dress, "Can you get out of my room so I can change?"

His subconscious has the tendency to obey you, he gets up from the bed and walks out of your room, and he lingers there by the door, contemplating whether he should push the conversation or not.

"With who?" He doesn't want to know but curiosity gets the best of him.

"A guy I met at one of the weddings," you share from inside your bedroom.

"Is this—" he pauses to swallow air, "Is this your first date?"

"Yes and I'm excited," your voice grows louder and soon, the door cracks open and you reveal yourself to him, "Now, tell me I made the right choice?"

He takes a staggering step backward and asks, "On the date or the dress?"

You take a look at yourself on the round mirror hanging on the wall, "Is it too casual? No?"

For a second, Chan forgets about the direness of the situation and takes a good look at you, the dress compliments your shape so well, the hem flares up like a blooming flower and the v-cut neckline offers a modest cleavage, perfect for a first date. If he has to be honest, even without the dress, it won't make you less comely but he hates that you look this good and it's not for him.

"You look... good," he tries to make it sound like your appearance doesn't make any impression on him.

You wipe the excess lipstick on the corner of your mouth then look over your shoulder, "And the date?"

He doesn't expect you to give him the chance to say something about it and obviously, he's going to try his best to intercept your plan.

"Don't you think it's too soon?" He follows you as you head back to your bedroom then stops at the doorway as you enter the bathroom after, "To get on a date."

You take off the hair rollers nestling on the crown of your hair and your hair flows down like big springs, then brush it down with your fingers.

"You told me yourself that I should get out there and find new love," you return his words to him.

That feels like he's just slapped himself in the face. Why did he tell you that? Oh, yeah, that's because he wants you to start opening up so he can let himself in and fill that position.

"But that's not– I just didn't think..." his words trailing off as he can't exactly explain the reason why he said it, not now at least.

You put all of your hair to the front then flip it all together to the back, you're shaking the end with your fingers, sending the sweet smell of your shampoo flying around in the room.

"Didn't think what?" You curiously ask as you apply a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips, the shade is bright red like a flamethrower.

"When I said you should start finding a new love, I was hoping that you could finally see me and..." he can't find another way of telling you without saying it out loud, "perhaps, you can find it in me."

That makes you stop whatever you're doing and turn around on your feet, leaning against the bathroom counter, you look at him in eerie silence, and then out of nowhere, a laugh bursts out of you.

"Chris, stop playing!" You brush past him on the way out of the bathroom.

He's trailing behind you as you pick up a purse from a collection of them in your closet, "I'm not playing," he assures you.

"Okay, yeah, I trust you," you half-heartedly respond, heading out and going to the foyer to pick your shoes next.

"Can you please look at me?" He pleads as he waits for you to make up your mind with your choice of shoes.

"Just look at me, please?" He begs again, desperately.

You take your chosen shoes and hold them in one hand as you hold his gaze, "Okay, I'm looking at you."

In those fierce eyes, Chan finds the courage to assess his feelings and tries to fathom them into words. He inhales air before letting it out in a long, low sigh.

"Don't go on that date," he demands.

"Why?"

"Because I want you here."

"Chris, that's not a good enough reason," you say with a low laugh.

He gently places his hands on each of your elbows and tenderly stares into your eyes, "Then go ahead, ask me that one question."

"What question?"

"Ask me what are we," he steadily holds your gaze even though he feels a whirlwind in his head and chaos stirring inside his chest.

You brush it off with a laugh, "Why should I ask you—"

"Just ask me the question!" He accidentally raises his voice at you and immediately lowers his voice after, he looks down to take a breather before looking back into your eyes, "Ask me what are we!"

It feels like an eternity waiting for you to ask him that but he has the patience and an answer to that, he only needs you to ask him that.

You drop the shoes onto the floor and take a step forward, you hold his gaze as he holds his breath. Deep down, he knows that you'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes.

To his dismay, you unexpectedly retreat and pick up everything with you toward the door. With your back turned to him, you say, "I don't want to be late for the date."

-

It's been an hour since he came back from your apartment and he's still stuck in the denial stage. He's lying in the dark and stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, ignoring his phone that's been tirelessly blaring with notifications.

It's not a rejection if you don't give him a definite, abundantly clear answer, right? Besides, there's a chance that the guy blew the date and you can see that he's the better man. Is he though? Is he any better?

There are two ways to handle this situation. One, he can try to forget all about it, hit call back on one of the girls contacting him right now, get out of here, and distract himself with a physical release. Or two, wait because there's something in him that tells him to wait just a little longer.

But wait for what? Wait until you return from your date? Wait until he sees it happens, you with your new beau, all lovey-dovey next door?

It seems like he's finally progressed into the next stage: anger.

Every thought that crosses his head right now is not nice and he needs an outlet for this anger. He shoots up from the bed, he starts pacing back and forth in the room, hands balled into fists, he gets this urge to punch something, he wants to— No, he can't wait with this ugly feeling slowly taking over him and driving him insane.

"Fuck this," he curses out loud into the void in his apartment, he picks up his phone and texts someone about meeting up tonight.

While typing a text, knocking comes on his door, and whoever it is, they'd better not piss him off or— the knocking comes again, he exhales air out of his mouth to calm down and walks in heavy steps to get the door.

It seems as if his anger wasn't there in the first place, the second he opens the door and sees you, all of those nasty thoughts vanish into thin air.

You're carrying your shoes in one hand and the other is holding one side of the doorframe. You look at him with a smile ever so softly blooms on your face, "So..."

See? It wasn't a rejection. He just needed to wait a little longer and God, he was glad he did.

"So...?" He asks back, holding the urge to smile back at you.

You daringly stare into his eyes as you take a step into his apartment, "So... what are we, Chris?"

It's crazy how your magnetic field is so strong that he can't stand being this close to you and not touching you, his hesitant hands are reaching for you, they retreat and give, doing it for a while until you drop everything off your hands and put your hands around his shoulders. Indirectly permitted him to put his hands on you.

"What are we, mmh?" You ask again with your eyes flickering like they hold stars in them.

"We are..." he considers to let the truth out but what's the fun in that? He needs to get back at you for making him doubt everything earlier, "Neighbors."

"No," you shake your head in disagreement, "You're definitely going to say something else."

Luckily, he's strong enough to hold you steady as you put your whole weight against him, leaving not even an inch of gap between your bodies.

"Someone still has her panties in a twist," he playfully responds with his charming grin on, dimples and all.

"Shame on you because I don't have any panties on," you say with your small smile turning into a broad one.

His eyes widen in slight shock, and his hand automatically glides downward, landing a caress on the curve of your ass and slipping under the hem of your dress to check whether your words are true or not. His fingers edge at the lacy fabric of your underwear and it turns out to be the latter.

"Ugh, you're lying!" He groans in complaint but it doesn't make him less happy, he's elated, and his heart is about to burst.

"Partly."

"How so?"

"Because you're about to take them off," you shamelessly say.

Chan wants to let go of all the things that hold him back. He brings both of your lips together, he kisses you like you're oxygen and he's short on air. He runs his hands down your back to your hips, cupping your sweet ass, and pulls you even closer. You struggle to get closer as he kisses you deep and hard your head tilted to the back, you weave your fingers through his hair as you pour yourself into the kiss.

Everything that happened before this is in the past now, all he knows now is your taste and the hot sighs of your breath, and then this irrepressible want to devour you.

"I'm going to carry you to bed," Chan's plush lips brushing yours as he speaks.

The idea of carrying you to bed is highly appealing to him at the moment. He likes holding you and as messed up as it was, he wants to throw you onto the bed, in the most respectful way.

"Then what are you waiting for, kangaroo boy?"

A sharp gasp escapes your mouth as he swoops you into his arms and carries you in the direction of the bedroom. You have your arms looped around his neck to hold onto and place kisses along his jaw all the way to his bedroom.

Instead of throwing you onto the bed like he planned, he throws both of you onto the bed and it quakes, he immediately props an elbow against the mattress to not put his weights on you.

"God, you're so beautiful," his sigh tells how overwhelmed he is by what he's seeing and what a privilege that he's able to place kisses on such beauty.

When you try to gasp a mouthful of air, he breathes it into you with his hand resting on your jaw, you look up at him, and a starburst of emotion expands inside him. He thinks you see it in his eyes because you softly smile at him.

Giving you time to breathe, he shifts his focus elsewhere, he kisses and sucks on your neck, all the while his hands are keeping your body closely pressed against him, making you aware of the firm flesh prodding your crotch through his blue jeans.

The next thing is his mouth searching for the source of the heat and your body goes into total system failure as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. Between your thighs, you flush and tingle with wanting.

"This smell..." he hums as he buries his nose in your clothed sex, making you able to feel every sharp intake of air he inhales through his nose.

He pries his mouth open and plants it on your heating wetness, not caring about the lacy fabric that blocks him from tasting it raw.

"Mmh..." he deeply hums again, almost like the low roar of a wild animal hunting at night, "I want this smell all over me."

The intensity of your desire frightens and embarrasses you at the same time, you need a little control but control is gone when Chan tugs the waistband of your underwear between his teeth and begins to pull it down your legs.

He places his hands on the back of your thighs and slowly, lifts both of your legs upward as he keeps biting your underwear. You're watching as he tries to take it off of you with such determination.

Once he succeeds, he grabs the underwear from between his teeth and holds it up to show you his latest conquest, "Twisted panties no more," he says with a sly grin.

Instead of tossing it aside, he puts the underwear into the back pocket of his jeans, "I'm keeping it."

There are so many layers of clothing keeping him from feeling your skin but he can start by removing his t-shirt, having no problems showing you his taut muscles and his pale skin that reddens around the chest, neck, and both ears.

Next, Chan grabs your knees, he pulls them apart to bare your sex to his eyes and his chest expands on a sharp inhalation. The look on his face tells it all, he wants you, he wants you so bad that he swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

It's the first time that he gets to see it open and bare, gushing with essence, tantalizing. He leisurely takes his time to admire it while plotting things he wants to do to it.

He rubs his hands down the sides of your thighs and lowly sighs, without his eyes straying away from the sight between your legs, he says, "You have the prettiest little—”

He thinks he's imagining it but he's not the only one hearing knocks on his apartment door. Sensing someone else's presence, your legs instinctively shut and you pull the hem of your dress down.

"Chris, are you expecting someone?" You ask with your forehead wrinkled in question.

"No," he shortly answers, he doesn't want you to think that he's waiting for someone else other than you, "I don't—"

The knocking comes again a while later, a little too aggressive that both of you can't ignore it anymore.

"Someone is knocking on your door," you say.

"Yeah, but I swear, I don't—"

You place your hand on his waist and look at him, "well, then, get the door and find out."

He'd rather have someone sawing him off of you than having to voluntarily get away from you, whoever this person is will be responsible for what's not going down at this moment.

"Only if you promise you won't change your mind," he tells you with a sly smirk.

"If you don't hurry and get the door, I might," you say back.

"Stay still. Don't move. Not even an inch," he pecks your lips for every warning with both hands cupping your face. He plants another long peck on your lips before dashing toward the front door and thinking of just sending this person away so he can get back to you.

This is where he makes a mistake. He doesn't check through the peephole and opens the door right away, having the faintest idea that catastrophe awaits on the other side of the door.

"Ah, there you are!" The girl says, jumping at him and immediately locking lips with him.

It happens so fast that by the time Chan registers it, the girl pulls away but keeps her arms looped around his shoulders.

"I came here as soon as I received your text," she grabs his chin and kisses his slacked-open mouth, "I hope I didn't make you wait long."

On the other end of the room, he hears your footsteps coming and soon, you come into his sight. You look so calm and he'd prefer a raging sea because with calm water, he never really knows what he's dealing with.

With an enigmatic smile, you look at him and say, "You know what, Chris? I change my mind."

-

Support my works by reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @yourmomscuntis2tighy @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @armystay89 @tirena1 @modesttiger

[angel5ofp0rn]

thinking about the 141 as daddies of babies with afro hair 🙂‍↕️

Gaz would know the basics, naturally, and would take the extra time to make sure his babies always have their hair right. he reminds them how beautiful their hair is and how important it is to take the extra time and care to keep it healthy. if you’re not used to caring for their hair type, he’s very patient in teaching you the basics and hypes you up every time you do their hair on your own.

Price would shyly stumble into a black salon and ask for tips and tutorials on how to care for his children’s hair. he’d make sure he had all the right tools, products, accessories, etc. and make sure he knows how to use them. he does a piss poor job at styling it, and you always end up having to fix it anyway, but at least he tries.

Soap goes all in. he has his babies sat in front of him, and a youtube tutorial in front of them both, and he’s putting in the work. tongue sticking out as he braids and twists and, surprisingly, it turns out better than anyone expected— except him. he was confident from the get go. now it’s your turn, bonnie; boho braids or knotless box braids? i saw a lass earlier with her hair like this—

Ghost is standing by the shampoo bowl, arms crossed, at his children’s biweekly hair appointment telling the hairdresser that money is no object, just make his babies happy. he’s stocking up on bonnets, silk pillow cases, whateverthefuck that is that makes their hair smell so good and makes his li’l girl’s curls look shiny, the way she likes. he has their ipads charged up for their long appointments and is going in and out of the salon to fetch various snacks and drinks for the kids and the hairstylists taking care of them.

[koolades-world]

Powerful men

oh my god the fact that any of the brothers and datables could ruin the lives of anyone who wrongs you is so hot to me

the idea of the pure power and influence they hold used just used for little old me instead of something actually productive makes me weak in the knees

if you go down the list, each of them is terrifying in their own way and you have them wrapped around your finger

Lucifer is Diavolo’s right hand man and single handed manages so many things, including six of his brothers that are all very power demons

Mammon has influence over everything money

Levi is Hell’s Admiral

Satan was literally birthed from Lucifer’s rage and has connections in every part of the Devildom

Asmo is not only famous as the avatar of lust, but also online meaning he has a horde of crazy dedicated fans and man’s greater weakness at his disposal

Beel is a beefcake of a man and will eat anything without flinching, including almost you

Belphie rules the dreamworld and arguably had the least amount of restraint among his brothers

Diavolo is literally the next in like to be king and has an inconceivable amount of grim at the tips of his fingers

Barbatos can alter time, space, and any destiny at will with something as simple as a thought and hand movement

Solomon has 46(? don’t remember exactly how many) demons in a pact with him including Barbatos and Asmo and is a very powerful sorcerer

Simeon has the influence of an angel and the power of all that is heavenly on his side, as well as Lucifer

all it takes is for one of them to find out, then the fate of whoever wronged you has been sealed. I like to think it’s a collaborative effort

the demon that made fun of you in RAD mysteriously vanished, that thorn in your side at your part time job is suddenly much nicer, and that one rude hairstylist at your favorite salon is fired for some reason

it’s so insane how all of them are likely willing to go that far for a human that was chose at random for an exchange program that wasn’t meant to last more than a year

the writing potential is endless

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances. 

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done?  he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals. 

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you. 

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not. 

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone. 

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls. 

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down. 

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body. 

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

�� httpsserene 2023

[minkieater]

spiderhead → yj

tattoo artist!yeonjun x fem!reader

smut mdni, cheating, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship wc. ~6k

the buzz from tattoo guns spread across the room as if there were a swarm of bees  — the shop was busy today. yeonjun’s mouth tasted of tobacco and menthol, his favorite combination, his index and middle fingers stained with the scent from years of use. he rain a hand through his hair, feeling the ends tickle his neck, before burying both hands in the soft, fleece lined pocket of his hoodie. 

he made his way over to his station, checking his tools, cleaning up the area so he could prepare for his next client. the steps whirled in his head as they always did when he fixed his area: wash his hands, put gloves on, sterilize his tools, cover his equipment, disinfect all surfaces. he loved this part, the organization, having everything accessible to make his art easier to complete. 

god, yeonjun loved his fucking job. just the plain idea of him drawing and coloring on people’s bodies, having his art stay there forever, it was magical to him. yeonjun knew in high school that he wanted to be a tattoo artist — he bought a shitty tattoo gun online, spent his weekends drunk in beomgyu’s basement leaving wonky doodles on his friends in places no one would ever see. at parties, people would beg him to whip out the tattoo gun, implore him to etch small designs on their skin on the big leather couch in soobin’s parents’ house. 

those nights turned into lonely ones spent in his bedroom, cross hatching lines into fake skin on his desk, shading with pointillism in designs he’d seen on pinterest, smoke from his lit joint dancing into the air of his bedroom. he had a year long apprenticeship at a tattoo shop in the middle of brooklyn when he turned nineteen, he tried college for a year when he graduated high school but quickly realized it just wasn’t for him. now, four years later, he was thriving: he was booked, he was busy, he was a real fucking tattoo artist and made real fucking money. 

he grabbed his phone to check the time before he started disinfecting, only five more minutes before his client was supposed to show. he scrolled his lock screen, eyes thinning when he read the notifications. 

v: did u turn the lights off before u left v: if my electric bill is high again just know you’re paying that shit

his lips pulled into a line, thumbs moving a mile a minute. 

yj: yes i turned them off yj: u dont have to remind me every single day 

he locked his phone and set it face down on the counter that ran along the back of the shop, packed cabinets filled with saran wrap, disinfectant and ink caps underneath. he shook his head, irritation flooding his thoughts, he’d left the lights on one time and now he’ll never hear the end of it. 

well over a year now, together but still not quite official — on and off but pretty much living together, yeonjun has spent more time in your bushwick apartment than he has at his own downtown. granted the shop was closer to your apartment than his own, but he’s always liked your apartment more, anyway. tall ceilings, funky art, maps and concert posters on the walls, a unique touch to your living space with your red lacquered kitchen cabinets and dark wood accents where his own looked cheesy and cheap in comparison.

two bedrooms, one full bathroom and a separate room just for the television and couch, yeonjun thought you were fucking loaded when he first stepped foot in your apartment. it had to be your parents paying your bills, or maybe you were a nepo baby – this is new york, after all – but as your relationship grew and he learned more about your occupation, how much you truly made between high commission and tips, he’d never thought a hairstylist could make so much fucking money. 

both of you in your careers, working full time with the public, both creative people that spend their days creating art that lives on people’s bodies. your canvases were humans, walking, breathing pieces of scrap paper that you drew on, painted on, poked, cut, shaded. the two of you related to one another too much in too many areas, on too many levels, so many conversations about people and their critiques, their wishes, their families, their stories. if you and yeonjun could do anything, it was talk. 

you’d met on your twenty first birthday, a little over a month after yeonjun’s twenty second. you and your girl friends and coworkers he later learned circled up on the dance floor with you in the middle, rolling your hips to the beat of the song, head tipped back in a drunken haze and a cocktail in your hand. he eyed you from the bar, thinking nothing of it other than the fact that you were a drunk twenty one year old about to be obnoxiously loud in his ear all night. he sipped his glass of whiskey, neat, tattooed fingers wrapping around the glass that dripped sweat onto his palm. 

the bar was hot, too hot for the outfit he had on — oversized black hoodie with the hood over his head, black pants, boots on his feet. he was dressed for early november in new york, layered to fight off the chill of brooklyn, not for whatever the hell was going on in his favorite bar. 

you approached him first, slurring over your words, tucking your hair behind your ear which was already tucked. you batted your eyelashes, your eyes glossed over in intoxication — yeonjun was not biting, he wasn’t interested in the slightest. he gave you a tight lipped smile, clinked his glass with your own and turned his attention away from you, a small gesture to say what you’re looking for is not me, keep it moving.

but when you strolled into his shop two weeks later as a walk-in and yeonjun had a cancellation, only then was he taking the bait, the bait you had no idea you were dangling from a hook right in front of his own two eyes. you didn’t seem to recall your interaction on your birthday, you didn’t seem to recognize yeonjun at all and that only made him curious.

you asked for a ruler along your index finger, two lines to show the public what two inches really is. he laughed at that, a small puff of amusement leaving his perfect plump lips just as the words left yours. 

“is that stupid?” you asked, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed in question but your eyes wide and he swore he could see them shine as you looked up to him. he was taken then, from just that one look in your eyes – he knew he was in trouble.

“not at all,” he said as she shook his head, smile still dancing on his cheeks, “it’s funny, i’ll take you back.” 

you sat down on the bench, yeonjun went searching for a ruler in the cabinets lining the back of the shop. you spoke mindlessly about your job as he searched, immediately telling him a story about a client you had a few days ago who wanted a balayage and not highlights but they couldn’t decipher between the two — they insisted on highlights when what they were describing was clearly a balayage. you spoke with such enthusiasm, your mouth running a mile a minute, words spilling from your lips just as fast as you thought them. 

yeonjun had no idea what you were talking about but he knew you were adorable — much different from when you first tried to pick him up at that bar. your eyes are bright, words controlled, movements sharp and alert. what did stay the same was the confidence, your outward extrovertedness made it so yeonjun didn’t have to say much, just nodding and listening to your little story as he tried his best to keep his head on straight. 

“finger tattoos don’t last as long as they do on other parts of the body,” he interrupted as your story ended, finally pulling a small red plastic ruler from the cabinet to his left. 

you shrug, “i figured as much, my hands are in water a lot, too.” 

yeonjun sucked a breath in through his teeth, “that makes it even worse.” 

“so what, i have to come back and get it touched up, then? big deal,” your hands came up at your sides, shrugging altogether, “as long as you still work here when i have to get it touched up then it’s fine.” 

“already commending my work when i haven’t even done the tattoo yet?” yeonjun wears a lazy, teasing smile as he sits down on his stool, grabbing the arm rest for you to lay your forearm on. 

“who said i was talking about the tattoo?” yeonjun’s eyes shot up at you who was already wearing a smirk, his lips parted ever so slightly. he immediately cracked a smile, shaking his head as he looked back down to your hand. 

“that’s crazy,” he mumbled under his breath as he put the ruler up to your finger, then grabbed his pen from his tray to mark the inches. maybe you did know — maybe you were purposely dangling the bait, or maybe the two of you just had the same amount of interest in each other. maybe there was no bait to begin with.

“i don’t think it's crazy,” he didn’t expect you to hear him or respond, but it seems you don’t have a filter of any kind as you keep going, “you’re hot, i’m hot, we have a lot in common already.” 

“we have a lot in common?” he raised an eyebrow, looking up to you again after marking the second inch, he grabbed a different pen to mark the eighths. 

“we’re both creative, both work with the public, we have picky people as clients, have to listen to unrealistic expectations, both work in careers that aren’t super common — not common, maybe abnormal? or maybe i’m trying to say we can be abnormal because our careers aren’t super judgemental? appearance wise, i guess, whatever, anyways, we also both know how to talk to people, i can keep going…”

“so all we have in common are our careers?” he’s still playing along as he finishes marking out the lines, “how does that look?”

“looks good to me,” you say after a quick glance, barely an inspection of your finger, “pretty much, but our careers teach us a lot about ourselves. oh! and we can do art trades, i’ll do your hair and you give me tattoos.” 

“are you bribing me or pimping yourself out?” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the smile that paints itself on your face feigns innocence, he’d save that look for his sketchbook later tonight.

“maybe a little bit of both. are either of them working?” you cocked your head to the side again, swinging the feet that hung from the bench ever so slightly, careful not to kick anything in front of you. yeonjun had to reel himself in.

yeonjun had to be honest — with himself, and you — it started working the moment you stepped into the shop. you had no visible tattoos, a casual outfit on, sweatpants and a tee shirt that left just a sliver of skin between the hems of your clothes. your hair was done but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you didn’t seem like anything special off first glance– in fact, you seemed the exact opposite of his type, the girls he usually went for. yeonjun was just as confused with himself as he was enamored by you. 

“i don’t know, i think you might have to try a lil’ harder,” he faked a deciding face, eyebrows scrunched as he moved back in his stool, ushering for you to stand up. he looked at your finger from all angles, analyzing it as you stood to the side, lifting your hands, flexing your fingers as you stood. he was happy with his sketch, his outline, he was more then prepared to freehand a couple lines. 

“you should let me try harder over some drinks if the tattoo comes out good,” your eyes were trained on your hand as you followed his instructions, moving your hands into every position he asked for. 

yeonjun laughed at that, “if the tattoo comes out good? what, am i the one picking you up now?” 

you shrugged as he ushered you to sit back down, “you might be, i’m trying to find out.”

he nodded with his lips pursed, folded into a frown that wasn’t exuding any sort of negative reaction, more impressed than anything. “fair game.”

your tattoo came out flawless, the lines he free handed onto your finger came out straight, perfect in thickness. as easy as it seemed, you knew the talent it took, the patience and a steady hand needed for such precision. after you paid, tipping him generously, your flirting returned with vengeance.

“i think we hit it off if i’m being honest,” you smiled, showing all of your teeth to the black haired man behind the counter, “do you have anyone else after me?” 

he shook his head, “you’re my last, i had a cancellation.”

“oh my god– do you believe in fate? yeonjun, i think that’s what this is, i’m being so serious,” your eyes were wide, eyebrows shot up, smile wide. excitement bled from you, your veins, you were nothing but honest. so shameless, not a thought in your pretty little head that he’d reject you – he wasn’t sure if you’d care if he did. 

he laughed, something he seemed to do too much during your entire service, his head hanging low in front of him before he picked it back up, looking at you who was already staring expectantly at him. “i don’t, but maybe if we go get drinks you can change my mind.”

you raised your fists, “i’ve won.”

the bar was halfway to your apartment, almost smack ass between the tattoo shop and your place. you’d been there before with your girlfriends, once or twice since your birthday – you could finally join in on the fun. yeonjun was dressed in all black, you’d soon come to find out he was always dressed in all black, and he never looked like he got enough sleep. you seemed so bright next to him, with your hair and your clothes and the plush keychains attached to your purse. you looked like total opposites, when you knew you had much more in common than what meets the eye.  

that one night bled into the next year of your lives – something he was not expecting after your first interaction. it’s not like he’s never had a client try to bag him before, but something about you was different, it drove him insane that he couldn’t put a finger on it. he was used to playing games, always the winner, never the loser. he was used to confusion, being stuck in the inbetween, the gray area that sometimes came with relationships, or lack thereof. with you it was so straight forward, a slippery slope, not a hole he dug himself into but instead a well, one full of water, full of life. he never wanted to stop drinking from it, gulp after gulp, chugging until he was so full he thought he might spill over. 

the spilling didn’t come until six and a half months in. your first two months were every man’s wet dream – he had every inch of you, every fistful of perpetually iron-curled hair, every corner of plush skin burned to memory – on every surface of your apartment and his. 

in yeonjun’s past relationships, he never seemed to be the problem. if anything, he was the victim.

small fights to massive blown out arguments over petty shit, staying out too late with his coworkers at his favorite bar to beomgyu stealing him for a night out clubbing, missed texts and phone calls to going MIA for three days. yeonjun never seemed to understand what the issue was – petty arguments were never his thing, he’d rather stay silent than give into whatever the fuck his current plaything was yelling about this time. so what if he stayed out too late with his coworkers? he still came home. there’s no harm in a night out clubbing with his boys, she didn’t even know about the girl that was grinding against his dick all night, or the other one that had her lipstick smeared across his lips in the corner of the dark club. he went MIA for three days because his phone was dead, not because he had her number blocked. it was ridiculous, really, the things women would try and pin on him – yeonjun never seemed to think he was the issue at all. 

the thought never crossed yeonjun’s brain that these behaviors were learned, or that he could teach them to anyone else. he never thought that his pretty, bright eyed new girlfriend would turn into a different version of himself – if she did, he’d be grateful, he thought himself pretty fucking cool – yeonjun never thought any of his behaviors were bad, but when yeonjun got a taste of his own medicine he knew he met his match. 

he showed up at your apartment past midnight, drunk off his ass, clothes oozing whiskey, weed and burberry her. he let himself in with his key, the one you gave him after three months in, the one you told him to use whenever he wanted. he called out your name, searching from room to room, but you were nowhere to be found. he’d never shown up to an empty apartment, there’s never been a lack of you, cuddled up in a fuzzy robe, either under your duvet or sitting on the couch watching reruns of your favorite drama. yeonjun was confused, his dazed head couldn’t think up a proper reason for your absence, he decided to do what he absolutely fucking hated to be done to him. 

he called you about thirty six times, texted you about forty two times. he also left four voicemails, not one of them nice. 

he sat there on your couch – after a much needed shower, a bottle of water and a change of clothes you kept for him in your bottom drawer, he sobered up real quick. he felt more level headed, but he couldn’t ignore the anger that began to grow, a pit that sat heavy in his stomach: where the fuck were you? who were you with? 

you damn near fell into the room an hour later, keys falling to the floor after you ripped them out of the door. you giggled to yourself, your heels in your hands, fingers curled into the heel of your black pumps. the strapless, sparkly scrap of fabric he could barely call a dress was crooked, your hair that was always purposely styled to perfection was a mess, your red lipstick was smudged down your chin. yeonjun’s seen this scene before, he’s done it, he’s lived it.

“who fucked you?” were the first words that left his mouth as he stood in the living room, oversized black clothes hanging off his frame like hade’s robes. the breath that left his nostrils was hot, burning his cupid’s bow, his jaw locked with his usually plump lips scrunched to a thin line. 

you laughed – you fucking laughed. “you’re a fucking psychopath, junie. i just came back from a night with the girls!”

yeonjun was not buying it – he stepped closer. the stench of alcohol was masked by dior sauvage, a smell he knew too well, a smell that drifted past him as you nearly pushed him out of your way. yeonjun was dumbfounded and raging, his eyebrows furrowed together, his hands held out in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them. 

his girl, his only girl – well, other than the girl he made out with earlier – he couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else’s hands on you, being so close to you that you came home smelling like him. he followed you to the bathroom.

you were already stripped down bare – no bra and no panties to be seen on the pile on the floor with that thin scrap of fabric, yeonjun couldn’t collect his thoughts fast enough, his rage was creeping up his spine, sitting in his stomach like food poisoning, threatening to come out whether he wanted it to or not.

“you’re lying,” was all he could get out as you brushed through your hair, putting it in a tight knot atop your head, a small smile still sitting on your cheeks. he didn’t sound angry enough, his voice wasn’t stable, his feelings weren’t enough to give his voice ground to stand on. 

“no i’m not,” you said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like your words were the honest to god truth. you turned to him, your best innocent look paired with that award winning smile, “wanna shower with me? or did you already when you came home from the club?”

yeonjun had a full body reaction, his eyebrows furrowed and his face scrunched up in disbelief and shock, for just a moment there he thought he might be insane. did he make that up? was the dior he smelled just remnants from being with beomgyu earlier? no, no he showered, that was all you. he was not insane. he stepped closer. 

the smell of a shower he’d taken just an hour ago filled the room, the body wash that you always used was the only scent he could decipher. he took a breath, “you fucked someone.”

“i think you might still be drunk, baby,” you wore a fake pout, raising your right hand to run your thumb across his bottom lip, “happy anniversary, by the way. six months!”

that was the start of everything – his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend was buried somewhere, six feet deep in wet soil, replaced with something akin to a fucking monster. when yeonjun first met you, you had told him you had so much in common, yeonjun didn’t believe it, didn’t see it. he thought the two of you were polar fucking opposites, yet he liked you anyway, liked that you introduced him to a new type of relationship. while yeonjun spent six months subconsciously teaching you his own behaviors, you spent the time purposely teaching him quite a few of your own. 

goodmorning texts to goodnight texts to facetime – yeonjun never did any of that shit before. yeonjun has never bought a single person a bouquet of flowers in his entire life. yet here you stood, his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend, in the middle of your salon surrounded by a herd of your coworkers with a bouquet signed ‘your junie <3 love you baby!’

his friends called him whipped, a simp, a cuck, every name in the fucking book because yeonjun adored you, and it was painfully obvious. you’d come to beomgyu’s garage, parading around in a mini skirt and your tiny little purse that yeonjun was sure only had lip gloss inside, getting him beers from the fridge and cracking them open, handing them to him with a smile and sitting straight on your throne: his lap. his friends adored you too, they couldn’t figure out what you saw in yeonjun – with his dark clothes, heavy tattoos that covered his body, bags under his eyes, black hair and too much metal through holes in his face. his friends were constantly flirting with you, getting you whatever you needed, they were the ones cracking beers and serving them to you, yet you were doing it for yeonjun. 

yeonjun was filled with pride, he loved it. a trophy they could look at but never touch. he’d never had this type of relationship before, someone so obsessed with him, someone willing to wait on him hand and foot, he slipped deeper and deeper into an emotion he’d never experienced before without even realizing it. 

the day he did realize it, that was when the true fun began, because while he was unconsciously slipping, swimming deeper into that well, you stood at the top, holding the rope, pulling bucket by bucket out of the well with that award winning, innocent smile etched into your skin. 

you weren’t kidding when you said you’d do art trades, even his coworkers knew your face by now, taehyun two stations down always offered his services when you sat down on yeonjun’s bench. you giggled and flipped your hair, saying why would i do that when my boyfriend’s a better artist than you?

god, yeonjun loved to hear those words leave your lips. it was a bit the two of you did, taehyun acted as if he was shot through the heart, a poisoned arrow slipping straight through his skin, and yeonjun could hear the sweet melody of your giggle through the shop. yeonjun has filled up one of your arms by now and half of the other– a garden, flowers, bees, butterflies, tattoos that were so undoubtedly you he couldn’t even make fun of you for them. he wouldn’t expect you to have anything else.

his favorite, though, was the YJ right above your hip. it was in yeonjun’s own handwriting, a doodle he marked on your skin for life, late at night after too many drinks – it was like he was in high school again. that was four months in. 

that night, yeonjun felt the closest thing to his entire world caving in on him – he needed to go. he stared at the scribble on your hip while his face was buried between your thighs, you were writhing above him, hands buried in his hair, you always looked so fucking gorgeous like that. instead of being focused on you, determined to push you over the edge like usual, yeonjun’s head was clouded – hazy. he wondered how a person he’d met by chance just a few months ago could become so important, so detrimental to his life, he feared he would be a shell of himself if you ever chose to leave him.

it terrified him. he’d never felt this way about anyone before.

before that night, your relationship was golden – yeonjun was something out of a dream, a hero, the prince in your story, you were convinced you’d spend your life with him. he was honest, he was smart, he told you everything that he had wrapped up in his complex, dark brain, and you accepted every word that came from his mouth, every thought that popped into his head.

when he left that night, hours after shoving a twelve gauge needle in your skin with ink the color of his hair, you didn’t stress. you woke with a panic, of course, where the hell did your boyfriend go? but after twelve hours of no response, a trip to his shop, a night spent in his favorite bar, hours bent over your ikea bed frame, you knew what this was. you recognized this fear, you saw straight through him, yeonjun wasn’t as masked as he thought himself out to be. you’d shared too much, you knew too much about one another for yeonjun to be anything but transparent. 

you paid attention. late nights, coming home smelling like another woman’s perfume, earrings that fell from his pocket when you did laundry, long and short pink and blonde and brown pieces of hair found around every inch of your apartment – you looked at the tattoo that sat above your hip, you knew there was no one else for you in the world. if yeonjun wanted to play the game, you’d play it too, you’d play it better. 

the first three or four or twenty two times you did it – yeonjun didn’t notice. you even sent him home in one of yeonjun’s tees, one of his favorites, one that you successfully convinced yeonjun he left at his own apartment. when he couldn’t find it there, it wasn’t your issue anymore – with half of your wardrobe in two different places, you’re bound to lose a shirt or two. 

it was only when you got sloppy, when you wanted him to notice, that he did. two months in, six and a half months after your relationship began, he’d caught you and you were so fucking close to convincing him that he didn’t. 

“we’re fucking done,” he was seething as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a plush beige towel around your torso, no effort needed to keep yourself calm. 

“why’s that?” you continued to feign innocence, stepping in front of the mirror to start applying your skincare, not even glancing at the man who stood next to you, his hands balled into fists. 

“i know you fucked someone tonight,” his voice was stern, it was hideous on him. you loved the cool, calm yeonjun better – you loved your yeonjun, the one you spent endless nights with, looking through his sketchbook, where he showed you all of his doodles, his drawings, when he let himself be the most vulnerable. “there’s no use in denying it, v.”

“and what have you been doing for the past two months, yeonjun?” your head snapped to look at him, your voice matching his, cadence slipping into something more harsh, laying yourself bare for him. you supposed your time was up. his mouth opened and closed. 

“great,” his head dropped, low, sarcastic laughter slipping from his lips, “you fuck someone and blame it on me? project your cheating onto me?”

“there’s no use denying it, jun. have you talked to beomgyu? maybe you should ask him what he did after he dropped you off.”

you physically watched his face turn red – ears hot, crimson bubbling up from his chest to his throat to his face – you had to stop yourself from smiling. he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and you slept like a baby. freshly fucked, coming down from a solid drunk, you felt brand new. 

it was a week before you saw him again – honestly, you were shocked it took that long. that gorgeous, long black hair that curled around his ears, peeked from the hem of his hoodie, you longed to touch it, feel it between your fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time he saw you, his bags sat heavy, dark, in your entryway, key in hand. you wanted to take care of him, wanted him to get a good night’s rest – next to you. 

you sat on your couch, not a muscle to be moved in his direction, the two of you just stared at each other from across the room. moments went by, you’re sure maybe a full minute, then he was pacing towards you. 

“hello?” you asked in disbelief and concern before he was pulling you up by your wrists, smashing his lips against yours. his lips tasted of whiskey, neat, cigarette smoke, menthol. you thought maybe you were addicted to tobacco too from the way his mouth felt euphoric against yours, an old friend you’d missed. it’s only been a week but it could’ve been a year for all you knew. 

“you’re mine, you know that?” he’d asked between kisses, his mouth swallowing yours, his tongue stealing the words you couldn’t begin to think let alone speak. instead you nodded into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair, body forcing itself into his, you missed him. you missed his smell, his touch, the feeling of him against you, you missed everything. you never wanted to part from him again. 

he had you split open on the couch as he knelt on the floor, head between your thighs again, eyes trained on the YJ that sat on your hip. he hadn’t seen it in a week, his brand on you, his initials that were inked into your skin for the rest of your life – he missed being between your legs, missed tasting you, missed taking everything you had to fucking offer. he missed you, his other half, the monster he created, his comfort, his home.

yeonjun would be lying if he said he was willing to part ways with you, but he’d also be lying if he said he was willing to acknowledge to the full extent of what he felt for you. yeonjun felt betrayed, played, messed with, like you snuck into his brain and plucked every single thought out of his head and fucking warped it. god, he loved you. he was so scared.

he told you as he barreled into you, fucking you like he hated you, whispering those words in a choked breath over and over into the shell of your ear. he couldn’t believe he was admitting it, couldn’t believe he was saying those three little words – you’re different, you’re everything. he loved you.

the months to follow were dancing right on the edge, together, but not quite. apart, but were you ever really apart? every night, wrapped in your sheets or his sheets – always someone’s sheets, always together. you never discussed sleeping with beomgyu, yeonjun never brought it up again, he looked back at that moment in his head and all he saw was weakness, a time where he let you slip away – let you get away from him. you never spoke of it, but it was always there, between the two of you like a wall. 

that wall that stood between you was tall and rock solid, unlike the glass doors to yeonjun’s head, yeonjun’s thoughts, that wall of his was unbreakable – even when he came home smelling like burberry her again no argument in the world could pry that night out of him again.

you knew better this time than to try with beomgyu again, he hadn’t reached out since the night yeonjun left your apartment, you knew better than to try with anyone. instead of fighting fire with fire, you got distant, you spoke less, you asked less, you tried less. you became the ghost of his pretty, bright eyed girlfriend, one that had been to hell and back, one that learned from her mistakes. you became a reflection of yeonjun. 

yeonjun checked his phone after his client, only two hours had gone by, surprisingly enough. it was a solid first session for his client’s leg sleeve, but his bones were aching, his eyes sore from being focused for so long.

v: you left the fucking lights on

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO X HAIRSTYLIST! READER

“Boss! Your favorite client is here!”

Hurriedly, you wipe your damp hands off on your apron and frantically tidy your hair in the mirror. Then you muss it back up. Then you smooth it down again. 

How messy is too messy? You want to hit that effortless cool factor of looking like you don’t care, but just enough. 

You don’t have time for this! He’s going to be here any minute! 

“He’s not my favorite customer,” you scold your receptionist. 

“I’m not?” Says a voice behind you. “Aw, you wound me.” 

He’s not just about to arrive. 

He’s already here. 

Gojo Satoru had always operated on his own schedule. You slowly turn to greet all 6 feet and 3 inches of him, grinning like an idiot. Next to him his manager looks extremely apologetic. 

“I’m so so so sorry,” she rushes out before you can manage to say anything. “I know our appointment was later, but it’s an emergency. Can you please make an exception?” 

You don’t even have to consider it. Gojo’s company is a regular, and that makes them VIP. Especially combined with the fact that Gojo tips three times the actual price of whatever service you provide him, you’d kick your own sister out of the salon to get him booked. 

Thank god your last appointment just left. He follows you to the usual room you reserve for important guests. He’s characteristically nonchalant, whistling as he walks, hands shoved into his pockets. 

His roots are a little grown out, you notice. 

Gojo likes to tell his fans that his signature icy white hair is all natural. “Grows out of my head like that,” he says with a wink. 

No one believes him, of course, but they all indulge him. There has never been a single soul who’s immune to Gojo’s charm, besides poor beleaguered  Utahime, who’s banned him from all of the sets she works on. 

His hair is an important part of his image, so you always make sure to take special care of him. That, and the fact that you just have a soft spot for him.

“Did you miss me?” Gojo asks as you shampoo his hair. His eyes are closed, soapy hair still lying in the basin unwashed as you freeze. 

So much. 

More than you can imagine. 

Rather than be honest, you laugh and poke his cheek. “Who’d miss you, you overgrown man baby?”

“I dunno,” he says, poking his tongue out at you. “I feel like you’d miss your favorite customer.”

Your face heats up. 

“You’re not.” 

“Uh-huh,” he says. “And my hair isn’t black underneath all this bleach.”

[astrobiscuits]

Astro observations part 8

[LONG EDITION] - taken from my phone's notes (also, i was too lazy to edit it so here's a nice chunk of info)

🍂 Sun conjunct Saturn individuals inherit mindsets from the father, grandparents or great-grandparents. They might never fully act like their Sun sign (aka "shine"), since they've been conditioned from a young age to listen to parents, teachers, and later on bosses. They are the type to never divorce, no matter how toxic their marriage is. If these peeps deal well with their Saturn Return, they might become "THE BOSS" (aka the person everyone looks up to due to how accomplished, disciplined and rich they are, they've literally got their shit together and deserve a round of applause, "it wasn't easy to get to the top, but it was worth it" - you might hear them say this). They are also more prone to ingrain stoic principles in their lifestyle

🍂 Mars square Neptune gives off major cult leader vibes. They're the type to fool you with false promises until you sign up for their "camp" but then you realize it's actually an evil cult where all they wanna do is put you to work (and maybe later even kill you lol). These individuals become very scary when angry (you don't wanna see them angry, trust me). If they ever commit suicide, it'll be by drowning, alcohol or drugs

🍂 Mars trine Neptune is one of the best aspects for those who make a living off their talents. The talent depends on the element the trine is in:

If it's in Earth signs - ideal for those who work in the "money handling sector" in advertising, becoming an entrepeneur, holistic care (if Virgo is involved), cooks, those who work in interior design, seamstresses, embroidery/lace makers, models, event planners If it's in Air signs - ideal for those who work in sales (their negotiation skills are ✨chef's kiss👌🏻✨), becoming a spiritual/religious teacher or an art/music/any other creative pursuit teacher (lmao, i can't even speak💀💀), writers, musicians, magicians and astrologers (for the last two - if Aquarius is involved) If it's in Fire signs - ideal for dancers, theater/movie actors, hairstylists, circus performers, photographers (only if Leo is involved) If it's in Water signs - ideal for make-up artists, painters, tarot readers

🍂 Moon sextile Uranus individuals have got the ability to create a positive parasocial relationship with their followers. Since these people often use their devices to validate their emotions, i wouldn't be surprised if most of y'all also have atleast one active profile where you post quite frequently

PRO TIP: Whenever Transit Jupiter is trining/conjuncting your Natal Uranus (to a less extent also the sextile), you'll get a sudden boost in your followers count

🍂 This is a theory of mine that i've come up with and i'd love to hear your thoughts on it. When it comes to intergenerational astrology, i do believe that we inherit all of our personal planets placements from our parents and ancestors. But then you might say "But i don't act like my mother at all! This is bullshit!". I'm not saying we're all carbon copies of our family members. What makes us unique and distinguishes us from our parents and grandparents (or even great-grandparents) are the way the planets aspect each other in our birth charts and the planetary configurations between them. Basically we start from the same ground, but we all use our traits differently, whether for the better or the worst expression of them. Let's not forget that we also tend to go through different life experiences than our parents and grandparents; we might be blessed with different opportunities that might enhance our best traits and help us achieve what our ancestors always wanted to but weren't able to

Hope you enjoyed today's post, loves!💗💗💗 I've been wanting to post for a while now but my inspiration has been wandering alone in the Sahara Desert I can't promise that i'll start posting again more frequently (the new uni year is starting soon for me + i enrolled in a local astrology school 2 weeks ago🥳🥳 ya girl can't wait to officially become an astrologer) but my inbox will be open again for further questions! I must also thank you for helping me hit 500 followers!!! I'm probably gonna do another ask game once i hit 600 followers, as i'm too busy right now. As always, don't forget to drink water and take care of yourselves! Hope to see you soon! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[merchelsea]

private support- george russell

pairing: george russell x fem! model! reader

summary: you are constantly fighting george’s haters on interviews and socials, but when you need him to do the same, he doesn’t.

author’s note: my first time writing angst, please give me some tips to improve!! and i’m actually taking requests now, so if you have any, let me know!

word count: 2k+ (not counted properly)

warnings: angst, fighting, miscommunication, racism accusations, silence treatment, confused reader.

your mind snapped back to reality as your hairstylist, who also happened to be your best friend, playfully snapped her fingers in front of your face.

"what are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and concern as she stood before you, demanding an answer.

"nothing," you quickly shot back, though the truth was quite the opposite. you had been mulling over everything that had transpired in the past week.

a false accusation of racism had been circulating on the internet, and it had been so well-constructed that people started believing you were capable of such a thing.

it was frustrating that almost no one believed you, but it was even more frustrating that you couldn't deny it. this whole scandal had brought up an unwanted spotlight, and you were obligated to follow a contract, which meant that, if they were to push you under the bus because they'd benefit from it, they could. and that is exactly what they did.

you felt anger and disappointment toward those you worked with daily, as you never thought they would betray you in such a way. in response, you had pulled all available strings and taken legal action to clear your name. while you had managed to set the record straight publicly through the legal process, it did little to ease the weight on your mind.

"that’s bullshit, you have been watching that tiktok for 15 minutes." your friend quipped, redirecting your attention to your phone, which had been playing the same vogue advertisement repeatedly. "so, what's on your mind?"

you sighed, contemplating the flood of thoughts but reluctant to discuss them. "a lot of stuff, but I really don't want to talk about it." your friend took a deep breath and reluctantly accepted your reluctance. "fine," she conceded. as much as she could try to hide it, you knew her, and realized she wasn't happy about it. "don't get mad."

"I’m not mad. I just don’t understand why you never talk with me about this stuff." you furrowed your brows as she moved to hold your hair from behind, starting to curl it again. "I mean, I’m supposed to be your best friend, you should be able to talk with me."

"it's about george," you exhaled as she began working on your hair, curling it once more. "what did he do?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "you guys never fight."

"he didn’t do anything, that’s the problem." you explained, feeling the heat of anger dissipate. the woman behind you turned your chair to face her, and you knew it was time to open up about it.

"what happened, babe?" she asked, pulling over a bench and sitting down. it was clear that she recognized the importance of the conversation.

you silently wondered about what to say for minutes, because even tho it was something really clear in your mind, you had no idea of how to put it into words.

she grew impatient in front of you, drumming her fingers in the bench she was sat in, waiting for you to break.

"he still hasn't said anything about this. he talked to me, told me he knew I could never do such a thing," you began, picking up a makeup pencil to occupy your hands. "but people asked him in interviews, and he didn't even deny it. he would just say hat he wouldn't comment on it."

You felt a mix of emotions, ranging from sadness to disappointment. You had always defended George in similar situations, in interviews, instagram stories, fighting people on twitter. in every way you could.

unintentionally, you expected him to do the same for you when the time came. but it came and he didn't. you couldn't really blame him because you never even talked to him about it, he had no way of knowing, but you did, you blamed him.

you blamed him and you felt awful for that. it was all an endless circle of guilt and shame that you were trying to run of. confused, stressed, attacked. how could someone be fine while feeling all of that?

questions lingered in your brain as your best friend talked to you, trying to help you in the better way she could. besides all of the mess, she was the one thing you were sure off, she was your rock, stabling you through the storm.

posting that video and coming clean about the situation had been a good step, but it hadn't eased the stabbing pain in your chest.

coming home to him was harder than ever. you had ignored his calls and every single one of his attempts to contact you. it was childish of you, and you were aware, but you just couldn't help it.

anyways, things had to be said.

as you entered the room, you found george lying on the couch in his mercedes shirt. he smiled when he saw you, relieved that you had come. he thought you wouldn't come, that caused by the three days left on read and the 14 missed calls.

seeing you was a relief for him. he immediately got up and walked to you, but you denied his attempt to touch your face. the smile on his face disappeared as fast as it came on.

"hey, what happened?" he attempted to caress your cheek, but you pulled away his arm. "what did I do?" his confused and saddened gaze filled you with regret and you realized what you were doing.

you weren't being fair.

"I'm sorry. I just—" you began, stepping back. his reaction made you realize that you needed to communicate openly. "I need to talk to you," you said, and george nodded, ready to listen. he looked genuinely terrified as you refused his touch, not understanding what he had done wrong.

"okay... hm. lets sit down." he suggested, trying to make it as comfortable as he could for you.

you both moved to the couch, sitting on opposite ends. george looked you in the eye, waiting for you to speak.

"so, you know about that racism accusation, right?"george nodded, not daring to speak. "I'm kind of upset about it."

"well that's understandable, yo-"

"george," you interrupted, wanting to clarify your point. "I'm not really worried about the accusation itself right now. you haven't said anything about it yet." the brit furrowed his brows.

"what? I told you exactly what I thought that same night. you could never do such thing and I know that very well." you sighed, annoyed again. it was difficult to try and see things from his perspective, but the truth is that you weren't explaining him things clearly.

"that's not what I mean. you've talked about it with me, but you never did on public. you never said that 'i could never do such thing' to anyone else." his eyes fall on you again, softened this time.

"oh." it lingers in the air for quite some time as he gets ahold of his thoughts and you grow inpatient. "I'm sorry about that. I never thought you wanted to." some other words danced on the tip of his tongue. he contained himself, but he could've easily ended this argument.

"you never thought? how's that?" you offendedly ask. how could you not want your boyfriend to have your back?

"well, once you told me you didn't like the thought of being seen as dependent of me. that you wanted to be seen as an independent and strong woman. I respected, and still respect that." you recalled saying this after a long night in monaco. deep conversations had become a regular occurrence between you two after his race weekends.

"it's not about depending on you; it's about you supporting me," you raised your voice, making it clear how upset you were. "I always do that for you, and it doesn't mean anything."

"yeah, because the media and society are twisted as fuck, and we both know that," george said, turning his body towards you, now more open to discussing the issue. "tell me that if it were me in your position, you wouldn't be labeled as a woman who needs her boyfriend to protect her. do you have any idea of how you would be talked about?"

you hated it when he was right, but he was right now. however, he seemed to miss your perspective on all of this.

"I wouldn't care. I would know you were by my side and I wouldn't care."

"your such a bad liar. you would care. you would and you will because I gave an interview like two days ago, talking about it." he sighs. "because even though I knew it wasn't what you would've wanted, I could not keep quite while you were going through all of that."

silence fills the room as you both just stare at each other. how could have you missed this? okay, you had been avoiding anything george related for the past days, but you would know. wouldn't you?

"of course that, I could've told you if you just picked up your damn phone." george got up and left for your bedroom before you had a chance to react. but he did exactly what you needed—he gave you some time to think, to process, and to feel guilty for treating him poorly when all he had done was thinking of you.

you took out your phone and searched his name on twitter. the first thing coming up being exactly what you were looking for.

"it's unacceptable. it's actually unacceptable that someone can do this and live their life in peace. that person screwed her over — her name, her work, everything she represents. yeah, no, I can not deal with this shit. I mean, she is the most admirable person in this earth and people who can't deal with other's happiness just keep trying to mess that up. they wont succeed, though. she is incredible enough to not let that happen." "george, does it bother you that it was a fan of yours who came up with this?" "fan? sorry but that can't be called a fan. that is just a jerk who tried to ruin someone's life. does it bother me that is the love of my life being attacked? a lot. it drives me crazy. as I said before, I can't deal with this. I honestly think it would be easier if I was the one being attacked. I just can't understand why someone would do this to her. she always does what's best for others, she supports everyone, is always out there in the world fighting other's fights and this is how she is payed? it's not fair, it's just not fair." "i have only one more question for you. why did it take you so long to speak about this? even your teammate, lewis hamilton, talked about this the day it came out, and you're only just now coming clean." "well obviously I wanted to talk about this from the moment I saw it. it took a lot of me to not start a war right there. but we all know how fucked up the world is and how she would've been talked about if I came straight to interviews. she probably will even get a few comments about me but I couldn't keep it in. if she is not allowed to speak, I'll speak for her. that's how we work. we love each other and we support each other." "uh, i'm sorry george. not allowed?" "thank you for having me."

his face displayed anger, and he seemed more than ready to start a war. you couldn't help but smile throughout the whole video, feeling grateful for the man you had by your side.

and then it hit you—you had been treating him horribly when he didn't deserve it. in fact, he deserved the opposite. so, you got up and went to apologize.

opening the bedroom door, you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door. he had been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry," you said as you moved closer. he pulled you close by the waist, hugging your body, and you caressed his hair.

" you need to talk to me," he murmured against your belly.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," you said, taking his head in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. "I promise you that from now on, we'll discuss everything. I love you so much."

"I love you too. you know that, right?" you nodded your head with a big smile. if this had shown you something, was that he loved you.

"I know, and I'm sorry for cutting you off when things went bad. that was really shitty of me." you looked up, admitting your mistakes.

"never do that again, I got so afraid. I thought I had lost you."

"I'll never do it again. I promise." you stuck out your pinky and he took it. sealing the promise with a kiss on your enlaced fingers.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hello! Whenever you get the chance, Haitani brothers and hairstylist s/o interactions :3

I kinda based these on the crushing stage, before dating but this is what I've got!

Ran

100% always requests you as his stylist, will complain to the salon if they give him someone else 

Wants you to compliment his hair a lot (he actually just wants any kind of compliments from you)

Closes his eyes and relaxes as you work on his hair, humming in approval at your touch.

He occasionally makes innuendos and flirtatious remarks while grinning at you.

Always gives you a big tip as well as his number before leaving

He was already going to the salon a lot but turns up even more often now that you're there.

He doesn't even hide why he's there, he'll just be like "just wanted to see my favourite stylist ♡"

Talks to you a lot during the appointments, talking about past things like gang fights and his work now (he hopes you're impressed)

Invites you to his club constantly

You wasn't expecting to fall for him but he is rather charming. You're not sure if it's ok for you to date a client though which makes you hesitate. 

One evening he calls the salon in a panic, saying it's a "hair emergency!" And requesting that you do a home visit, normally you wouldn't but he offers so much money that your boss basically makes you go. You turn up and instead of an emergency you find a candlelight dinner and Ran grinning at you. He says he had no other choice to get you to go to dinner with him.

You quit your job the next day and Ran helps you start your own salon

Rindou

He wasn't sure he liked you at first, he liked his old stylist fine and wished they hadn't of retired. But he soon changes his mind after spending some time with you.

"No one else can get it right" that's all he says when he walks into the salon before sitting at your station. 

He likes to watch you while you work, keen purple eyes watching you work and observing your expressions. He thinks you look cute when you're concentrating.

Refuses to ever tell Ran about you, you're his and he won't let his brother steal you.

Sometimes he'll show up randomly, bringing you a drink and some lunch. He always says it's just to keep his favourite stylist looked after. 

Asks you a lot of questions and likes to listen to the sound of your voice when you work. He's very good at remembering details too.

Has flowers sent to the salon for you sometimes

He holds his breath and almost forgets to breath the first time he heard you laugh. After this he tries to figure out what you find funny so he can make you laugh and hear it more.

Gives you a lot of freedom with his hair, he trusts you.

Also invites you to the club but more casually then his brother, he's interested in you hearing the music he plays.

You really didn't want to like him as much as you do. You know your boss won't be happy with the this but you can't stop thinking about him. But you also need this job.

Until one day something unexpected happens, someone tries to rob the salon. You stand there, holding your breath as the guy waves a knife in your direction. Then he's suddenly on the floor and Rindou is on top of him, knocking him out. You have no idea how he did that so fast but you're thankful. You quit on the spot and head out with Rindou's arm protectively round your shoulders.

[ravenquingvax]

Thinking about Vax'ildan.

Thinking about Vax and hair.

Thinking about a small child running to his mother crying because a bigger kid pushed him into the Gladepools and his hair is all messed up now.

Thinking of him sat in front of the fire as his mother dries and untangles his hair, singing to him in her mother's tongue.

Thinking of him and his sister sitting on stools at the kitchen table waiting impatiently as their mother braids their hair all prettily for the Harvest Close Fair, the pair giggling and kicking their feet as they're asked to "please sit still for just another minute, you two."

Thinking about Vax asking to brush his mother's hair and braid it, so she teaches him how to do it and Vex asks him to braid her hair as well.

When Syldor takes the twins, aged 10, to Syngorn, he forces them to have their hair cut according to Syngorn's bizarre Family Hierarchy Hair Rules;

waist length hair is indicative of political status

hair just above the waist is indicative of being the head of your household

just above the elbow length is indicative of being the household heir

just below the shoulder length is indicative of being respected by your household

hair that's shoulder length exactly is indicative of being from a wealthy household but of having little respect

just below chin length but just above shoulder length is indicative of you coming from a non-wealthy family

hair at chin length or shorter than chin length is indicative that you have been disowned by your family's household

Syldor has waist length silky black hair, which he usually leaves undecorated unless he's hosting or attending a ball

Vax also has silky black hair, Syldor having it cut from just above the elbows up to exactly shoulder length - while Vex has curly brown hair that had also been just above the elbows before it was also forcibly cut to shoulder length exactly

Vax would continue to help his sister with her hair, brushing it and braiding it for her

Whilst Vex slowly earned a modicum of respect through her hard work at school, her hair allowed to grow longer, Vax never gained any respect as he flunked his classes and started to act out, so he had to keep his hair shoulder length

By the age of 16, Vex had her hair back to just above her elbows to show that she's now the household heir - while Vax has rebelled and cut his hair into a choppy pixie cut in an attempt to piss off Syldor

He's forced to wear a wig to social events and he's banned from using sharp objects, but its worth it to him

When the twins run away from Syngorn and end up living in the woods when Byroden is gone, Vex has Vax cut her hair to match his as a symbol of her love for him and Vax cries while doing so because his sister's hair is so important to her

from then onwards, Vax comes to consider both of their hair as incredibly sacred to him, taking as good of care as he can of both of their hair even while living out in the wilderness

they both grow their hair out to be waist length, almost as if to spite Syldor and Syngorn

Vax braids Vex's hair in a way that protects and maintains her curls, while he likes to decorate his hair with small braids with colourful beads through them

When they join Vox Machina, Vax accidentally becomes the resident hairstylist as well as the resident cook - Scanlan, Pike and Keyleth all go to him for hair cuts, hair styling & help with shaving properly

Percy wouldn't start asking for his help too until after they've dealt with the Briarwoods and freed Cassandra & Whitestone

Cassandra also goes to Vax for help with her hair, having him cut it to her shoulders for her after years of Delilah not letting her style it how she wants to

when Grog gets the belt and grows a beard, Vax helps him to style and maintain it

Vax and Gilmore do each other's hair, teaching each other different styles and hair care tips as they gossip - just two boyfriends who have "caring for the other's hair" as a love language, so cute!

Vax and Allura, who are best friends with messy feelings in my fanon, love to gossip over tea and take turns braiding each others hair as they do

and I can so see Vax starting a hairdressing salon in the back of the 2nd floor of Gil's shop

just...Vax'ildan and hair 😭

(I will never forgive TLOVM for the fuckass ugly hair they gave Vax, let him have pretty hair!!!)

[ddgraywrites]

WIP: Fictional Flame

You've Got Mail meets Beauty Shop when Paige Dela Cruz, a hairstylist aspiring to open the first Filipino-owned hair salon in the heart of little Winnipeg, falls head over heels for Christian Sato, or so she thought.

Paige Dela Cruz is a hairstylist who falls head over heels for the charming and sexy Christian Sato, or so she thought. She's actually talking to Eddy Silva, Christian's cousin.

While Paige and Eddy's messages become more intimate with each passing text, Eddy finds himself wanting to let go of his facade and show Paige the person he truly is.

As if her love life wasn't complicated enough, Paige faces another threat to her well-being. Her boss, Michael Coward. He takes everything from her - her clients, her tips, and her time. As Paige endures the constant nonsensical wrath of her boss, she begins to doubt if she'll ever be able to open the salon of her dreams.

_______________

I've contemplated whether or not I should post this because the more I think about my WIP, the more embarrassed I get which is so bizarre cause I'm over here trying to make it as a romance author. The self-sabotage and imposter syndrome are really sinking in right now which is exactly why I decided to finally share the details of my WIP.

Why did I write this book?

I was a hairstylist for 5 years and met the most amazing (and awful) people in the industry and I wanted to tell a more dramatized version of what happens in this cut-throat world that is hairstyling.

As a Filipino-Canadian living in little Winnipeg, I also wanted to share glimpses of what it's like being raised by immigrants, the food, and the covert racism I've encountered throughout the years.

Lastly, I just wanted to write my own romance because I love love. I love reading and watching love stories. I've always been a hopeless romantic. After my dad died in 2021, I needed some sort of outlet. I started writing a fantasy about a young girl who also lost her dad but then I reached a point where I couldn’t move on cause fantasy was too big for my brain to fathom lol. So I decided to stick to a genre I knew I could do well, and that was romance.

_______________

I feel incredibly vulnerable right now while I type this because I'm BRACING for the criticism and the eye rolls. Not that anyone has ever done that, it's just the aNxIeTy talking. But again, thank you for following me on this journey to become a traditionally published author (crossing my fingers SO hard) and if you're also a romance author and need a critique partner/beta reader, please DM me so we can do a little swap-aroo (I just lost you there, didn't I?)

Here's the sign-up form if you're interested in beta-reading Fictional Flame: https://docs.google.com/

I'm not sure how to end this so in true Canadian fashion, thank you again and sorry for saying thank you so many times. ❤️

[pretty-blkgirl]

your blog is becoming my safe place so now i got another request 🥲❤️

may you do another black!reader x seungmin?

maybe the reader is wearing long box braids, and an attractive guy complements her hair and asks to touch it. seungmin witnesses the interaction and gets a lil jealous and possessive over the reader.

anyways, i love your writing! i hope you're doing well ~ 💞✨

Possessive

//black!fem reader x Seungmin//

Synopsis: Your husband gets jealous when someone flirts with you

Genre: angst, little suggestive

Warnings: reader is fem, swearing, suggestiveness at the end

A/N: Thank you @bbyseung for the request 🫶🏾 I appreciate you soooooooooo much

~~~~|~~~~

“Relax your face” You giggle, looking down at you and your husband’s interlaced fingers.

“Why is he looking at you?” He asks, his face twisting up more into pure disgust

You shrug and follow Seungmin’s glare, making eye contact with an admittedly handsome man. Since you guys were at an event for JYPE, you assumed the guy was either an idol, dancer, or producer. Either way, you couldn’t care less as you turned your gaze back to your husband.

“Baby forget about him” you whisper into his ear. A defeated sigh escapes his lungs as he finally looks at you

“I’m sorry,” He says, “I just get jealous sometimes”

You smile, “It’s okay. Let’s go find the members”

You two stand from the small couch you were occupying, making the handsome stranger debate whether or not he should go talk to you.

The little devil on his shoulder must have won, because he made his way over to you and Seungmin before you two could even take the steps to walk off.

“Hello,” The man says, bowing at the two of you. Politely, you bow but take notice of how Seungmin keeps his body upright. You didn’t have to look at his face to know he was absolutely fuming at the boldness of the stranger.

“Excuse me if this is rude, but I wanted to let you know that your hair is gorgeous”

You grin, instinctively reaching a hand up to play with one of your braids. You had gotten them done the day before; 30-inch knotless box braids in the color 2b, medium-sized.

You were lucky your bestest friend in the whole wide world was a hairstylist because you only spent a little over $200 excluding the tip. She also made you buy her dinner, but that’s only because she bought lunch.

A less-than-gentle squeeze of your hand pulls you out of your thoughts, and you quietly reply, “Thank you! I appreciate that”

Seungmin, ever so possessive, decides to place himself in between you and the stranger. It was silly. Your annoyingly cute husband looked beyond pissed as the stranger paid no mind to him.

“And your dress” The man continued, “It’s really pretty as well”

“Thank you” Seungmin answers before you can, “I bought it for her. Picked it out and everything”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and chuckle a little (earning a quick glare from your husband).

“Oh, then you must have good taste,” The man says, still looking at you, “But you can’t take credit for how beautiful her face is, can you?”

….oh no

“Thank you for the compliments, but we really should be going” You rush to say before Seungmin can start talking back

“Forgive me, but I don’t think I could ever forget a woman like you. Can we meet again?”

Seungmin talks before you do this time, letting out a livid, “In your fucking dreams”

As if he could sense the tension, I.N comes out of seemingly nowhere and puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder

“Hyung, y/nnie, we’ve been looking for you two.” He says, his eyes darting between an angry Seungmin and smug looking stranger

“We were just about to come looking for you guys too! Honey, let’s go meet up with the members," you plead, tugging at Seungmin’s arm.

It takes both you and I.N. to drag him away, the stranger simply rolling his eyes and walking over to the next woman he sees.

Seungmin seethes, “Who the fuck is that?”

“The son of one of the shareholders, I think” I.N shrugs, “But it doesn’t matter. Forget about him”

“He hit on my fucking wife, right in front of me”

“And that was disgusting and disrespectful” You sigh, “But I don’t want anyone else but you. Please don’t let him ruin our night”

With a swift glance at you and I.N., followed by the growing voices of the members a few feet away, he decides to let his anger go.

However, that doesn’t mean he didn’t remind you of who you belong to later that night.

[femdomlieeh]

Jealous

Younger!Haruto (Treasure) ✧ Older!Reader

WC—2 k

THEMES—makeup artist x idol au ✧ younger!idol x older!reader ✧ jealousy ✧ fluffy

WARNING—cute shit ✧ jealous!Haruto ✧ tiny bit of angst ✧ pet names (miss, 누나, boyfriend)

NOW PLAYING—Never Felt So Alone ✧ Labrinth

A/N. 누나 (nuna) = older sister

M.LISTS—treasure ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

All rights reserved © femdomlieeh

✧ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

"That tickles a bit," Jihoon giggled a little as you patted his neck with a soft cushion. "Sorry, Jihoonie. I'm finished soon," you smiled at his smile, patting a bit faster. "Nooo it's OK. I like it," he winked. You laughed, Jihoon was not shy. Unbeknownst to you, on a chair beside Jihoon, sat an even taller blonde guy staring at the whole interaction with red eyes. Haruto, your boyfriend — who you would otherwise notice in a crowd — was sitting on Jihoon's left which meant your back was turned to the poor boy. Since YG had a dating ban, he couldn't say anything he wanted in this situation, like 'look at me instead' or '누나, stop laughing with that stupid guy, please' or 'pay attention to me' or 'can we switch makeup artists so I can be with my girlfriend?' because everyone knew that if he so much as hugged you or held your hand in front of other staff members they would betray the company for some money from dirty, disgusting Dispatch. All Haruto could do was sit and huff, hoping you would for no logical reason just turn around and see him and stop doing Jihoon's makeup to compliment his hair.

Done with Jihoon, you went to one of the tables with drinks to take a sip or your iced americano, thirsty af. While drinking you noticed Doyoung (who was also finished with his makeup) had smudged his lip tint when he drank from a chocolate milk packet without a straw and, naturally, you went up to him to repaint his lips as a makeup artist should do. Haruto was staring at you on the mirror as you focused on Doyoung's lips and lightly dapped them with your finger. It looked so intimate to him; your finger tips touching his lips. He knew it was part of your job and that to you this was a mundane action like cleaning your EarPods/headphones or scrolling through TikTok or doing laundry — but it still hurt a bit.

"Looks perfect now! No chocolate milk until after the VLive, OK Doyoungie?" you said, arms crossed jokingly, knowing the boy liked snacking. 'Doyoungie' pouted jokingly — and totally unnecessarily — as he nodded "Yes, 누나, don't worry." You laughed. Haruto was pouting now but unlike Doyoung it was not in a joking way. He wishes you were paying this much attention to him instead of his members. He knew it was your job to make sure everyone looked good but in this specific instance it still hurt his feelings. He had just coloured his hair blonde, which was a huge shift for him as he'd never had to colour his hair so dramatically for a comeback, and he didn't like it and needed all your reassurance. His hair stuck out like a sore thumb so how didn't you even notice him? How come you noticed such a small detail on Doyoung's makeup? Why were you even looking at his lips so attentively? Why didn't you notice Haruto who'd been only two meters away from you for the past half hour?

His makeup artist gave him a thumbs up, signalling she was finished with his makeup which meant he just had to wait until Hyunsuk's awful hairstylist was finished and then Treasure could finally start their VLive. Haruto sat down by one of the large tables with everyone's drinks, again only a few meters away from you, and moved a few blonde strands to look a bit awkward on purpose, hoping your hawk eye would notice so you'd come to correct his hair. But no! You were busy with complimenting Asahi on the pretty ring he got to wear for the VLive, so another stylist came to fix Haruto's hair, combing it a bit and moving some hair strands away from his eyes, in a way that would've felt romantic had it been you who did it instead — oh, how he wishes you were touching his hair instead and looking into his eyes.

During the VLive, the boys were celebrating their comeback and playing fun games to entertain the viewers. Some of the staff were monitoring the comments to see what games were popular or boring among the fans so they know what to plan for future VLives. You were in the styling room, the boys were in the room that had been decorated and prepared for the VLive, watching the live and laughing at Asahi's robot infamous dance that people kept asking him to do no matter how old it was and Junkyu's fun energy and Yoshi's lobster hat he had to wear as a punishment for losing a game. Out of curiousity, you looked at the comments, happy to see many positive comments drowning out the few bad ones — however, you noticed something a bit odd.

Junqt: 'Woahhh haruto is so cometitive!!!'

raffaello96: 'Haruto is teasing Doyoung so much lmao'

HwanJungle: 'Haruto looks so cute mad haha'

Ye_shihohoho: 'Jihoon and Haruto must've had an argument b4 the live lmaoooo'

JeongwooSayang<3: 'thank you Ruto for brining back asahi's robot dance ekgknrb'

What? You had noticed your boyfriend was a very active participant in this VLive, talking more than usual and joking around, coming up with the idea to play 야자 time so he could talk to his older members informally (especially Jihoon, Doyoung and Asahi for some weird reason), teasing Doyoung before Doyoung makes the first move to tease him, even pushing Jihoon lightly so he wouldn't win a point for his team. You hadn't thought too much of it until you saw the comments.

After the VLive the boys were exhausted, their social batteries lowered, smiles and laughs all spent to entertain the fans. Now they were all ready to have something to eat or take a nap (if you were Hyunsuk).

"Ahhh finally I can have my chocolate milk!" Doyoung exhaled, gulping down everything in one go, to which Haruto rolled his eyes.

You waved to him. He walked up to you, ruffling his hair a bit, hoping you'll fix it finally, "Did you see today's VLive, Miss?"

"Yeah, you acted a bit strange in the VLive today... Are you OK?"

"Strange? By that you mean my team won all games thanks to me. I did a good job, right Miss?"

"Of course, you did a really good job," you patted his arm, not sure if he was open to hugging in front of his members.

"Thanks, Miss," he smiled a bit, looking at the floor, making it very obvious you should look at his hair.

You giggled, grabbing his chin to make him look at you, "You don't need to keep calling me Miss you know? Only the members are here."

"You don't like it?"

"I mean, it's not bad but it's not good either. Feels a bit distant," you shrugged.

"Sorry, I just did it out of habit." That was a lie. He only ever referred to you as 'Miss' sometimes when managers or other staff, especially from outside companies, were present in meetings, after performances, interviews or at variety shows but after VLives he'd only ever call you 누나 since the styling room was only filled with his member and they knew about the relationship already.

"Are you hungry, Haruto?"

"Hm. A little."

"You feel like eating kimchi stew?"

He nodded.

"Ruto, are you coming?" Jaehyuk asked, holding the door open.

"No, sorry I'll see you guys later."

"OK, bye," everyone waved, leaving you two alone in the room.

"You never answered my question," you held his arm and dragged him to sit down with you on one of the empty sofas.

"What do you mean?" he looked down at his shoes.

"Are you OK?"

"Mhm," he avoided your eyes, finding it hard showing himself vulnerable in this way.

You sat closer to him and held his cheeks, turning him to look at you, "Something tells me my boyfriend isn't telling me the truth.

His cheeks and ears were turning red. Such a small touch meant so much to him right now, especially when you combed your fingers through his hair, making sure no hair strands were blocking your eye contact — oh and combine that with proudly calling him your boyfriend and now he's a strawberry. He felt his breathing changing, stopping for a moment before going faster.

"This is the first time you looked at me today, 누나," he pouted a bit.

"Oh... I'm sorry, Boyfriend, I didn't realise," you felt awful.

"I sat right beside Jihoon during makeup time, you know?" he made his pout bigger.

You were shocked, having been so focused on doing his makeup that you didn't even realise Haruto was right behind you.

"And then you noticed Doyoung's lips and complimented Asahi and stuff and I just got a bit jealous. It felt like I wasn't even your boyfriend but more like someone looking at your life from the outside."

You held his hand in yours, playing with it and squeezing gently. "I'm so sorry but it's also my job to do their makeup and when we're with other staff it's not safe for me to act like your girlfriend."

"I know and that's not the frustrating part, it's just you paid sooo much attention to them and none to me and I just felt ignored. Sometimes I just wish I could go up to you and ask for a hug or do anything a normal couple would," he still pouted, looking you in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Boyfriend," you pecked his nose. That made him smile!

"I wish I could hold your hand and tell you encouraging words or give you a good luck kiss before every performance but I can't. Just know that I'm silently cheering for you and sending you lots of love." You pulled him into a hug and he kept his face in your neck, taking in your scent and warmth and closing his eyes, so comfortable.

His voice was muffled by your neck, "I understand that but 누나, please, pay attention to me more. Even in front of the stylists. I don't mean a kiss or hug— Even if it's just something as simple as fixing my clothes or makeup or hair. Anything. Please?"

"I will, Boyfriend," you placed a small kiss on the top of his head, he smiled.

"Also... Can you like not act so cutesy to the guys? That hurt a bit," he hid his face in your neck, a bit embarrassed to admit he's jealous.

You giggled, "Awww was my little boyfriend jealous?"

You loved calling him little since he was so tall and it made him blush.

"Mhm," he pouted, blushing now.

You cupped his cheek, "I understand," you gave him a small kiss on his nose, "I didn't notice I was being cute but I'll definitely give you a bit more attention instead."

He nodded cutely and kissed your lips quickly.

"Can we stay here for a little longer?"

"Of course," you kissed his forehead.

It was a little uncomfortable to keep hugging in this sitting position so you got up and sat on his lap, wrapping him in your arms, his face in your chest now. "You look so cute in blonde hair," you kissed the top of his head.

He smiled against your skin, "Thank you, 누나."

You stroked his back with one hand and petted his hair with the other, Haruto blushed, happy you couldn't see his strawberry cheeks. Right now you didn't even need to speak, just enjoying each other's touch and breathing. It wasn't awkward. Silence is very comfortable sometimes, especially with your introvert boyfriend. He placed his head on the left side of your chest, listening to your heartbeat. You smiled. "I love you."

"I love you too. So much."

✧ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

❝ And I think, "What if we weren't ridin' and dyin' together?"

The whole world would fall apart

And I never felt so alone, felt so alone, na-na (never felt so alone, woo! Alone) ❞

—timothy lee mckenzie; 2023

[hoe4sports]

“Sleep is a golden chain that links our bodies and souls together for eternity.”

Caroline Graham Hansen x reader

A/N: No triggers. Mentions of sex. You are already a couple. The story starts with heading to Lucy’s birthday.

The hot steaming rainshower was making the dimmed bathroom damp and foggy, it felt like a rainforest. You loved it. Showers were amazing. They were soothing and comforting. But they could also be exciting and fun. You were snapped violently out of your thoughts as Lucy banged on your door “Are you gonna be ready today or next year? I cannot be late to my own birthday dinner pretty girl!” Lucy teased you from the other side of the door as you got out of the shower. She had asked you last minute if she could catch a ride with you as she was planning to drink and didn’t have a driver. Truth is that you didnt either have a driver, but apperantly you were more capable than her to get a taxi. “Yea yea, it always important to be fashionably late babe!” You snapped back grinning to myself. You felt so blessed that you had made such close friends after moving across the continent. Lucy was like your sister, and Ingrid was my bestie. My ride or die.

You got yourself dry quickly and pulled on your outfit in no time. You got your hair curled loosely, and did some quick bronzy makeup with a cute subtle pink lip. You felt good about yourself and admired yourself in the mirror for one second. You had your white champagne satin dress on, but you had to use your white hoka’s. You tore my acl as a 18 year old, and you will never fully recover. That’s why you are not taking any risks. 

You swung the door open and did a dramatic pose for Lucy. “Oh Luce darling, tell me, am a looking au naturell?” I said with a dramatic french accent. “Luckily your outfit is better than your French” lucy chuckled. She was looking just as good as she always was. Pants that were just the right amount of tight to showcase her ass, and a short sleeve shirt that complimented her biceps beautifully. She often changed between pulling off masculine and feminine looks, and she knew damn well that she made it work for her. 

The pair of you both did a quick 3 shots of tequila before heading giggling out of the apartment. As you got out of the complex and found our taxi driver, Lucy laid her arm around you. It was an older man who turned up the music for us, and he was definitely in the mood for a party. You made sure to tip him well, and he told me that he was driving until 3 so you could give him a ring if anyone needed to get home safely. You appreciated the help, and took out the information card that he held out. “Ricardo Antonio Juereze Guapa” you confidently spoke out, the old man smiled and applauded your Spanish accent before waving goodbye. “Let’s do this!” You squiled as you pulled Lucy with you towards the restaurant. The vibes were immaculate, electric even. The food was incredible! And the drinks? Perhaps a tad bit too strong.. 

As you shoved down the last piece of my sorbet, you looked over at Caroline. She had showed up, but was being her usual quiet self. You raised an eyebrow towards her, and she shrugged. You motioned for her to meet you in the bathroom of the restaurant as you excused yourself to the other girls. You got to the bathroom, and did a quick sweep to make sure that there were nobody there. Then Caroline stepped in. She was wearing shorts, but not the feminine kind. She was also wearing a white t-shirt, almost see through. I could tell how they shaped around her boobs, and they revealed her white sportsbra from Calvin Klein. “Hello pretty girl” you said as she entered the bathroom and she blushed. “Hey” she smiled nervously, and you touched her cheek as she pulled closer. “You good?” You asked as she played with her hair. She gave a small nod, and you took it upon yourself to fix her hair. She stood there dumbfounded while I was going all hairstylist on her beautiful brown locks as I smacked my lips together and presented proudly “Voila!” You announced as you pulled back. She blushed again.

 “I was thinking of going home..” she mumbled as her face automatically went back to her usual serious self. “Why?” You blurred out as if you almost interrupted her. “Well, I guess this really isn’t my thing, you know?” She motioned towards the door which let through sounds of chatter and music. You nodded to her, and placed your hand on her cheek again. “That’s fair, it’s not for everyone. If you leave, I’ll definitely miss you. Such a sight for sore eyes.” You said as you smiled, clearly a bit intoxicated. She shrugged, once again, out of words. You giggled softly as you playfully brushed some of her hair from her face to behind her ear. “So dedicated and hardworking” you started as she blushed and smiled to the ground. You put your. pointing finger on her chin, and tilted her face upwards. You leaned in towards her cheek, and breathed out. “Stay, please” as your pink lips made contact with her blushed cheek and you quietly walked out.

You sat down at the table with the other girls thinking that you got away with your little act. Lucy and Ingrid made whistling noises and you pretended to be annoyed by rolling your eyes at them. After a few minutes the girls stopped the teasing and Caroline slowly eased back to the table. “Alright, Bronze! It’s your birthday, where do you wanna go next?” You announced to the table. Lucy’s face spread out in a huge grin. “Let’s go to Tito’s beach club!” Lucy responded, and with that everyone was fast up from their chairs. Some were more drunk then others, like Mapi, she was practically leaning onto Ingrid to use her as her personal walking stick. It caused you to chuck at the sight of the pair, and as they passed you teased Ingrid, “Looks like someone got a good relationship with the bartender” you sang as she rolled her eyes back at me. You made sure to wait until all the girls had gotten up from the table, just to make sure that nobody forgot any purses, phones or wallets. As you finished checking, you could see Caroline waiting by the end of the table. Your lips formed a smile, and you admired Caroline. “Waiting for me Graham?” You said as you got closer to her, our height differences once again becoming very obvious. She looked down on you as she flashed one of her shy smiles. You had talked to Ingrid previously, who told me that Caroline hadn’t ever been in a relationship. That she was too focused on work and becoming better every day. You, on the other hand, you saw straight through her act. You thought she was beautiful. You loved her physique, her face and her long neck. Plenty of space for.. Something, let’s just keep it at that. 

“Whenever you are ready” she spoke as you grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the restaurant towards the other girls. The bar was only a few blocks away, and the girls were definitely not holding back tonight. We walked together to the bar, and the girls sang a million happy birthday songs in different languages. Caroline walked in silence for the short trip, but she was walking in silence next to you. You were talking to Ingrid, as she supported Mapi towards the bar. “Okay Maps, sober up or you will be tied to a pole outside to wait like a puppy.” You announced, and just like that; Mapi pulled herself together and sobered up as if she hadn’t seen alcohol in forever. We all entered in a line as the security checked us out. When Mapi passed, you could see one of the security guards raise their eyebrows, but he waived her through. We found a table consisting of high bar chairs, and we all grouped up around it. The music was beaming and there somehow wasn’t too many people inside yet. You went to order some drinks to the table, and when you came back there were no available chairs. However, that left you with one option. You walked to where Caroline was seated. The barchair making her even taller. You blinked my lashes in front of her, and smiled. “Care if I stand in front of you?” You asked as her eyes lit up. “Uhm, no no, sure, go ahead.” She stuttered as she didn’t want to seem to excited. You just smiled, she was so cute when she was visibly nervous. You pushed myself in between her legs and leaned your hips towards her chair. Her breath was becoming heavier by the second, and her hands were slowly becoming more damp. You leaned your back towards her body, and she softened up in her posture. You could feel her hands slowly try to wrap around my waist, and you decided to just let her do it at her own pace. As the night went on, the  drinks were flowing rapidly. Caroline never moved, she was guarding you like you were a kitten. It was cute, her hands got more and more comfortable as the night went on. It almost felt as if she was warming up to you. Caroline wasn’t really someone that liked to share her private life, she liked her privacy and people say that’s how she has been since she was young. 

As the night went on, your eyelids were getting heavier by the second. You feel like it’s getting late, so you decide to check your trusty sports watch. 02.45?! oh my, you were expected to be on a meeting tomorrow so you quickly texted the taxi driver from earlier that night praying that he hadn’t went home early. He confirmed the address, and said that he would be there in 5 minutes  as he was already close by. “I’m gonna have to make it an early night.” You announced and you could see the disappointment in Caroline’s eyes. You had probably gotten 6 or 7 drinks down by now, but like the true Norwegian you were it didn’t bother you too much. Multiple of them being my favourite drink, strawberry daiquiri. Not a very lesbian like drink eh? 

One of the things with Caroline was that she had never really openly announced that she was lesbian or even bisexual. Naturally of course, as she was very private. People only knew what she wanted them to know about her. You turned your face towards Caroline, as a was already leaning between her tights. She looked at you with her big greyish blue eyes, and it melted you completely. You leaned in and hugged her tight. As expected she stiffened up like a stick, but after a few seconds she folded her long arms around you relaxing into the hug. Your face was the same height as her upper abdomen, and you were hugging her as best as you could. You looked up at her, and she looked down at me. You were busy admiring her when you suddenly blurred out, “Vil du dra sammen med meg?”. Oh my. You thought to yourself that this was a dumb decision. “Jeg mente egentlig å si; Vil du sitte på?” You corrected and tried to play it of cool. Luckily, you spoke Norwegian so that nobody but her could understand. Well, including Ingrid. «Ja» Caroline stuttered nervously “Gjerne”. She completed the sentence, and you grabbed her hand. “Alright Luce, girls, take it easy tonight. Drink water. And I’ll see you tomorrow” you announced as I dragged Caroline with me. You could hear the shock in the room when you dragged Caroline out towards the taxi. Mapi mumbled “What did she say to her?” And Ingrid shrugged “I don’t know Norwegian”. Mapi shot her an annoyed look, knowing very well that Ingrid’s first language was Norwegian.

The taxi ride was somewhat awkward as the taxi driver was trying to brighten the silence. You were just far too tired to even think, and you could feel the buzzing from the alcohol. Caroline on the other had, didn’t have a drink. She said something about it ruining her restitution, and you naturally wanted to respect her. It was a Caroline thing to say, nobody took care of her physical health like Caroline. As the ride went on, you spotted your building. It was towering over the smaller buildings around it. You pulled out your purse to pay, and to tip the driver. But as you were busy fumbling with your purse, desperately trying to find the wallet, Caroline had already paid. “Ai!! Ayos mio! Mucho gracias!! The old man yelled ecstatically. You looked at Caroline who just shrugged. He turned towards you, and smiled as wide as he could. “This is a good woman! You keep her.” He spat out as Caroline blushed. “Thank you again, and good night” you smiled as you got out of the taxi.  Us both got out and stood on the sidewalk as the taxi driver rolled down his window. “When you need a driver, I drive you! Just message me. Buenos noches, ladies.” he sang out with the biggest smile on his face. 

“What did you pay him?” You asked as he drove away. Caroline shrugged her shoulders, she was in fact a very humble person. “What he needed to be paid?” She tried, and you shook your head as you smiled. She had tipped well, and I knew because she wouldn’t let me see the receipt. “Do you wanna come up?” You asked her to break the awkward silence. “We can sit on my balcony, and have a some water or whatever you let yourself consume.” You joked, and she smiled a shy smile. “Uh. That would be nice.” She replied with eagerness in her voice. We walked towards the entrance, and you tapped the code on the little tab to be let in. In silence, we walked to the elevator and we took the elevator up to my floor.

“Apartment 1921” you said as you once again tapped in my code. “The code is 3101, feel free to use it if you want.” You said as you were focused on tapping in the code. It wasn’t easy as you felt a bit tipsy. The pair of you entered the apartment and Caroline stood there in shock taking it all in. “Wo-“ she started before you cut her off “it’s not my apartment, it’s the clubs. I just rent it, I could never in a million years buy something like this” you said ironically and laughed while you got two champagne glasses ready.

You pulled out a Norwegian drink, Farris, on the counter. My grandparents had been there two weeks prior, and they brought you all your favourite snacks. You poured the drink into the glasses. “Here you go” you said as you reached it towards Caroline that was still admiring the apartment and the views. She turned towards me and said “I don’t drink alcohol” she started as you rolled your eyes. “Babe, it’s not alcohol! It’s Farris!” Her eyes widened. You were not too sure if it was because of the Farris part or because of the babe part. You had a habit of calling everyone babe, so you raised an eyebrow.  «Oh, thats actually my favourite drink” she said as she took a sip. You giggled, and suddenly you came to the realisation that you had watermelon in the fridge. Fresh juicy watermelon! You did a turnaround and ripped the fridge open. You pulled out the bowl you had previously cut up watermelon in triangles and walked towards the balcony. Caroline willingly followed towards the stunning views. You sat down in one of chairs you had placed outside, and she slowly sat down beside me in awe of the sunset. “Here” you said, “Take some watermelon, it’s very hydrating.” You giggled as you pushed the box towards her. She smirked and grabbed a piece. “Sounds like something I would say.” She said as she took a bite. Watermelon juice went flying everywhere! In her lap; her t-shirt and even at her socks. You giggled hysterically. You loved to laugh when you were sober, but when you were drunk? Oh boy, you giggled over anything. 

“Ah, faen” Caroline swore under her breath as you giggled while she was trying to run the pink liquid off her white top. Her face was slowly turning red enough to match the watermelon. ��I should get home..” Caroline reluctantly said, and as if you had just found the cure for cancer; you stood up and sprinted towards the walk in closet. You grabbed your favourite lululemon hoodie considering it was the only piece of clothing that were oversized enough to fit her tall body. “Here” you proudly said as she looked up. Her eyes widened when she saw the color of the item. “What!” You said “get the stick out of your ass” She shook her head and sighted. “I really should get going home” she mumbled as she poured down the last drop of Farris and stood up. “Oh really” you teased, “Do you have a secret girlfriend at home that is expecting you?”. Her face went red, and her eyes once again resembled an owl’s eyes.

You mentally slapped yourself for saying it, and you instantly knew that you would regret this as soon as you sobered up tomorrow morning. “I-I” she said as she mumbled the last part of the sentence. “You what?” You asked nervously, could it be that she actually had a girlfriend? Or even worse, that she was only into men? You wanted to become one with the gorgeous wooden floor in the apartment. Your train of thoughts were interrupted by her clearing up her voice. “I’ve never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or anyone. I don’t really think I would like a boyfriend either as I don’t like men..” she said as you felt about 500 kg lighter. That cleared things up pretty quickly. “Never?” You asked curiously, “how come?”. She sighted again and looked more at the floors than on you. “I guess nobody has ever, uhm, you know, found me attractive or something.” she said as she swallowed for a second, visibly struggling with her words. You both went quiet for a while, and the silence was broken by your yawn. “Do you maybe wanna sleep over?” You suggested to see if she was interested. She nodded and you showed her the bedroom and the rest of the apartment. “I’m just gonna shower quickly, so I don’t smell of vodka.” You said as you headed for the shower. You had so many questions, so many things you were wondering about and so many thoughts. You were definitely a thinker, but you were also good with communication. Caroline was not the best with sharing her feelings and thoughts. Usually, the things she said sounded like she had planned to say it, especially on practice. You were thinking about how she had made friends, as you knew she was pretty close with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi.

 My thoughts were rambling as you stood in the hot shower for what felt like ages. You popped on pyjamas as you wanted to respect her and not be naked. The pj’s was a two piece set with a shorts and a tank top with spaghetti straps. It was a sheer pink color with lace on the edges, and it was somewhat revealing. You dried your hair with a towel, leaving it to air dry while you did a quick round of skincare. Skincare was so important to you, it made you feel good and you believe that if you feel good, you look good. You stepped out of the bathroom, and walked into my bedroom expecting to see Caroline in my bed. The shock on my face when you couldn’t find her, was rather disturbing. You looked around the room and anxiety started to boil. Had you done something? Did she get the wrong signal? Was she angry? Your thoughts were cut off by a cough. A rather loud raspy cough which scared you shitless. All your senses activated, and you grabbed a hanger that you had on the hook. You slowly walked into the living room to find nobody. You checked out the bathrooms and the kitchen, even the walk in closet and the balcony. Nothing! Perhaps it was just a neighbour? Yoy settled on that explanation and shuffled to the bedroom. 

As yoy walked to the bedroom, you wanted to grab myself an extra pillow from the guest room because you were not a fan of alcoholic reflux. You walked into the guest room and there she was in all her glory. “What on earth are you doing?” You asked her as you leaned towards the doorframe. She had a confused look on her face and tilted her head as she said “wasn’t I invited to sleep over?” You giggled and made yourself a mental note to remember that she could not take a hint even if it was handed to her. “Yes, in my bed pretty girl” you said as you smiled and she suddenly became red again. “Oh, it’s just that.. I have never..I’m not into..” she started. You were just as confused as her about where this conversation was headed.

 It suddenly clicked in your mind. She thought that you were trying to one night stand her! “This is not a one night stand”you said as you smiled and moved towards her. “I’m just trying to get to know you better, okay? I’m taking it slow with you.” You assured her as you reached your hand out. She took the blanket off her and grabbed your hand as she followed you to the main bedroom. “Besides I said, in this room; there is a big ass flatscreen” you said as she entered. She looked at it and nodded. You hopped into bed, and girl. She had never cuddled anyone in her entire life. She slid into the bed and was as stiff as a stick. “Do you need help?” You asked her and she nodded desperately. “Alright, this is how you cuddle. The big spoon is the one holding the other person. The small spoon is the one being held.” You stated as you turned yourself around. She was laying flat on her back, so you curled up next to her on your side. “Then, you move this arm and hold in here” you stated as you positioned yourself and her. You laid your head on her chest and held around her with your other arm as you were almost laying on your belly. She adjusted, and let out a releaved breath. “I think I like this” she said, and you lifted your head as you looked up at her. You smiled, and continued “this is cuddling. You can stroke my back, play with my hair, kiss the top of my head or just lay still.” You said as you yawned. She softened once again, and started breathing heavily. Then you both drifted off to sleep. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for insisting on a hairdresser using my own products?

I have chronic urticaria (hives) and sensitive skin. This means that I can not use most shampoos, hair conditioners, and skin products. I have even gotten hives from just putting perfume on my wrists and neck. It's rough, but it's not a life-threatening allergic reaction or anything.

There is 1 brand of shampoo/conditioner that I currently use and I know will not give me hives. I took my bottles to the hair salon when I booked a haircut, since I didn't know what they would have. I hadn't been to this place before, but since I moved, I can't just go back to my old salon.

When I came in and asked about shampoo, the hairstylist told me that she had good shampoo for sensitive skin. Then she pulled out the sensitive version of a brand that I stopped using after it started giving me hives. I gave her mine instead, and explained how I have had issues with that brand. She told me that this kind of shampoo was different and made specially for the salon. She wanted to use her products, and said it would be fine. I told her it wasn't, and that if she wasn't ok with using my shampoo to wash my hair, I could cancel the appointment right now and go pay the fee at the front desk. I didn't raise my voice, but I wasn't going to back down. I also told her that I didn't want her adding in any other products (gel, spray, etc), and to just use the shampoo/conditioner.

Finally, she agreed to wash my hair with my stuff. She cut and styled it, and it looks great. But she seemed annoyed with me during the entire haircut, and told me at the end it would have looked better if I had trusted her. I just said I was happy, thanked her, and tipped her well.

I mentioned this to a friend, and she said it's rude to bring my own products in, and I was a bitch for threatening to cancel the appointment. I know it isn't ideal, but I really didn't want to get hives. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[esmedelacroix]

19 days til' Christmas

boyfriend!song mingi watches your nutcracker performance⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Mingi always had a very tight schedule. He couldn't make it to a lot of your recitals. But he knew how important the Nutcracker performance was to you because this year you were a rat you had gotten the role of the sugar plum fairy.

It was your first big role in a ballet like The Nutcracker. You felt like you were finally being recognized for your talents and you needed Mingi to be there supporting you and cheer you on.

Your nerves were never really an issue because you didn't get extravagant roles ever, and you were usually in the back. But now you would be in the spotlight. Mingi must've been accustomed to it but you were not.

"Mingi I'm so nervous! Please tell me you're here," you pleaded as you paced in your dressroom.

"I just entered the building, baby, walking backstage right now, take a deep breath please," he reassured as he hastily walked backstage.

You heard your door swing open and saw your sweet boy standing in the doorway looking through the mirror. "My love, you look enchanting," he started as he opened his arms for you to hug him.

You ran to him and let him wrap his arms around you sharing his warmth. "Give me a kiss, beautiful," Mingi demanded softly.

You got on the tips of your pointe shoes and gave him a smooch which quickly escalated to you peppering his face with kisses. He left your dressing room with stains of your lipstick on his lips and neck.

You placed the pink tulips he had gotten for you on your desk as you began to touch up your lips. You could feel most of your nerves floating away. You barely needed to put any blush on just thinking about Mingi.

The hairstylist came in shortly to finish up your style and by the time you knew it, you were being called backstage. The nerves started to rush back as you peeked out at the vast crowd. When you looked up you saw your Mingi sitting in the balcony seat looking down at the stage waiting to see you dance.

The show begins, the curtain lifts and everyone behind the stage is waiting for their cues, warming up, and making sure that they memorized their dances.

Act one finished, you didn't do much during that time frame other than warm up and help people change their costumes and fix their props and hair pieces.

Act two began and the only thing you could do for your nerves was peak up at Mingi and remind yourself of your greatness and the fact that you got this role because you were good.

Time flew right by and as soon as you knew it the Tarantula dance was coming to an end and you were up for the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

The lights raised and you too center stage with a smile on your face despite your nerves. The audience clapped for you and you got into your pose waiting for the orchestra to begin laying the song.

You began as you heard the strums of bows and violins and the piano began to play the familiar tune. You started off smoothly, still a bit nervous but you were hitting each move perfectly.

After ailing your first set of spins you were beginning to have fun. You looked up at Mngi occasionally who was staring at you, mouth hanging with an awe-struck expression.

The moves were already carved into your brain and if you felt like you were forgetting your muscles most certainly were not. As soon as it started your number ended and you received a standing ovation from the audience. You didn't forget or stumble.

Even with all the cheers, it felt as though it was only you and Mingi in the room.

You took your bow before exiting the stage with the brightest smile. The rest of the performance went on without a hitch and you found yourself doing your final bows before running out to the main lobby to find Mingi.

All of your fellow performers were greeting their loved ones and you were looking for Mingi in the crowded halls. Finally, you caught sight of him and the two of you hugged like you hadn't seen each other in four years.

"You did an amazing job baby, absolutely amazing!" he exclaimed as he kissed you on the cheek while offering you even more flowers.

"Thank you for being here, Mingi, this is like everything to me," you said as you looked up into his eyes.

"Oh course my darling, you looked so beautiful, I don't think there is a word in existence to describe how perfect you were tonight.

The ride home was filled with laughter, cheer, and excitement for Christmas the next morning.

"I like watching that dance a lot more than seeing you in a rat suit last year," Mingi teased.

"Ha ha ha," you sarcastically chuckled as you landed a playful punch on his arm.

"I don't know why I was so nervous, you must be my lucky charm, you watching my performance is the only Christmas gift I really need," you sighed as you rested your head on his shoulder.

With that, one of the best Christmas Eves you had ever had ended with Mingi and ballet, two of your most treasured things in the world.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist:

@aripet22