#*w: crying lightning
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you are actually EVERYTHING TO ME SAHAR :( every day i feel so thankful for this fic but the biggest reason for that is because it brought you so much closer to me. every compliment you give me should be directed towards yourself just the same because you have no idea how much you and your words not only inspire but shape me, not only as a writer but as a human being. i love you so much more. brb gonna reread ur essay again
đđ«đČđąđ§đ đ„đąđ đĄđđ§đąđ§đ ă»h.h.
â you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.
wordsă»11.1k
pairingă»idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)
genresă»fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives
warningsă»cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.
warnings (cont'd.)ă»reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics
playlistă»farewell, neverland by txtă»like crazy by jimină»black friday by tom odellă»collide by justine skyeă»crying lightning by arctic monkeys
a/nă»call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :â) i donât deserve u i love u
Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.
Youâve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.
As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.
This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and youâve steeled yourself to see it through.
But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the showâs addressâand, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find youâre more interested in Hyunjinâs peculiar silence.
You move your gaze to his face. Heâs looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.
Maybe itâs because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe itâs because youâve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.
âNervous?âÂ
Hyunjinâs head swivels towards you with a small snap, like heâs forgotten youâre here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.
âNo,â he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. âFuck, maybe a little. Itâs just hard to believe, you know?â
You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brandâs pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the worldâs most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even youâve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjinâs anxiety.
You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But youâve always known just what to say when it comes to him.
âJust remember who you are.â
Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You donât see this change in posture, though. Youâre too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.
Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjinâs lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.
Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.
âI want you to meet my parents.â
Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; âplease,â he adds, and youâre biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.
The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He canât tell if you hate each other or if youâre married.
One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.
âI still canât believe youâre abandoning me.â
âFor my newborn daughter.â
âYeah, okay. I still canât believe youâre abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I donât?â
âMy genes, to begin with.â
âThatâs unfair. Sheâs usingââ
An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their âgood morningâs prim and professional.
âSheâs using cheats,â Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.
Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.
Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, heâd grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than heâd thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because theyâd become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldnât imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.
Today is a Saturday, but itâs also Seojunâs last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldnât have missed it for the world.
âFourth floor,â Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. âThanks.â
The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.
âWhat was her name again?â Hyunjin asks.
âY/N,â Seojun returns. âY/L/N.â
âIs she here already?â
âNo, sheâll be here at nine.â
Thereâs a small pause.Â
âHyung.â
âHm?â
âI feel like Iâm being married off to another family for political reasons.â
âGod, I canât wait to be free of your theatrics.â
At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.
âYouâll be in good hands,â Seojun reassures. âSheâs the best of the best. I hear sheâs basically running the industry these days. Iâm surprised she agreed to take you on.â
âIâm surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,â Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.
âYouâre not wrong, though,â Seojun concedes. âWe happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and weâve kept in touch ever since. Sheâs a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hellââ
They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.
She reminds me of him.
âHeâs forgotten how to walk,â the him in question whispers like heâs narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. âIs this what fatherhood does to a man?â
Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.
The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and heâs suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.
At 8:57, Seojunâs phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjinâs direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.
âFor that,â Hyunjin sputters, âIâm the godfather.â
âAbsolutely the hell not.â
Then, it is 9:00.
When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.
âThere she is,â Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. âGod, how long has it been? Two, three years now?â
Youâre not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojunâs direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that youâre cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.Â
With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojunâs hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like youâve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.
Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and heâs reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.
âSomething like that,â you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. âItâs great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.â
âPlease, Seojun is fine,â he answers hastily. âAnd thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I canât tell you how excited we are to have you.âÂ
âYouâre too kindâIâm excited too.â
Upon uttering the word âwe,â Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.
The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like heâs approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.
Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until heâs as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.
He ends up losing its trail, but he wonât forget that itâs there.Â
âMy client, Iâm guessing?â You say, extending your hand. âY/N. Itâs a pleasure.â
Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.
But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; heâs nothing, if not tenacious.
âHyunjin,â he returns. âPleasureâs all mine.â
Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.
Hyunjin isnât sure whyâmaybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingersâbut heâs learned over the last four weeks that youâre different, gentler, when youâre doing his makeup.
Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco youâve painted upon him.
Your expression doesnât give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that thereâs a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like youâre touching his petals, trying not to tear them.
Too bad you never let him daydream for long.
âClose.â
âHuh?â
âYour eyes. Close them.â
His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjinâs features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.
A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.
âWitch,â Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.
âThank you,â you reply, completely earnestly.
And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if thereâs anything you donât know.
âYou smudged your lipstick already.â Thereâs a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. âSee? Thatâs why we need the setting spray.â
âUh huh.â And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.
âYouâre done, by the way,â you say, stepping aside. âTake a look.â
He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if heâs never seen it before. But thatâs how heâs felt since he started working with you.
Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like itâs the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when itâs you maneuvering them. And then some.
He would call what you have âtalent,â but he knows itâs more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering youâve only known him for two months. So no, itâs not just talent that you possess. Itâs some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhumanâand sexy as fuck.
Speaking of sexy. Hyunjinâs look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But itâs the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesnât look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.
You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. âYou can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought youâd appreciate that detail.â
At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. âYou suck.â
He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks itâs so painfully on brand that the two times itâs appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person heâs ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.
âWell?â You implore. âWhat do you think?â
âNo notes.âÂ
Itâs the answer youâre expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.
âIâll see you after the show, then.â
You have an important conference call to attend before tonightâs concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.Â
Itâs rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesnât want it to end. Not just yet.
âI lied, actually,â he calls. âI do have notes.â
You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laughâthe concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.
âDo tell,â you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.
âYou have any jewelry for me?â
You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the groupâs dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.
You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. âCome here, then,â you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.
You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.
âYouâre sure you wonât be uncomfortable?â
He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you donât seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.
Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, youâre already working on the third and final necklace. Itâs not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; heâs been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows youâre closer to each other than youâve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesnât showâthe soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lipsâand these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.
You are the type of beautiful thatâs been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.
In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.
When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but youâre debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hipâlightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjinâs hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.
And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that itâll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesnât give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesnât care.
âLet me take you out,â he murmurs. âOne date.â
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â You reply under your breath.
âYou know what Iâm talking about, beautiful.â
Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you donât. You merely hiss out a whetted âyouâre fucking crazy,â and thatâs his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.
âAbout you? Damn straight.â
At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isnât just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.
And heâs surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you wouldâve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever heâs been granted the privilege of your presence.
This might be the first time heâs admitted it out loud, but he hasnât triedâhasnât been ableâto hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. Itâs been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.
 âHwangââ You begin.
âHyung!â
At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like youâre about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now youâre just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.
âHey, Innie!â Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boyâs sunny tone. âWhatâs up?âÂ
In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You donât think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.
Youâre flustered.
You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.Â
âNothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,â Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany youâre having behind him. âChan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?â
âSheâs in high demand.â Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. âThe usual.â
âAh.â
Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjinâs face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isnât stupid, unlike his older counterpart.
âI saw a vending machine on my way here,â Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. âYou want anything, hyung? Noona?â
âIâm okay, thank you,â you say.
âIâll have whatever you have,â Hyunjin says.
Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.
You wait until you canât hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks youâre about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.
Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows heâll live to see another day.
âYou still owe me an answer,â Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.
âDonât hold your breath,â you reply.
One day, Iâll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjinâs head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, Iâll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. Thatâs the two of you, in a nutshell.
Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.
When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, âI have no idea what the fuck Iâm doing.â
Thereâs an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjinâs empty vanity chair. She hasnât noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonightâs performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.
You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until sheâs within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.
âNever gets old.â You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.
âI canât remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.â
âMe neither, now that you mention it.â
Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because theyâre so eerily similarâand itâs adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.
But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeunâs voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, thatâs another quality that she and her client share; theyâre both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.
Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeunâs is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. Youâve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasnât a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.
You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the albumâs cover and pushing it closed.
âCome with me,â you say. âWeâre gonna try a new approach.â
Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.
âWhat do you have in mind?â She sighs instead.
âYouâll see.â
With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.
The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venueâs backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the groupâs manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonightâs concert.
Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.Â
âLet me ask you this,â you say, just audible over the din. âCan you style a performer if you donât know how he performs?â
And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.
âI want you to watch him,â you continue. âTell me how he performs.â
Hanâs part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.
âDonât think, Haeun. Just speak.â
She blows out a deep breath before obliging. âItâs hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, heâs so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But heâs like a different person on stage. Heâs so intense, itâs almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, thoughâyou just get the impression that heâs very confident in himself and his music.
You donât say another word, but donât need to. Sheâs hit her stride.
âHis voice and enunciation are so clear. Itâs crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; heâs not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.
âAnd this is gonna sound bad, but I didnât know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is beingââ
Right there.
She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.
âItâs his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "Heâs demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. Thatâs how he performs.â
A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. âCouldnât have said it better myself.â
Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework youâve helped her forge. Sheâs almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.
âYouâre brilliant, you know that?â
âI do, but I appreciate the reminder.â
She canât help but giggle. Itâs a you answer if sheâs ever heard one. âDo you do that with all of your clients?â
Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesnât think sheâs ever witnessed before, and sheâs momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.
As the songâs final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then itâs palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.
Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mindâbut one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.
Artistry.
âNo,â you reply. âNot all of them.â
And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?
Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you donât elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.
The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage managerâs voice comes through the monitors.
âAnd thatâs a wrap! Weâre all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.â
There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.
You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.
Youâre annoyed before he says a word.
âI didnât know they were letting fans backstage now,â he hums happily. âWant an autograph, gorgeous?â
âPut a sock in it.â You whisk the towel youâve been holding in his direction. âWet freak.â
But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. Youâve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.
âNo.â You take a shaky step back. âNo, nope, donât even think aboutââ
The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. âCall me a wet freak again, go on,â he manages to say through his laughter.Â
In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjinâs ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesnât relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.
You tighten your grip. âWet,â you seethe, âfreak.â
âOwâokay, donât make it hot, whatâs wrong with you?â
âWhaâwhatâs wrong with YOU?!â
As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that sheâs still standing here. Sheâs not even sure if sheâs in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when itâs him on the receiving end.
âPsst. Weâve been placing bets on them. You want in?â
Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasnât so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.
But what if sheâs not hallucinating?
No, not all of them, youâd said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.
âYes,â she says, and Han beams. âAbsolutely.â
Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.
On a tranquil Saturday night, youâre sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosĂ© and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy placeâa safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world canât reach. But you think youâve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.
Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.
You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like theyâre topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like youâre monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.
Youâve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.
You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that youâve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.
When you were little, you came across a childrenâs book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.
At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industryâs most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.
You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.
For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the worldâs most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.
If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.
The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.
You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that youâd been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.Â
As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how youâd shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.
By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.
You are now twenty-two, and the word âcoldâ has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but youâre no longer surprised to find it at your door. Itâs a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks youâre not lookingâa fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couchâand you know whenever youâre being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.
You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.
Hyunjin does not.
âThree words to describe yourself. Go,â he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.Â
You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didnât bother trying to dodge this one. âYou first.â
âSmart, sexy, suave,â he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. âFine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitelyâmaybe overly so. And artistic. Iâd like to think so, at least. Satisfied?â
The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.
âNow you.â
Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you werenât sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didnât trust himâyou did, more than you had anyone in yearsâbut because you didnât know what youâd do with yourself if he agreed. You werenât sure your heart would be able to take it.
When you met the boyâs gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.
âCold,â you mumbled. âIâve been called cold before.â
There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And thenâ
âThatâs a joke, right?â
Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.
âMean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though Iâd rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.â
At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.
âDetermined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,â he went on. âYou get my point. Youâre a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isnât oneââ
He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.
ââand not just because youâre hot.â
You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.
Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.
âThank you,â you said.
The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.
âIdiot,â he sighed softly.
Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.Â
When you stand up, the bottle is mostly goneâand so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin arenât just theories.
If youâd had even one mouthful less of rosĂ©, you mightâve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.
[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav
Hi. Iâm drunk and Iâm going to regret this tomorrow. But thatâs tomorrowâs business. Thereâs something I need to tell you tonight.
After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard âI wanna go homeâ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I wouldâve been happy for it to.
But I havenât felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. Iâve never felt seen the way you see me. Iâve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I donât have to dream of it anymore.
You called me fearless the other day, but youâre wrong. Iâm terrified. Iâm terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And thatâs why Iâm so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I donât want to go through that ever again.
So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that Iâm scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But itâs not speaking it into existence if Iâm drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what Iâm talking about. Maybe youâll never even hear this. So it doesnât count. Thatâs how that works, surely.
Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that Iâm so bad at feelings. You must think Iâm impossible, and I donât blame you.
Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.
One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.
When Hyunjin steps out of the hotelâs tall glass double doors, heâs wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like heâs an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.
Youâre the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.
A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.
âTomorrow night,â youâre saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. âThe absolute earliest. Youâre sure?â
When you finish listening to the managerâs response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that shouldâve splintered your screen protector.
Then, you start walking towards him.
âHi,â Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. âYou are so talented and beautiful. I donât tell you that often enough, do I?â
He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort thatâs twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth thatâs always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that heâs always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.
A shiver travels down Hyunjinâs spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.
Somethingâs not right.
âWeâre gonna have to stay here another day,â you say. âCan you check us in? I have some calls to make.â
âUs?â Hyunjin repeats.
âJunghan could only reserve one room,â you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. âThe hotel is fully booked for the next few months.â
With that, youâre already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that heâs going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.
Go, you mouth, and he obliges.
A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates itâs an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoeverâs inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he canât think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises shouldâve been.
Hyunjinâs initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isnât an isolated issue. Itâs the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.
You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. Heâs learned where to look for your feelings when he canât find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like theyâre verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldnât recognize you. Heâd blinked, startled, and then youâd asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.
Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didnât seem all that differentâa bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but youâd been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.
âStupid,â Hyunjin whispers bitterly.
He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like heâd been dismissed from before your throne.
As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesnât understand how or whyâbut he canât shake the feeling that heâs failed you.
Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesnât know why he even tries. Heâs exhausted, but he knows damn well thereâs no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.
He doesnât look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotelâs entrance.
You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.
âHyunjin?â
His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. âYeah?â
âOh, youâre awake,â you answer. âMove to the bed. Youâre not sleeping on that thing.â
He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and thereâs a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bedâs mattress.
âHello? Did youââ
âIs everything okay?â
A short pause follows his interruption.
âI still have a few emails to write, but everythingâs been rescheduled, so as long as you donât miss tomorrowâs flight, too, we should beââ
The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. âThatâs not what I mean.â
The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but itâs enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjinâs expression.
âEnlighten me, then,â you say finally.
âYou really donât know?â
âWhat is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, Iâm aware.â
âNo, thatâs notââ
âSo what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?â
Thereâs real frustration in your voice, and itâs the first time youâve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.
He wonders if youâre prepared to destroy yourself, too.
âI know how you are around me,â you whisper. âYouâre always acting like youâre trying to unearth something, and I figure this âsomethingâ must be wonderful, because you look at me like Iâm made of stars; you speak to me like youâre serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this âsomethingâ doesnât exist, that youâre looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.Â
âI know itâs selfish to ask for anything more than what youâve already given meâyouâre so kind, Hyunjin, and youâve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.
âTell me what you see in me,â you plead. âOtherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.â
With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware ofânever asked forâthe throne you sit upon.
For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You havenât felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.Â
When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.
âAfter you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.â
Your mind careens; your heart reels.Â
âThey came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.â He takes a tentative step towards you. âYou thought it was going to swallow you alive. You wouldâve been happy for it to.â
You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldnât check for a read receipt.
But thereâs not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjinâs lips.
âYou havenât felt that way since you met me, though.â He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. âYouâve never felt seen the way I see you. Youâve never been known the way I know you.â
God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?
âYouâre terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.â Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. âI must think youâre impossible.â
And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fractureâ
âI donât,â Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, âbecause youâre not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. Thatâs what I see in you.â
âand crumble.
You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjinâs hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.
When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.
Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.
Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.Â
One part of it is that he physically canât; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesnât want to. Heâs afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.
Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesnât stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.
âTrust me?â He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.
âMore than anyone,â you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.
Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your elementâtonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.Â
Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjinâs privilege alone.
He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and youâre about to ask if heâs okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping foldsâand every word of every language youâve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.
He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that heâs lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjinâs head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.
He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until youâre spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until itâs pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until youâre curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.Â
âComing,â you blabber after some time. Tell me something I donât know, he thinks to himself. âComing, Hyune. Iâmâfuckââ
Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way youâre so dilapidated from pleasure that youâre genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesnât care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there canât be rests in the sheet music, can there?
He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your bodyâs protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.
âSon of a bitchââ
âTrust me?â He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.Â
At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. Heâs so rough and so fucking careful at once like he canât decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.
Heâll end up doing both.
Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasureâbut he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and itâs not long before the former is compounding with the latter.
Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.
As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.
After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.
He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongueâand you know he wonât ask for it. Heâs tested you enough tonight; heâd rather your comfort than his pleasure.
But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.
âLove me?â You ask this time, for the first time.
There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, âwith everything in me.â
He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff heâd dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him tooâand the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.
This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.
Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.
For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen youâve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.
âWhere do you find your inspiration?âÂ
As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versaceâs newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.
âMy inspiration, hm?â You fall silent for a short time, thinking. âIf you asked me this at the start of my career, Iâd have said âpeople.â Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the modelsâ attire helped them harness their innate power and graceâI wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, donât you?
âSome time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a âmuseâ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, soââ
Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist wouldâve flinched out of habit if he wasnât so mesmerized by your eloquence.
ââwhere better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?â
A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.Â
âThatâs the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancĂ©.â
The journalist laughs, and he doubts youâll give him this next piece of informationâbut heâll be damned if he doesnât try.
âAnd who would that be?â
Heâs right. You donât answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.
đ (send an ask to be added)ă»@astraystayyhă»@like-a-diamondintheskyă»@fire-08ă»@starsandrqindropsă»@txtxlză»@laylasbunbunnyă»@strayghibliă»@nuronhe
© đđšđ«đ„đąđ± (est. 090323) · đ„đąđ€đđ đđĄđąđŹ đ°đšđ«đ€? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support âĄ
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the way you drew kokichi .. i think im ascending to the heavens .. i see the light .. chest collapsing .. heartbeat flatlining ..
oho, a Kokichi enjoyer!! tysm!! it was my first time drawing him at the time so im glad i didnt fail him. i dont want to fail any of the kyoto group. i love them all!! even w my clear favoritism
he's nice too, a bit more expressive than Noritoshi so i can finally draw something that isnt :| or >:( even if it isnt by much- i like him too
I like how he's both a dick but also kinda sweet. He's a different flavor of tsun... i can use this. my knowledge on him is limited but FROM WHAT I SAW IN THE WIKI OH MY GOD???????? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!! KOKICHI!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#muta kokichi#kokichi muta#mechamaru#kokichi muta x reader#mechamaru x reader#? i guess#double post lets go im tryna be as fast as lightning#woah a non noritoshi post... crazy.......#my hands feel tingly and weird#my blog is so yume centric that my one track mind made you a love interest right off the bat#fuck it. everyone's in love w you unless stated otherwise#congrats. youre a harem leader/protag now except i have a strong bias towards one guy unless asked abt someone else#AND I JUST FOUND OUT MORE ABT KOKICHI???? WHY AM I FUCKING CRYING????? DUDE WHAT THE FUCK#OH NO THIS IS NOT CORRECT.. IS THIS WHAT SHIBUYA ARC IS???? DUDE#IM GONNA RIP OUT MY HAIR. THIS CANNOT BE. I CANT FAWN OVER ANOTHER CHARACTER W SO LITTLE SCREEN TIME AND CONTENT GOD PLEASE#HE GIVES SO MANY VIBES..... LIKE FUCKED UP 'i'll sacrifice the world for you' VIBES AND ITS MAKING MY BRAIN KRCHAKKRCHAKKRCHACK#kokichi muta... another hidden gem.... wipes tear#we'll treat you right kokichi... sobs. there there#null rot#cloaked cult member
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beefydie but dragon,,,
one day the thought of making a bfdi x wof au popped into my head and now it wont leave. so here are some designs i made for it
#t1ft art#bfdi#wings of fire#flower bfdi#snowball bfdi#teardrop bfdi#lightning bfb#firey bfdi#puffball bfdi#black hole bfb#silkwing#leafwing#icewing#seawing#hivewing#rainwing#skywing#nightwing#wof au#bfdi au#their designs can either be full on dragons or objects w/ dragon features#also the ânumerous visions of how everyone diesâ on bh's drawing is mostly a joke but may or may not be a bit of potenial au lore...#also also the thing on sb's eye is a burn scar. howd he get it? idk#there are so many tags on this one singular post im gonna cry#rose's rambles
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if there's one thing you do today make it listening to like a lover by loren kramar whilst thinking about buddie
#sami rambles#another step in the dark i feel for the moment then the moment's gone: i could take you scene into playing video games w chris#i wait for you i wait for you: buck weightlifting for eddie's attention in bÂł#then i get closer and closer still: coming out scene and hug#i cling and i clamour you sting and i stammer...#first you scream and i shatter buck screaming for eddie during shooting then crying with chris#second one eddie screaming for buck during lightning then crying in the hospital room#and what if i lose do i lose you: cemetery scene#buddie
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||. was browsing through tags of a comic thor post and found this beauty in someone's tags:
i love the acknowledgement of odin as a godking above father & how thatâs hurt thor not just loki
obviously, I won't name the person's reblog on this blog but it's something I've always felt is largely true about the mcu odinfam situation, particularly where the father and the boys are involved.
Odin's parenting style (being strict, and the all-father above just a father), hurt Thor just as much as Loki. They were both hurt by their parents and especially in vying for their father's approval. (aka: his affections, because really any child desperate for their parent's attention, approval, pride is really just craving unconditional love.) People seem hard pressed to believe that this sort of pain was exclusive to Loki... which I fundamentally don't understand. (Need I remind everyone that Odin didn't just say "you're unworthy to call yourself a king and a hero bc you're being selfish in your ambitions"... which is true. He also got a good, walloping "you are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed" TO HIS FACE before being stripped of his powers and banished to some backwater planet for an indefinite amount of time...)
The reality of the situation is Loki always had Frigga to lean on, confide in, and be in his corner. Even if it was off-screen, truth is that he told Frigga what he learned about being a Frost Giant the first chance he got. He confided in her his worry for Odin's health ("i never get used to seeing him like this"). She actively expresses support and validation in front of him in a way that Loki at least positively acknowledges even if he doesn't always receive the words, and while I don't believe Thor wouldn't have gained the same solace from his mother, I am of the opinion - based on (this deleted scene from "THOR") in particular - that she would give support in the same way she would with Loki ... and it never landed with Thor. Because Thor is not Loki. And Frigga doesn't always know how to speak to Thor so Thor can hear her.
So, really at the end of the day, whether it was true or not, Thor only had himself to emotionally rely on. Coupled then with being primarily under the express tutelage of an extraordinarily strict father who was priming Thor to uphold his own legacy, (apparently not be anything like Hela despite the two kids being polar opposites) and 'never seek out war but must always be ready for it' and then you get a sentiment that ultimately can be summarized in Thor's words at the end of Dark World when he comments his reason for surrendering his birthright of his own volition: "I would rather be a good man than a great king." (which, sidebar, but I am entirely convinced is Thor commenting on his father's way of ruling, his father's way of parenting, his father's way of being. And quite frankly, no, I don't think the real Odin would ever let Thor give up his birthright to go live on Earth when Odin is old, dying, and the whole of Asgard is primed and ready to follow Thor as their new All-Father.)
alt., in the words of comic!thor his (extremely mixed) opinion of Odin:
"A hard god, my father, but one who would move heaven and earth for his children. And did , quite literally, on many occasions. From Odin, I learned command. I learned the ways of the worlds and the godly arts of war."
#(not really a full meta or w/e bc one day i should really go through the entire 2 thor films and compile)#(all of my thoughts on every thor/odin interaction but tl;dr their relationship is a mess.)#( meta . ) â son of cosmos . lightning flows through thy veins .#my meta#(thor loves him and he wants to make him proud but he also wants to be nothing like him...)#(all because thor's instinct is to follow his heart - and odin's is to follow his head. those two things are at conflict with one another.)#(and yet despite everything thor is still that same little boy-)#(-who looked up at his father and saw this legendary hero. a true warrior. the pride of all of asgard who is a mighty hero and great king)#(who was able to keep bad people in line by being SO strong they were scared to oppose him and was still the wisest in all of asgard-)#((besides his mother))-#(because he knew better than to seek out war without a good reason)#(imo keeping true to that and adding in the element of ... //sighs loudly// h e l a -- means delving into thor's psyche and figuring out-)#(-at what point does his adoration of odin breed resentment and insecurity and subservience bc-)#(lbr it's all there. it's just not as loud as loki's literal crying and screaming about his daddy issues)#(which isn't shade to loki he just literally screams and cries about it. thor ....very rarely speaks his true heart about this topic.)#( ooc . ) â stories that leap from the page .#long post#(sorry for not putting it under a read more folks but it's too important to me)
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so I finally have. 2 pages planned. for court of the weather. which has been now renamed (for english specifically) as the council of the weathers. because thats what their intro page calls them
anyways. I need more weathers. like the only actual scenario I wrote is the me-based one about a little humanoid who grows strawberries and wants "gentle rains" to help them grow. however I don't share her pronouns and shes also a witch (for art reasons. she's gonna have a straw witch hat with a strawberry pin in it)
I've been thinking of a beekeeper who wants the loud winds to stop and then they learn hes actually weirdly lucky and the winds are a hurricane that his house and beehives are just in the center of where things are usually just very scary and somehow the thing hasn't. moved. so the house and bees are fine but "this loud wind is scaring my bees!" or whatever
also thinking of an archeologist who keeps dropping things and cant find them in the sandstorm bc has to keep their eyes closed
the stories are all gonna be lighthearted though. like by definition. also gonna have reoccurring characters. like strawberry witchling who is gonna start dating summer drizzle after their first meeting in that passage I wrote. like theres gonna be stories of her bringing in strawberry muffins made with the muffins shes growing, or her sitting in drizzles lap in the background of a random page all cutesy. or her making up random issues just to come to see her girlfriend
#court of the weather#council of the weathers#.... realizing now some of yall dont. know what that story is#tldr for the past. few years actually. been making jokes about how I should put in a complaint in court about the weather#tldr it became ⌌ŚȘ ŚŚŚŚ ŚŚŚŚ ŚŚŚŚŚŚšâ (literal translation: the legal court in regards to issues of the weather)#which. effectively became a story concept Ive been playing with but never found the right Vibe for. until now#its a bunch of connected short stories. knew since the beginning theyre gonna be childrens book type stories#like in terms of illustrations and stuff. apparently also in terms of each story being 4 lines of story long#and being rhyming couplets abab#anyways I need to. decide how to design any of the weathers. except drizzle who gets a jeans jacket w cloud patches bc Cute#stormy probably gonna get a raincoat#a lot of them are probably gonna be stereotypical looking with only a bit of flare bc its a kids book style thing#I keep imagining the really destructive weathers like wildfires and hurricanes are toddler aged#imagine. tiny toddler in a windbreaker and a puffy crying face. and for some reason my brain also says maracas#on the hurricane toddler. tiny angy child gonna shake his things until your house explodes/j#for real requiring more ideas for weathers. Ill come up w the rhymes and the story I just am blanking#someone might be asking for sun after a long cloudy week or even bc they want a cool tan for when they go back to school after summer break#(someone wants lightning to strike their neighbors. they are denied. maybe even struck by lightning themself)
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can I request logan sargeant x tattoo artist x oscar piastri..
(the tattoo artist is really into doing like fantasy / tv show / movie related tattoos)
tattooed and trouble â ls2 + op81
smau + blurbs
logan sargeant x !tattoo artist reader x oscar piastri
youâve inked celebrities, rappers, and billionairesâbut nothing couldâve prepared you for the day logan sargeant stumbled into your miami studio, half-drunk, grinning like a fool, and demanding a lightning mcqueen tattoo. apparently, he lost a bet. apparently, he is the real life lightning mcqueen, according to his friends. and apparently, that dumb little tattoo is what started it all. now, months later, youâve got logan wrapped around your finger, a viral post that keeps resurfacing every other weekâand just when things start feeling normal, his old friend oscar piastri shows up fresh off a grand prix win, quiet and annoyingly cute, and leaves your world flipped all over again. you shouldâve known better than to trust men with fast cars. especially when theyâre both a little in love with you. and each other.
fc : maggie lindemann
(a/n) : omg i loved this idea so much that i literally stopped everything to start writing it and working on it. I MISS MY LOGAN FALDUWJSND FUCK.
â
inked_by_yn

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inked_by_yn : bits and pieces of my last few daysâŠft the tattoo I gave the âreal life lightning mcqueenâ
â
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yourbff : slinky is underage. no wine for him
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âł inked_by_yn : that didnât stop you when you were underage đ„Ž
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âł yourbff : shhhhhh
âł yourbff : im just trying to be a good influence on my godson đ€§
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yoursister : baddddieeeeeđ»đ»
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âł yoursister : also is he cute????
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âł inked_by_yn : i would say yes but i know he is lurking and i donât want to inflate his ego
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username00 : omg do you have anytime for walk-ins today???
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âł inked_by_yn : had a last minute cancellation so if you can make it in, im ready for yađ
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username10 : omg that is def logan and he is in the likes!!!!
logansargeant : tell them all how you said i was your favorite client đ
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âł inked_by_yn : lies. my fave clients donât cry đ
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âł logansargeant : i didnât cry. it was a single tear đ€§
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âł inked_by_yn : whatever you say, mr mcqueen.
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âł username15 : OMGOMG
â
The bell above the door jingled violently â more of a slam than a polite entry â and before you could even glance up from your sketchbook, someone shouted.
âWEâRE HERE FOR THE STUPIDEST TATTOO EVER DONE IN MIAMI!â
You blinked. Three guys stood in the doorway like they were filming a bad reality showâ one of them already laughing, one looking mildly horrified, and the third â the loud one â grinning like a golden retriever. That one was Logan Sargeant.
You recognized him immediately. He was hard to miss â tall, tan, Florida-born chaos with a hint of washed-up F1 fame and a whole lot of boyish charm. The kind that made women roll their eyes⊠and then double back just to look again.
He sauntered in like he owned the place.
Wearing sunglasses inside. Naturally.
âHi,â he said, leaning dramatically on the front counter. âIâm here to ruin my life.â
You didnât look up from your tablet. âItâs Miami. Youâre gonna have to be more specific.â
His friends burst out laughing. One of them â a lanky blond who looked too sober to be here â muttered, âI told him this was a bad idea.â
âYou also told me I could pull off frosted tips in 2021, so your judgment is forever in question,â Logan replied, peeling off his sunglasses and grinning at you. âAnyway. I lost a bet. And now I need Lightning McQueen. Like, the Lightning McQueen. On my arm. Forever.â
You stared at him.
âDo you mean⊠the Pixar car?â
âKa-chow, baby.â
He said it with his whole chest. With conviction.
And when you didnât laugh, he just looked even more impressed. âWow. Cold-blooded. Thatâs hot.â
You set your pencil down and finally looked at him fully â tan skin, perfect teeth, too much confidence for a man requesting a cartoon car on his bicep.
âHow drunk were you when you made this bet?â you asked, tilting your head.
âI was sober,â he said, smiling proudly. âWhich makes this even more tragic.â
âRight. And you want this⊠where?â
âDealerâs choice,â he said smoothly, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt. âI trust you. Mostly because youâre hot, but also because your Yelp reviews are fire.â
âYou read my Yelp reviews?â
He leaned in like it was a secret. âOnly after I stalked your Instagram for 20 minutes and forgot what I was doing.â
His friends groaned in unison. âBro, please. Let her live.â
You ignored them and stood up, walking around the counter toward your setup. âCome on then, McQueen. Letâs give you something to regret.â
âOh, I already regret not meeting you sooner,â Logan said, following close behind. âYou think Iâm your hottest client so far orrrrâŠ?â
You raised an eyebrow. âYouâre certainly the loudest.â
âIâll take it,â he said cheerfully, sitting down in the chair and flexing unnecessarily. âWanna make it say âspeed. I am speedâ? Or is that too clichĂ©?â
You snapped your gloves on. âYouâre lucky Iâm not tattooing slow. Across your forehead.â
He smirked. âKinky.â
You didnât dignify that with a response. But your smirk said enough.
As you prepped his arm, Logan glanced up at you through thick lashes and said, quieter this time.
âBe honest. Do most guys fall in love with you while youâre tattooing them?â
You gave him a look. âOnly the ones who say Ka-chow unironically.â
Logan smiled wider.
âThen Iâm already halfway there.â
â
The buzz of the machine stopped, and Loganâs head popped up immediately.
âThatâs it?â he asked, dramatically craning his neck to see his arm. âI survived?â
âYou barely flinched,â you said, peeling off your gloves. âIâm shocked. I pegged you as a screamer.â
âOh, I am,â Logan said instantly. âBut I kept it together for you.â
You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile as you wiped down the fresh tattoo. âAlright, Lightning. Wanna see?â
âDo I ever,â he said, sitting up straighter.
You turned his arm toward the mirror. The little red car sat perfectly on his bicep â bright, clean lines, smug grin and all. It was stupid. And hilarious. And honestly? A little iconic.
âHoly shit,â he breathed. âThatâs⊠incredible. Like, actually incredible.â
âI know,â you said, amused. âThatâs kind of my job.â
Logan looked at it like heâd just been handed a masterpiece. âIâm not kidding â I think this might be the best decision Iâve ever made. Aside from choosing to be born in Florida. And now this.â
âYou didnât choose to be born in Florida.â
âExactly. Which makes this number one.â
You laughed, cleaning your station as he gently ran his fingers near the edges of the bandage. âSo, what now?â he asked. âYou kick me out and never speak to me again?â
âPretty much,â you deadpanned.
âDamn. Cold again. Thatâs fine. I like it,â he said, then added quickly, âBut, hypothetically â hypothetically â if someone wanted to, I donât know, repay you for the best Lightning McQueen rendering on the planetâŠâ
He slid his phone onto your station.
ââŠwould that someone be allowed to take you out for drinks?â
You raised a brow. âIs this your version of a tip?â
âNo, this is me shamelessly flirting and praying you donât already have a boyfriend who drives something lame like a Corolla.â
You snorted. âYou do know this is Miami, right? The bar for car flexing is in hell.â
âPerfect,â he grinned. âThen I still have a shot.â
You picked up his phone without looking at him and typed in your name and number. Saved it. Handed it back.
He blinked, surprised. âWaitâactually?â
âDonât make it weird,â you said. âYou earned it.â
Logan lit up like a kid on Christmas. âOkay. Okay, cool. Chill. Totally normal response to getting a hot girlâs number after getting a Disney tattoo.â
You arched a brow. âThatâs the bar?â
âListen,â he said, pocketing his phone and standing, âI may have lost a bet, but I feel like I just won something way better.â
You handed him the care sheet. âYou better follow the instructions. If that tattoo gets infected, Iâm deleting your number.â
He took it solemnly. âIâd never hurt Lightning. Or disappoint you.â
You walked him to the door, and just before he stepped outside into the sun, he turned back one more time, already pulling his sleeve up to admire the tattoo again.
âHey,â he called.
You raised an eyebrow.
âKa-chow.â
Then he winked. And left. You stared after him for a long second, then shook your head and laughed under your breath. Fucking Florida boys.
â
Two days after his tattoo appointment, Logan texted you at 11:47 a.m.
so how much time needs to pass before I ask you to grab a drink without sounding obsessed
probably like 48 hours
sick so iâm early. wanna grab a drink tonight?
depends. are you planning on wearing sunglasses indoors again?
no promises
but i will attempt to impress you
oh honey
youâre gonna have to try really hard
i love a challenge
â
He picked a laid-back rooftop bar in Wynwood, the kind with overpriced cocktails, neon signs, and a DJ spinning remixes of Bad Bunny and Frank Ocean. He got there early â rare for him â hair done, sleeves rolled up, pacing slightly because okay, maybe he was trying to impress you. He leaned against a palm tree out front, texting his friend about ânot being nervous, just hydrated,â when he heard the low, unmistakable purr of an engine.
Then he saw it. A matte grey 2025 Mercedes AMG GT63. Pulling up like it owned the street. Smooth, deadly. Sexy as hell.
âHolyââ he straightened. âNo fucking way.â
You stepped out like you were in a music video â high-waisted jeans, cropped top, sunglasses, the glow of sunset bouncing off your skin and paint stained rings. He literally blinked.
âYou good?â you asked, smirking as you shut the door with a click.
âIâI was gonna open the door for you,â he stammered. âBut then you just⊠drove that here.â
You walked up to him slowly, amused. âWhat were you driving?â
He pointed vaguely. âA Jeep. It squeaks a little when I turn left.â
You laughed. âCharming.â
âI know. It builds character,â he said, trying to shake off the shock and falling into step beside you. âBut like, I was gonna try to flex tonight and then you pulled up like a Bond villain.â
âI thought you liked danger.â
âI do. But now I feel like I should be the one buying you a drink and asking what it is you do for a living.â
You smirked. âTorture grown men for fun and money.â
âOh my god,â he muttered. âMarry me.â
The date ended up being easy â laughter over terrible cocktails, Logan telling stories about F1 chaos and you countering with tattoo shop disasters.
Every time you made a sarcastic comment, he grinned like an idiot. Every time he got flustered, you raised an eyebrow like you were collecting his weaknesses one by one. Halfway through the night, he said.
âYouâre kinda scary.â
And you replied, âOnly to men who canât handle me.â
He let out a laugh, held his hand up. âOkay, fair. But for the recordâIâm doing great.â
By the end of the night, he walked you back to your car, hands in his pockets, chewing on his bottom lip like he was thinking about something.
âYou donât kiss on the first date, do you?â he asked, hopeful and a little sheepish.
You leaned against the driverâs side door. âNo.â
âRight. Cool. Me neither. Not unless itâs like⊠a really good one. Or Iâm asked nicely.â
You tilted your head. âAre you saying this was a really good one?â
âI mean,â he shrugged, grinning, âit wasnât a Lightning McQueen tattoo level experience, but it was pretty damn close.â
You laughed â soft, unexpected â then leaned in just enough to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
Logan blinked, stunned.
âHoly shit.â
âEasy, Sargeant,â you said, sliding into your car. âDonât crash on the way home thinking about it.â
He stood there like heâd just blacked out, watching as the AMG peeled out smoothly into the Miami night. Then he whispered to himself.
ââŠIâm so screwed.â
â
Logan had officially declared your third date The One That Counts. He had sent you a text earlier in the day.
i feel like the third date is when you either get ghosted.
or get kissed. or arrested. depending on how spicy it gets.
You left him on read for an hour just to mess with him. Then repliedâ
better bring bail money, lightning
So when he picked you up that night â yes, in the same squeaky Jeep, which heâd lovingly wiped down for the occasion â he was buzzing with chaotic hope and trying to play it cool. He took you to a late night taco truck near South Beach, the kind of spot that didnât show up on Google Maps and probably violated several health codes. But the food was divine and the mood was perfect â casual, warm, wrapped in laughter and the ocean breeze.
Logan, in a gray tee and that same stupid grin, leaned against the counter beside you as you licked hot sauce off your thumb.
âOkay,â he said. âIf I asked nicely, would you tattoo a taco on me?â
You didnât even look up. âDo you want a taco on your body forever?â
âOnly if it reminds me of this exact moment.â
You looked at him then â a little surprised, a little soft.
âYouâre serious?â
âHalf of me is always serious,â he said. âThe other half is just desperate to impress you.â
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.
After tacos, he drove you down to the water, parking the Jeep so it faced the ocean, radio low, both of you curled up in the front seats with a bag of cinnamon churros between you.
âSo,â he said, turning toward you. âAm I ghosted now, orâŠ?â
You tilted your head. âAre you always this impatient?â
âIâve been very patient. I didnât even try to kiss you last time.â
âYou tried,â you said, smirking.
âI didnât try that hard,â he defended. âI mean, I wanted to. But you had that look. The âtouch me and dieâ one.â
You chuckled. âThatâs my default setting.â
He looked at you then â really looked. Less teasing, more open.
âI know I joke a lot,â he said, âbut Iâm not playing around with you. I really like you. I like hanging out, I like the way you talk, I like that you make fun of me but still show up. I donât know, it just⊠feels good.â
You stared at him for a second, letting his words settle. Letting them mean something.
Then, quietly. âSo kiss me.â
He blinked. âWaitâreally?â
âDonât make it weird.â
But he was already leaning in â not rushed, not cocky, just soft and a little in awe, like he couldnât believe heâd actually been given permission. And when his lips finally met yours â warm, sweet, slow â the world kind of fell quiet around you. No jokes. No chaos. Just Logan. Just you. Just right. When he pulled back, he was grinning like an idiot.
âThat⊠was worth the wait.â
You raised a brow. âYou sure?â
âOh, Iâd wait forever for that,â he said, then paused, eyes flicking to your lips again. âBut like⊠I really hope I donât have to.â
You laughed, leaning into him again, churros forgotten, ocean breeze wrapping around you both. Yeah. This was definitely The One That Counts.
â
inked_by_yn

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inked_by_yn : somehow got talked into doing another lighting tattooâŠthis time for some grand prix winner đ
â
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oscarpiastri : this was a terrible decision but somehow you made it feel right
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âł inked_by_yn : just think of it as a celebratory tattoo...done by the best tattoo artist in the world ;)
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âł username15 : OSCAR? PIASTRI? TATTOO? LOGAN SARGEANT?
lando : i leave him alone for 5 minutes and he is getting tattoos like he is in a frat
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âł oscarpiastri : you're just jealous. i have a fun tattoo done by yn and you do not.
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âł lando : lowkey yeah
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logansargeant : this whole post brought out my feral instincts tbh
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âł inked_by_yn : down boy
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âł username7 : LOGANNNN
username000 : who is this girl and why r oscar, lando and logan in her comment section
âł username17 : she is a miami based tattoo artist and she is RUMORED to be dating logan currently. but i think after that comment we can confirm.
yourbff : god you are so fucking hot. gimme a piece a dat.
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âł logansargeant : MINEEEEEEE.
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âł inked_by_yn : you can share logieeee
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â
The door to your studio slammed open with the same chaos as last time.
âYOUR FAVORITE CLIENT HAS RETURNED,â Logan announced, stepping inside, arms wide, smile feral, sunglasses absolutely unnecessary. âAND I BROUGHT A NEW VICTIM.â
You didnât even look up from your station.
âI have pepper spray now,â you said calmly.
âOh please, you love me,â Logan grinned, already walking in like he paid rent. âAnyway. Iâm not the one getting tattooed today.â
That made you pause. Finally, you glanced up. Trailing behind himâsomewhat reluctant, clearly annoyed, and very unfortunately attractiveâwas Oscar Piastri.
Fresh off his Miami Grand Prix win, still slightly sun-flushed, shirt rolled at the sleeves, and looking like heâd rather be anywhere else except inside this exact room. You could tell from the way his brows were knit and his hands were stuffed into his pockets.
âIâm being hazed,â he muttered.
You raised an eyebrow. âYou won a race. How is this your punishment?â
Logan clapped a dramatic hand on Oscarâs shoulder. âBecause he promised if he ever won my home raceâheâd get a tattoo. And then he went and won the whole damn Grand Prix, so guess what, bro?â
He turned back to you with a devious grin. âHeâs yours now.â
Oscarâs eyes flicked to you thenâcool, cautious, amused.
âI didnât realize I was being handed over like property.â
You smiled sweetly. âDonât worry. I take very good care of my things.â
Logan choked in the background. You stood and walked toward them, slowly pulling off your gloves, your eyes narrowing on Oscar.
âAlright, Piastri. Letâs see the canvas.â
He blinked. âThe what?â
âYour skin, genius,â Logan said, already pulling up a chair like he lived here.
Oscar exhaled and started rolling up his sleeve, exposing a clean, tan forearm that definitely did not belong to a man who got spontaneous tattoos. He sat down, clearly unsure of his life choices.
âWhat exactly am I getting?â he asked you.
You looked at Logan. Logan looked smug.
âAnother Lightning Tattoo,â he said.Â
You raised a brow at Oscar. âYou sure about this?â
Oscar looked at you. Paused. And thenâvery calmlyânodded. âI think so.â
âOkay,â you said, already grabbing your tablet to sketch. âBut I get to design it.â
Oscarâs mouth quirked. âWhat happened to dealerâs choice?â
You smiled, head tilted. âThat is dealerâs choice.â
â
Logan sat across the room in a throne-like chair he clearly claimed as âhis,â watching you prep Oscarâs arm with way too much interest. Oscar, to his credit, didnât flinch. But his eyes kept flicking to youâyour hands, your rings, your tattoos, your hair falling into your face as you leaned over his skin.
âDoes it hurt?â he asked quietly, almost like he wanted only you to hear.
âNot yet,â you murmured. âBut I could make it.â
He glanced up at you, startled.
Your eyes met. The tension crackedâjust a flickerâbut it was there.
From across the room, Logan groaned. âOh, for fuckâs sake. Donât start flirting. This was my bit.â
âIâm not flirting,â Oscar said quickly. âSheâs literally stabbing me with a needle.â
âRespectfully,â Logan said, pointing, âyouâve never let someone stab you and looked that into it.â
You ignored them both and focused on the linework. But Oscar kept watching youâquiet, analytical, curious.
âYouâre not what I expected,â he said eventually.
âMeaning?â
He paused. âLogan described you as scary hot with a mean right hook.â
You smirked. âThatâs shockingly accurate.â
Oscar bit back a smile. âI didnât think youâd actually be this good.â
You looked at him, not skipping a beat. âAt tattooing?â
â...At everything.â
That shut Logan right up. Twenty minutes later, the tattoo was done.Â
Oscar stared at it, then at you, then said, âI might actually like it.â
You smiled, unwrapping your gloves. âDangerous thing to admit around here.â
Logan walked over, glancing between the two of you with squinted eyes. âYeah. No. I hate this.â
You handed Oscar the care sheet, brushing your fingers across his as you did.
âWelcome to the club,â you said.
Oscar didnât say anything. Just smiledâslow, unreadableâand nodded.
Then, as they left the shop, Logan called over his shoulder, âYouâre playing with fire, Piastri!â
Oscar didnât even turn around. Just said, under his breath.
âMaybe I want to get burned by her."
â
It had been a few days since the tattoo. Logan had texted you a couple memes, sent a picture of his dog in a Lightning McQueen costume, and ended it with.
youâre thinking about me, arenât you
iâm thinking about your tragic life choices, yes
But there hadnât been another date. No label. No talk. JustâŠvibes. Dangerous ones. So when the bell above your studio door chimed again, you didnât even look up.
âForgot something?â you called, assuming it was Logan, back to reclaim his throne and ego. But it wasnât Logan. It was Oscar. Alone.
Fresh t-shirt, jeans low on his hips, and a very un-Oscar Piastri expression â calm, but calculated. Quiet fire under still water. You blinked.
âWell,â you said, setting your machine down. âLook who didnât get peer pressured this time.â
He shrugged, shutting the door behind him. âI was⊠in the neighborhood.â
You tilted your head. âSo you wandered into my shop?â
âI had a question,â he said, walking slowly toward your station. âAbout my tattoo.â
You raised an eyebrow. âYou think I messed up?â
âNo,â he said. âI think itâs perfect.â
âThen whatâs the problem?â
Oscar looked at you for a long moment.
âWhat are you and Logan?â
Your eyes narrowed. âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me.â
You laughed under your breath. âYou jealous?â
He didnât answer. He didnât have to.
You turned, leaned against the edge of the station, arms crossed. âLogan and I are... friends. Sort of.â
Oscar looked at you again. Then stepped a little closer.
âIs that what you are?â
You paused. âWhat are you doing, Oscar?â
He tilted his head slightly, soft but deliberate. âJust trying to figure out if Iâm wasting my time.â
âYou came here to flirt?â
âI came here,â he said, âbecause I havenât stopped thinking about the way you looked at me when you were holding that needle to my arm.â
You sucked in a breath.
He kept going. âYouâre good at your job. You know that. But thereâs a difference between being good at tattoos and making someone feel like theyâre the only person in the room.â
Your voice was quieter now. âAnd what do you think I did to you?â
Oscar looked down. Then up. âYou ruined me.â
That shut you up.
âIâve been calm about it. Logical. But the truth is? I donât know if I want to share.â
You swallowed.
âI only kissed him, twice.â you said.
Oscar raised a brow. âHm.â
You stepped toward him. âAre you trying to stake a claim on something thatâs not even yours?â
âIâm trying to find out if it can be.â
And thenâwithout asking, without hesitationâhe reached for your hand, his fingers brushing your inked wrist, his other hand lifting to your jaw. He didnât kiss you. But he got close enough that you felt the option. Close enough that your breath caught. Close enough that you knew if you leaned in just an inch, everything would change. And maybe it already had.
âYou shouldnât have come here alone,â you whispered.
Oscar smiled, soft and sure.
âI donât think Iâm leaving that way either.â
You werenât sure if it was a promise or a challenge.
But you were leaning into it. Into him.
You grabbed your bag, locking the tablet drawer with one hand and slinging your hoodie over your shoulder.
âSo where are we going?â Oscar asked quietly.
You didnât answer. You just gave him that lookâthe one that said follow and find out.
He was just reaching for the door when it opened. Hard. Loud.
And in walked Logan.
Sunkissed, tousled, cocky, with a water bottle in hand and a backwards cap on like he hadnât just walked into a scene from his own personal worst case scenario.
He paused.
Took in Oscarâs proximity to you.
The way your fingers were still grazing the strap of his shirt.
âOh.â
Oscar straightened just a little. âHey, man.â
Logan blinked. âDonât âhey manâ me like you didnât just try to walk out of here with the girl Iâve been talking about for the last three weeks.â
You stepped in quickly. âLogan, itâs not like that.â
âOh yeah?â he said, tone light but voice tight. âLooks a lot like that from here.â
Oscar didnât move. âNothingâs happened.â
âNothing yet,â Logan snapped.
You raised a hand. âOkay. Stop. Can we not turn this into a competition over who gets to claim me like a fucking trophy?â
The silence was sharp. Then Logan let out a breath.
âYouâre right,â he said, softer this time. âYouâre not a trophy. But youâve got us both acting like it.â
Oscar stayed still. Watching you. Watching him.
Logan stepped forward. âLookâIâve been playing it cool. Flirting, joking, not pushing. But I havenât stopped thinking about you.â
You huffed a soft laugh, heart thudding.
âAnd now I come in and see him looking at you and touching you,â he added, gesturing at Oscar. âItâs messing with my head.â
Oscar didnât flinch. âBecause sheâs kind of impossible not to look at that way.â
Logan turned to him. âSo what now, man? You just waltz in and take your shot?â
Oscar looked between you and Loganâsomething flashing behind his eyes.
âNo,â he said slowly. âI think weâre all circling the same problem.â
You blinked. âWhich is?â
He looked at you when he said it.
âI want you. Logan wants you. And I think maybe⊠you kind of want both.â
Your breath caught. And Loganâwhoâd clearly expected to storm in and maybe storm outâsuddenly didnât look angry anymore. Just confused. Intrigued. Turned on in a deeply inconvenient way. The tension in the room shifted. You bit your lip.
âI didnât plan for this,â you admitted.
âNo one ever does,â Oscar murmured.
Logan laughed once, dry. âAre we seriously about to have this conversation?â
Oscar met his eyes. âI donât think itâs just a conversation anymore.â
You could feel it buildingâelectric and heavy and dangerous. Logan stepped forward again, gaze flicking between your mouth and Oscarâs.
âI hate how into this I am,â he said under his breath.
Oscar raised a brow. âThen leave.â
He didnât. You swallowed, heart pounding. âThis is insane.â
âAnd yet,â Logan murmured, voice dipping low, âyou havenât told either of us to stop.â
The air went still. You could say no. You could say it right now and walk away from both of them. But insteadâ You stepped forward, just enough that your body brushed between theirs. And quietly said.
âThen shut the door.â
Oscar moved first. Logan didnât blink. And when that door clicked shut behind themâthe tension exploded.
â
The first thing you felt was heat. Not the overwhelming kindâmore like the warm weight of a blanket that wasnât yours and the slow drag of sunlight creeping in through half-closed blinds. Your eyes blinked open, bleary and adjusting, and it took a full five seconds to remember you werenât alone. You were very much not alone.
There was an arm around your waist. A leg tangled with yours. Two slow, steady heartbeatsâone behind you, one in front.
You turned your head just slightly and saw Oscar, already awake, staring at you like he wasnât sure if he was still dreaming. His hair was a mess. His mouth was a little swollen. He looked... at peace.
Behind you, Logan was still dead asleep, one arm slung over your hips like heâd always slept like that. His breath warm against your shoulder, his presence grounding in a way that made your chest ache.
You were tucked between them like you belonged there.
And that was the most dangerous part.
It didn't feel wrong.
Oscar reached up slowly, brushing a piece of hair off your cheek. His fingers barely grazed your skin, feather-light. Like he didnât want to break whatever this was.
âMorning,â he whispered.
Your throat was dry, voice hoarse. âHi.â
He smiled softly. âStill real?â
You gave a tiny nod. He looked down. Then back up. âOkay.â
You didnât say anything, because what was there to say? It was 7:42 in the morning. You were in someoneâs bedâmaybe Loganâsâwearing nothing but a t-shirt you couldnât identify and the memory of the night before stitched into every inch of your skin.
Behind you, Logan stirred.
âUgh,â he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. âWhy do I feel like I got hit by a truck.â
Oscar huffed a soft laugh.
You felt Loganâs arm tighten slightly, his face nuzzling against your back. âOkay butâif this is a weird dream, donât wake me up.â
You turned onto your back between them, pressing your palms into your eyes. âWhat do we even say right now?â
Oscar propped himself up on one elbow. âNothing.â
âYou donât think we should, I donât know, talk about it?â
Logan yawned, then said, âLetâs talk after coffee and a group therapy session.â
You laughed despite yourself. Oscar leaned over and kissed your shoulder. Gentle. Barely there.
Logan reached across and lightly flicked his forehead. âDonât be a sap.â
Oscar didnât stop smiling. âToo late.â
You sighed, sinking back into the pillows, feeling two different kinds of warmth pressed against you. There were still questions. Complications. Labels that didnât exist. A hundred reasons this should be messy and reckless and maybe even a little stupid. But in this momentâsoft sheets, soft skin, soft heartsâ It just felt right. And that was enough. For now.
â
It had been a few weeks. A blur of half slept nights and stolen kisses, of Logan showing up at your place with a smoothie and no warning, of Oscar FaceTiming you after midnight from hotel beds in places that didnât matter. There were no labels. No promises.
But the three of you kept orbiting each other like gravity had its own rules. And every time one of them touched you, looked at you, held your hand like it was second natureâit felt less casual and more like a truth no one was brave enough to say out loud. Until today.
You were cleaning up the studio late in the evening, humming softly with a brush between your fingers and the music low, when the door opened. You didnât expect anyone. You didnât even look up.
âClosed,â you called.
âI flew here,â a voice said.
You froze. Turned slowly. Oscar stood in the doorway. Dressed down, travel-worn, backpack slung over one shoulder and his eyes fixed on you like heâd been carrying the weight of you for miles.
You blinked. âWhatâOscar, what are youââ
âI had to come,â he said quickly, stepping inside, door shutting behind him. âI couldnât do another race week pretending I wasnât thinking about you. About this.â
You set the brush down slowly. âYou couldâve called.â
âI was scared if I called, youâd talk me out of it.â
You swallowed.
Then a voice came from the backâwarm, easy.
âHey, babe, whereâd you put myââ
Logan stopped in the doorway, half-in, half-out, holding his hoodie, and froze when he saw Oscar.
Oscar blinked. âYouâre here.â
Logan raised a brow. âSo are you.â
You stood there, between them, like a live wire.
Oscar looked at Logan, then at you.
And then he said it.
âIâm in love with her.â
Your breath caught.
Logan didnât move.
Oscarâs voice was lower now. âIâve been trying to ignore it. Pretend itâs a fling, or fun, or whatever. But Iâm not built for this kind of pretending. Not with her. Not with you.â
You stared at him. âWith you?â
Oscarâs eyes didnât leave Logan. âYou think I donât see the way you look at her? How you soften around her. How you get quiet when she says your name.â
Logan ran a hand through his hair.
Oscar stepped closer. âBut itâs not just her. Youâre in this, too. And Iâm tired of pretending that doesnât matter.â
Logan looked at you. At Oscar. Then back again.
Thenâsofterâhe said, âIâve never been good at saying this shit.â
âTry,â you whispered.
He let out a shaky breath.
âI like you. Both of you. Itâs been messing with my head, trying to be cool, casual, whatever. But the truth isâwhen Iâm with you, I feel like I finally shut up. Like everything just makes sense.â
You felt your heart cracking wide open. Oscar looked at you now.
âI didnât fly across the world just to tell you I miss you. I came because I donât want to do this separately anymore.â
Logan nodded. âYeah. What he said. But, like, with slightly more panic.â
You laughed, tears in your eyes, but you werenât alone. Oscar stepped forward first, his hand brushing yours. Then Logan. One arm around your waist, the other grazing Oscarâs shoulder in something tentative but real. You breathed in. It smelled like home. And then you whispered it.
âI love you. Both of you.âOscar closed his eyes. Logan leaned his forehead to yours. And for the first time, it wasnât a triangle. It was a circle. A closed loop. One where all three of you belonged. Together.
â
It started like most of Oscarâs big moves- understated, deadpan, and laced with dry sarcasm. You were in bedâlegs tangled between sheets, the early morning Miami light bleeding through the blinds. Logan was on his stomach, half-asleep and snoring softly into the pillow. Oscar was in the ensuite, brushing his teeth and leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a grin that meant trouble.
âYou know,â he said, spitting out toothpaste, âyou two could just move to Monaco.â
You didnât look up from your phone. âRight. Because international relocation is so casual.â
Oscar shrugged, wiping his mouth. âYou act like I didnât fly ten hours to confess my feelings in a tattoo studio. This is actually the less dramatic option.â
Logan groaned into the pillow. âTell Oscar to shut up and come back to bed.â
âIâm just saying,â Oscar continued, walking back over and dropping onto the mattress beside you, his arm brushing yours. âWe keep playing this long-distance game and pretending itâs sustainable. Monacoâs nice. Quiet. Sunny. And I have a killer espresso machine.â
You side-eyed him. âThatâs your pitch? Love, stability, and espresso?â
Oscar smirked. âDid I mention the terrace overlooks the harbor?â
âI hate how good this pitch is,â Logan mumbled, voice muffled.
Oscar rolled over so he was facing both of you now, chin propped on his hand. âIâm not saying we have to do it now. Just... think about it. No more red-eye flights. No more FaceTime falling asleep. No more âwish you were hereâ texts when Iâm on the other side of the world.â
He looked at you, then at Logan.
âI want to come home and have that mean you two.â
The words sat in the air for a minuteâheavier than the morning light, softer than the duvet wrapped around your legs. You werenât sure who moved first. It mightâve been Logan, flopping dramatically onto Oscarâs chest with a groan. It mightâve been you, leaning in to kiss Oscarâs shoulder, your fingers lacing into his slowly like it was second nature. All you knew was that no one said no.
A Month Later
The Monaco apartment was light and clean and full of promise. Boxes still unopened, kitchen only half-stocked, Oscar was messing with the espresso machine while you sorted through sketchbooks and Logan struggled with couch assembly on the living room floor.
âThis says step three,â Logan muttered. âBut I feel like step three is a lie.â
Oscar called from the kitchen, âYou skipped step one, didnât you?â
âDonât act like you know me,â Logan snapped back. âYou left me with Swedish furniture instructions.â
You were curled on the floor nearby, flipping through swatches and laughing under your breath.
Logan looked at you suddenly, eyes soft. âCanât believe we actually did it.â
Oscar glanced over his shoulder, espresso cup in hand. âI can.â
Logan raised a brow. âYouâre that confident?â
Oscar walked over, kissed you on the cheek, then bent down and kissed Logan just behind the ear.
âIâve always known how this story ends,â he said. âRight here.â
And just like that, with espresso foam on your nose, IKEA screws between Loganâs fingers, and Monaco sunlight pouring through the windowsâ You realized this wasnât just domestic bliss. This was forever, and it had finally begun.
â
Your new Monaco studio wasnât finished yet, but it was yours, and it already felt like homeâeven with Oscar and Logan very much making a mess of it.
âOkay, donât hate me,â Logan called from the front. âBut I may have ordered a neon sign.â
You looked up from unpacking your ink drawers. âWhat does it say?â
Oscar chimed in from the corner, grinning: âSome quote from the Cars movie.ââ
You nearly dropped the machine in your hand. âLogan.â
âWhat?â he said, dramatically offended. âThis entire empire exists because I got a Lightning McQueen tattoo.â
Oscar raised a hand, still crouched beside the new display cabinet. âI got one too.â
Logan pointed at him. âSee? Itâs a movement now.â
You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. âI shouldâve tattooed something worse.â
Oscar stood up and walked over, smirking. âYou love us.â
You tried to hide your smile, but failed miserably. The place was chaos. Boxes everywhere. Art leaned against the walls. Logan had somehow already found the studio speaker and was queuing a playlist. Oscar was fixing the lights above your workbench like it was his full-time job. Neither of them were helpful. Both of them were everything.
âYou know what would really christen this place?â Logan said, hopping onto your work table like it wasnât sacred.
âDonât say it,â you warned.
Oscar grinned. âA tattoo.â
You crossed your arms. âIâm the artist.â
Logan wiggled his brows. âArtists can be canvases too.â
Oscar stepped closer. âWeâre just saying⊠both of us have the Lightning. You started this chaos. You might as well join the club.â
You blinked. âYou want me to tattoo myself?â
Logan slid off the table and took both your hands. âIt would be iconic. Matching tattoos with your two boyfriends. The Monaco McQueen Trinity.â
Oscar deadpanned, âI want that on a t-shirt.â
âIâm going to regret this,â you muttered.
But you were already pulling out the stencil printer.
And there you sat cross-legged on your new studio chair, arm propped up, mirror angled so you could see the inside of your forearm where the stencil was placed. The number 95 â Lightningâs number â but done in your style. Sharp lines, delicate lightning bolts, tiny stars orbiting it.
Logan was literally bouncing. Oscar had his camera out, ready to document everything.
âDonât pass out,â Logan warned.
âI tattooed you with zero whining.â
âYeah, but you werenât emotionally involved back then,â he said, overly dramatic. âNow itâs personal. Now you have to live with the consequences of loving us.â
Oscar added helpfully, âAnd of being chronically online. Because the moment you post this, itâs over for you.â
You smirked and turned on the machine. The needle buzzed to life. And thenâquietly, carefullyâyou started. The studio fell mostly silent, save for the hum of the machine and the faint background music Logan had insisted on. Oscar leaned against the table, watching you work. His voice was soft.
âYou really do look the most yourself when youâre tattooing.â
You glanced at him. âCovered in ink and sweat?â
âNo,â he said, smiling. âFocused. Fierce. At home.â
You paused long enough to let that land in your chest.
Logan leaned in, watching the tattoo take shape. âSheâs officially Lightning.â
You rolled your eyes. âDonât make me do a second one on you out of spite.â
âI dare you.â
Oscar snorted. âNo more dares. Thatâs how we got here in the first place.â
Thirty Minutes Later
The tattoo was done. Clean, bold, tiny lightning bolts flaring out from the number 95 in delicate, shimmering ink. A perfect mirror of Oscarâs and Loganâsâyour own take, your own skin, your own mark.
Oscar leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. âNow we match.â
Logan held up his arm beside yours. âTattoo soulmates.â
You smiled, flushed and warm, letting them pull you in between them. The shop was still unfinished. The sign wasnât even up. But in that moment, standing in your new Monaco studio with ink on your skin and love in your bonesâIt felt perfect. Home wasnât the shop. It wasnât the view. It was them. And now, it was official- You were Lightning-certified.
â
logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, inked_by_yn, lando and 5,700,005 others.
logansargeant : so happy that i lost a bet and ended up with a sick tattoo and these two.
â
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#f1 fanfic#formula 1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#f1 smau#f1 social media au#formula 1 x reader#ls2#ls2 fic#ls2 x reader#ls2 imagine#ls2 x y/n#logan sargeant#oscar piastri instagram au#oscar piastri#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#op81 fluff#op81#op81 x reader#op81 imagine#op81 fic#f1 polyamory#f1 poly fic#f1 polyamory fic#f1 poly
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NSFW, oral (afab!reader receiving), college/university au, friend and i were talkin about how phainon was good at maths so i started thinking about how i wanted him to write equations with his tongue

"w-when you asked for my help- titans- with your assignment, i didn't think it w-would be like this," you grumbled, tone airy and words whispy.
"like what?" he asks, barely taking his head away from between your legs.
"like this!" your thigh tenses in his grasp when he suckles on your clit, sharp, sucking sounds making you even more embarrassed as you feel your core getting wetter and wetter, his saliva mixed with your essence.
your fingers pull at his hair and he moans into you, the vibrations like lightning to the end of your nerves.
"i'm solving the problems though? working out and everything."
"what are you- mmh!" your caught off guard when he licks a hot, broad stripe up your slit, tongue slipping back in afterwards. his name passes by your lips like a mantra as he begins drawing curves and miscellaneous shapes in your walls.
wait- did he just write the number '5'?
the muscle then licks a vertical line, followed by a horizontal one, and he's writing the subtraction symbol, seriously? what are you? some working out sheet?
he draws an equal sign, followed by a sloppy sequence of numbers you cannot differentiate, and he ends it with a kiss to your abused clit, causing your empty walls to clench, pathetically begging for more stimulation.
"good little helper," phainon whispers huskily, voice thick with lust. "i should use you like this more often, i'm being real productive."
you hit his back with your heel impatiently, trying to lure him in to where you need him most. he chuckles, pinching your inner thigh in retaliation.
"patience. i want to enjoy you."
"you're taking your sweet time."
he pulls your hips closer to his face, eyeing your expression with a smug grin. "the sweetest."
phainon lowers his mouth and begins his oral assault once more, this adjusted position allowing him to go even deeper, and you can not conjure any more snide remarks when he brings his thumb to your clit. meanwhile, his tongue is still answering more questions, and your slipping rationality deduces he just wrote a square root symbol.
"come on," he whispers against your opening. "i'm almost done with this question set, come for me, sweet thing."
he keeps pleading with your pussy, and the pleasure begins to hike, climbing and climbing and climbing until it finally crests, and you're crying as you gush all over him. phainon happily drinks every drop of your release, moaning happily as he licks you clean, like he was the one who just came instead of you.
as his saliva is slathered all over your inner thighs, you jolt when you feel his tongue lick at your abused cunt again.
"phai- please, i-i'm sensitive!"
he hushes you. "i still have five pages to go through, you said you were happy to help me, right?"

© todoriin 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site, do not feed to AI
#here have this slop or whatever#phainon x reader#phainon smut#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#phainon x reader smut#honkai star rail x reader smut
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This Year and You! (Various Fics)
Just a look back at certain stories throughout the months! Can you imagine itâs been another with you and Cookies!
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
January - Final Days
âWhat are you looking at, Y/N Cookie?â
âHm, oh hey, Pure Vanilla. Itâs just..a photo. I tookâŠ.of me and my friendsâŠâ
âOh? Can I perhaps take a look?â
âN-No, Iâm..not ready to share this with others yet. Itâs..a sensitive story for meâŠâ
âO-oh, itâs okay! Please, take all the time you need. Iâll be there whenever youâre readyâŠâ
âYeahâŠâ
You looked at the photo. You and yourâŠformer close friends. Smiling, enjoying yourselves.
âThank youâŠâ
You missed those times together. You had missed your friends. Them. Not what they had becomeâŠ
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
February - Storm Warning
âWhereâs Y/N Cookie? Did they skip out on fishing with us today?â
âYeah, Iâd reckon they wonât be fishinâ with us for a while! Something about the ocean havinâ scaring them.â
âTheyâre afraid of the ocean? Iâve seen them fish in dangerous waters before. You telling me a little storm is scaring them?â
âI tried telling âem that. It felt..off when they looked at me in the eyes and whispered somethinâ to me.â
âWhat was it?â
âThat this was no ordinary stormâŠâ
Lightning crashes and thunder booms as the two fishermen cookies jump. Theyâd normally tried to sweep it under the rug as the storm just picking up.
If not for the sound of crying far off in the distant seaâŠ
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
March - Ingrained
You couldnât moveâŠ
Seeing through the vines that shielded you from the outside world, not sure if passing by cookies observing and marveling at youâŠor the plant that Herb Cookie had become feeding off your life powderâŠ
Vines were pierced into your dough, so you couldnât even pull them off if you wanted to. You barely had the strengthâŠ.
Herb CookieâŠhe saidâŠyou wouldnât die. A part of you actually wished you couldâŠ
Or at least wish he was here right now, anything to break the monotony of vines settling and moving around youâŠ
His empty, smiling husk right next to you didnât exactly look like the type to have conversation withâŠ
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
April - The Dessert Report
You had carefully placed the ancient desserts into your office fridge before closing it, locking it by typing in a numbered keypad that was hooked to the fridge on the wall.
âThe shift is over, manager. Where is our just dues..?â
You quickly turned around to see Redcap Mushroom and Demoncake Kitsune Cookie hidden in the shadows of your moonlit office.
âRight, right. I know, just let me head to the break room and get them-â
âWe saw you place desserts in that fridge just now. Weâll take thatâŠâ
âWhat? Iâm sorry, you two. These particular desserts arenât for anyone to consume.â
Demoncake Kitsune floated fast towards you, leaning down her tall figure to stare directly at you with her glowing red eyes and black slit pupils.
ââŠ.â
âCome on, Demoncake. Youâre well aware of what I told you both about desserts made from the Ancient Heroes.â
âThen weâll need double of todayâs worth inâŠpay. We donât like being held out on, manager~â
âPlenty of Cookies came in today with gifts, that works for me.â
You escorted the two out of your office towards the front of the store.
You take a second to glance back at the locked fridgeâŠ
Once youâve tasted something so s..w..e..e..t, nothing else would ever satisfyâŠ
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
May - The Lone Giant
Earthbread officials have declared the Lone Giant a passive hazard thatâs meant to stay out of the way of. Attempts to approach the Giant has been met with hostile resistance from a group wearing white masks.
Towns in the path of the Giant are strongly advised to remain indoors until it has passed. Do not attempt to provide aid to Cookies that are outside during these curfews, they are beyond saving.
Do not try to apprehend or go to the Giant as it is considered extremely dangerous, whether the Giant itself or by the hostile group of Cookies spotted close by it.
Many Cookies continue to go missing in the Giantâs path to this day.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ

June - Yin and Yang
âIâm sorry, but Y/N Cookie is not in at the moment. Please feel free to leave any message or gift with me.â
ââŠI see. But do please tell them that I wish to..spend the afternoon with them? Is that right?â
âRight, Iâll go ahead and pencil that in for you, your Majesty-â
âKEEP THE DOOR OPEN! KEEP THE DOOR OPEN!â
Dumpling Cookie and Dark Cacao Cookie turned to see you frantically running towards the castle door, your face completely covered in pink and purple kiss marks! Your culprits in high pursuit behind you, Affogato and Peach Blossom Cookie.
âOh, why did you have to pull away so soon~ I wasnât done with our little get-together~â
âIs everything alright, Y/N Cookie~? I had just prepare a special peach bao I prepared just for you.â
âI needed room to breathe!â
You dart in through the gap in the castle door and Dumpling Cookie quickly closes it, turning back to Dark Cacao Cookie.
âShould I tell them of your message?â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
July - Volitionâs End
Dark Cacao Cookie climbed up the steps, having to stop to catch his breath when he noticed the statue of Mystic Flour CookieâŠalong with another Cookie beside her, one he didnât recognize.
âThat CookieâŠwho..?â
âThat would be Captain Y/N Cookie, a guard of Mystic Flour Cookie, my Lord.â
Cloud Haetae was oddly more..quiet when bringing up this Cookie, something Dark Cacao Cookie noticed.
âTheir sole duty was to protect Mystic Flour Cookie at any cost, even the cost of their own live itself. And thatâs exactly what they did, defending her from Cookies that burned with hatred.â
âI..had never seen Mystic Flour Cookie act the way she did ever since that day. Kind of like you, my Lord. She cherished Y/N Cookie more than anything, holding onto their crumbled body as she returned to her cocoon. Because all she needed was them..â
âHave you ever experienced the feeling of emptiness for so long, my Lord?â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
August - Feathered Envy
âTell me, truly! Whoâs the most beautiful of us two? Itâs very clear that itâs me, right?â
âWellâŠâ
âPlease, allow my precious to answer for themselves. Their answer must come from the bottom of their heart..â
âWhat? Are you afraid that my darling little Cookie may prefer the more beautiful one between us, Sugar Swan Cookie?â
âLet them answer for themself.â
âItâs clear who theyâll pick anyway. You might as well fly off already. The season is waiting for you-â
âThe season can wait. Let them answer truthfully.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
September - Tale of the Forced Hand
âWill you be alright, Y/N Cookie?â
You gave Pure Vanilla Cookie a reassuring nod, but you kept clutching your head.
âYeahâŠyeah, Iâll be okay. I-I donât know what happened back there. I just saw you all in danger and something in me just..wanted to do something to help.â
âThat power you displayed, it was something Shadow Milk Cookie didnât expect, yet relished in.â
âThat smile of his, he knew something..but what was itâŠâ
âRegardless, itâs possible heâs alerted the other Beasts about you. If what he had done was anything, he may not be willing to let you go a second time.â
âSomethingâs going on here, Pure Vanilla Cookie. Itâs like IâŠremembered Shadow Milk Cookie, but..I didnât know him at the same time eitherâŠâ
âY/N Cookie, could it be that..â
âNo. Thereâs no way. Iâve lived an ordinary life since the beginning! I remember traveling and staying at the Cookie Kingdom when it used to be rubble.â
âShadow Milk Cookieâs word cannot help trustedâŠâ
â..yet his words always carry a speck of truth. No, I..couldnât be this Compassion, right?â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
October - Five Nights with Dragons
âIs everything alright with the Great Dragon recently?
âI donât know, theyâve been acting different since the sacrifice a while agoâŠâ
âDid they..actually get the sacrifice..?â
âThey did, I was there to check out the aftermath, the whole place was a mess. Yet, not a crumb was in sight on the floor.â
âThen what happened to the sacrifice?â
âNo one knows. The cameras only caught the Great Dragons dragging them out of the home.â
âThen whyâŠwhy is the Great Dragon angrier then theyâve ever been before?â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ

November - Cookie to the Rescue
âSo, you really endangered yourself to rescue Golden Osmanthus Cookie is what Iâm hearing.â
âPretty much. I wasnât going to just leave her, Dumpling Cookie. I didnât care if I crumbled off an arm to do so!â
âThatâs quite the strong feeling towards a Cookie youâve only met for a little while..â
âSo what? Are you going to be like Crowned about this?â
âI was only asking, âkay? Remember that this kingdom needs you, Y/N Cookie. You canât always throw yourself into danger and come out of it all right.â
âI knowâŠâ
âBut seeing you go out of your way to help others, itâs one of the many things I like you about, Y/N.â
âO-Oh! Thank you, Dumpling Cookie.â
âSo..whatâs your relationship with Golden Osmanthus?â
âSo nosy!â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
December - Destructive Influence
You hurried into a quiet part of the arena locker rooms, quickly pulling the small bit of incense you had stashed away. Taking a deep breath of its fragrance, you felt his influence slip away bit by bit as your mind calms down.
âAnd just what are you doing?â
âKeeping you from going out of control. What was that back there?! I-I thought you were just going to rough them up a little, not completely tear those three apart!â
âHahaha! Why would I hold back against pathetic worms who crumble at the first sign of strength such as mine! I helped you and your bunch of friends, you OWE me.â
âI owe you nothing. You couldâve crumbled them! They may be..not the best sort of Cookies, but-â
âBut WHAT?! Will you allow these weak, so weak Cookies to push you around?! Or will you allow me to show you the type of power you can have? Where no Cookie in your way will be able to stop you!â
âIâŠâ
âOr will you end up as dust on like any other Cookie before youâŠ?â
You looked at your right hand, it was trembling as it clenched into a fist. You felt a burning sensation coursing through your very dough, as if he was manifesting his power through it.
âYour enemy will not show mercy. Are you not going to give them the same or are you going to them every ounce of power that COURSES THROUGH YOUR DOUGH?!â
âENOUGH!ââ
You punched the wall in front of you, making the room tremble as you make a large dent in the wall. The burning faded as did Burning Spiceâs influence..
Thank Swan for Golden Osmanthus Cookieâs incense. You only hope it can remain effective for as long as you needed itâŠ
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Itâs been a great year with you all! Hereâs to another!
#cookie run#cookie run x reader#cookie run x you#cr x reader#cookie run kingdom#crk x reader#cookie run kingdom x reader#cr kingdom#beast cookies x reader#beast cookies#pure vanilla cookie x reader#golden osmanthus cookie x reader#black pearl cookie x reader#black sugar swan cookie x reader#sugar swan cookie x reader#affogato cookie x reader#peach blossom cookie x reader#mystic flour cookie x reader#burning spice cookie x reader#cookie oc#oc cookie#virtue of compassion au#cannibal run cake shop#cookie cannibalism au
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đą đđąđ đ đđĄđąđ§đ ă»h.h.
â in which hyunjin needs an expert opinion about his newest piercing.


wordsă»1.4k pairingă»idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader genresă»fluff, humor, established relationship
a/nă» this takes place in the places, places! / crying lightning universe but can be read on its own. tagging @astraystayyh bc it's been so long since she's seen her children and also because i tag her in everything. i missed these two SORELY
The parlor door jingles. Hyunjin emerges onto the chilled pavement with his phone pressed to his ear, and you pick up on the fourth ring.
âWhat is it? Iâm busy.â The way your voice shrinks substantiates this claim, like youâve darted to the other end of the room promptly after accepting his call. âAnd youâre on speaker.â
Hyunjin ducks into his car and sits back against the nylon with a grateful sigh. He finds himself constantly ill-prepared for Seoulâs Januarys. âBusy with who? Remind me.â
âYou wanna say hi?â You ask the person in your company. Who is it? He hears them ask, to which you answer: Hyunjin. You say it softly, in the sense that youâre far away and speaking under your breath, but softly, in the sense that your tongue caresses every syllable of his name with that tacit fondness heâll never tire of.
He notices the ditzy smile on his face only when he glances into his rear-view. Heâs long given up on wiping it off.
A familiar voice drifts into your receiver. âMr. Hwang!â
Ah, thatâs rightâyouâre working on Aespaâs new music video for the next two weeks. Today must be the first day of filming.
âHey, Ningning. How are you?â
âIn a predicament, honestly. I have the biggest crush on my stylist, but so does this other guyâŠâ
âWow, sounds rough. Best of luck!â
âOh, I wonât need luck. I said predicament, not competition.âÂ
His jaw hits his wheel. âOkay, weâre boxing. Letâs go. Earrings off.â
âSay less.â
Youâve withstood enough. âAlright, nobody is boxing anyoneâdo not touch your earrings, Ning, whatâs wrong with you? God, Hyunjin!â
Now you say his name sternly, hopelessly, like heâs just knocked ten years off your lifespan. He almost likes this version more. He fell in love with you listening to it, after all.
âDid you call for any reason aside from threatening my clients?â
Oh, right. He did.
Hyunjin glances into the rear-view again, intentionally this time. He moves aside a lock of maroon hair to review the silver studs glinting off his right eyebrow.
He smirks.
âAm I allowed on set?â
Half an hour later, Hyunjin reaches the filming site and runs into a few staff members who are so surprised to see him they nearly forget to question what heâs doing there.
But they do their job, and he humors them, utters your name and the word âboyfriendâ back to back. Then he watches their eyebrows disappear into their hairlines and basically prances into the dressing rooms.
He loves that everyone knows you. He loves that everyone knows that he loves you.
You were out of bed before he opened his eyes this morning, and he blooms at his first sight of you today, alone in the lounge, curled up on the couch and browsing through your phone. Eyeshadow stains your fingers and a pen sits behind the cuff of your ear. Your figure is framed in a (his) white cardigan with a red heart stitched over its left lapel. So professional, so pretty, that he doesnât know what to do with himself, so he uses his words instead.
âI did a thing,â he says, plopping onto the cushion next to you.
You look at him, shut off your phone. âI figured.â
âPromise me you wonât get mad.â
âNo.â
It was worth a shot. âCan you blink, at least? Youâre scaring me.â
In turn, you stretch open your eyes and hold them there. âA blink would be more than you deserve right now.â
Insufferable. He unleashes a bashful laugh and singular clap and looks back at you just in time to see a matching smile on your cordate lips. And to see you blink.
âSeriously, though, no more suspense,â you plead. âWhat on earth did you do? Should I be worried?âÂ
You tuck your hand around his bicep and tug lightly at his arm, and his insides pirouette at the gesture.
âNo, no,â he answers, letting you pull him close, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. âI was being dramatic. Itâs nothing, really.â
You catch him as heâs trying to leave. A light finger hooks beneath his chin, an anchor to keep his face a mere few inches away from yours.
You look him in the right eye, then in the left, your expression stoic, scrutinizing. He doesnât remember where he looks, in the meantime. Heâs slipping and sliding out of his right mind, drinking in your long lashes and curved cheeks, wondering what heroic deed he performed in his last life to be able to study beauty in such proximity in this one.
âItâs not nothing, is it?â You query, tracing the tip of your pointer finger over Hyunjinâs cupidâs bow.
âNo,â he exhales. âItâs not nothing.â
âDid you get it on your face?â
Of course you already know.
He nods, and the finger moves to his lower lip, gently indenting the glossy plush.Â
âHot or cold?âÂ
âCold.â
The finger runs over the bridge of his nose, then the perimeter of its prominence, like the drag of a feather.Â
âWarmer.â
You lift a brow, give the side of his face a small nudge, and say, turn. The word comes out in a very stylist-esque manner, and you and Hyunjin realize this at the same time, judging by the synchrony of your quiet chuckles.
âForce of habit,â you murmur, and move his hair out of the way and lean in to examine his ear. Nothing new there. He turns his face the other way before you have to ask. Nothing new there, either.
When he looks at you again, your gaze has locked onto his eyebrows. You cock your head slightly to one side as it dawns on you what heâs done.
âWarmer,â he offers anyways, his smile small, his pulse rapid.
With a flourish of movement, you push his purple locks all the way off his forehead. Hyunjin holds his breath. Your expression goes blank.Â
But itâs not blank, not really. One just has to know where to look. (He does.)
Your eyes darken fast as if caught in a solar eclipse, your pupils doubling in size, your irises quivering slightly. Your mouth opens, then closes, then purses into a thin line as if suppressing something explosive. Your cheeks blush at their very outskirts, along the edges of your face and the slants of your cheekbones, like how the first rays of sunlight always skim the mountaintops first.
He hardly notices the finger you bring to brush over the studs, so carefully he doesnât feel the contact.
Heâs too busy basking in his victory.
Neither of you say anything for a long while. You lean back, then right, then left, your hand pinned to his hairline, your gaze superglued to his brow. He simply sits still, feeling like one of your French girls, simpering, simping.
âYou really did it,â you finally say.
âI did,â he chirps. âAny notes?â
At the next part of your lips, your waiting smile overtakes them at long last. You duck your head to conceal it like he hasnât already melted at its mere image. You deliver your answer to your knees.
âNo?â He repeats incredulously, teasingly. âThatâs a shame. I really couldâve used an expert opinion.â
You roll your eyes hard enough for them to tug at your sockets. His boyish grin wipes away your feigned irritation like warm cotton.
âFine,â you grouse. âLook at me.â
He does. You look back.
Your resolve wobbles.
âIt compliments your faceâŠshape.â
The âpâ sound pops, and you lose your shit.
The sun fully risen now, you bury your burning face into your hands, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Meanwhile, the raucous cackle that leaves Hyunjinâs lips causes the intern hurrying past the lounge outside to jump so high he actually lets go of his coffee cups before snatching them back out of the air with a relieved groan. He doesnât get paid enough.Â
You think youâre getting paid too much.Â
âYouâre beautiful, Hyun,â you whisper. âI donât tell you that enough."
His heart beats so rapidly he thinks it might take off into a sprint; his laugh dwindles into a ditzy smile, one heâs long given up on wiping off.
âYou know nothing about that word,â he replies, softly.
You bring your lips to his. His fingers wrap around the crook of your elbow. Yours begin curled in the silken hair at the back of his head. The pen behind your ear falls into the cracks of the couch.
âIâm still mad at you,â you sigh against his mouth, your own statement debunked by the inevitable drift of your touch back to the metal lodged in his face, and he doesnât need to call you out. You do it yourself.
âUgh, Iâll be mad at you later.â
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© đđšđ«đ„đąđ± (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support âĄ
#YOUR LIGHTNING BABIES#SHUT UPPPPPPP THAT MAKES ME SOOOOOO FLDJFLSFHSDFLKJS#and the number of parental figures to the crying lightning couple grows đ€ welcome to the family anny#i love youuu thank you sm for reading and enjoying my love#comments <3#*w: drabbles
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could we get Spencer Reid with a hypersexual reader that uses sex as a bad coping mechanism? đđ
don't look in the mirror | S.R.
seeking comfort in those you hold close, except there's a right way and a wrong way to do it
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (i think?) w/ mature themes (18+ mdni) content warnings: seeking comfort in sex, avoidance, mental health issues, spencer has those info dumps on lock, shame, self deprecation, reader hates her job (me too), blood as a metaphor, crying word count: 1.85k a/n: this is such an important topic and i'm so thankful for you asking me to write this!!!! i know this is a premise i've seen before, so i tried to make mine different. (im actually really proud of how this one turned out)
âBaby,â Spencer whispered in your ear, turning his head to the side as you left small, slow kisses on the exposed skin of his neck.
You hummed but refused to detach your lips from his soft skin, tugging gently at his shirt so that you could make your way down to his collarbone. He smelled like sunshine and the jet, an admittedly odd combo that did nothing to stop your movements down the column of his throat. His neck vibrated with sound, but none of his words registered, it all went in one ear and out the other.
His hand gently settled on the small of your back and you took a deep breath before you began pulling at the knot of his tie, âY/N,â he muttered in a warning.
Your head snapped up at his tone, disappointed that you didnât find the same want in his eyes that you knew was blazing in your own irises. Synapses in your brain were firing at lightning speed, and your heart was beating so quickly that it was like it was trying to keep up. âI missed you,â you whispered to him, allowing your eyes to flitter across his face.
Spencer settled his hands on your hips, firmly grabbing them in exactly the way you wanted, but instead of pulling you closer to him, he stilled their rotation.
Your heart stuttered.
âWhat happened?â He asked you tentatively, using the pads of his thumbs to rub soothing circles on your hips, trying to keep you from moving while giving you comfort. Despite the way you were sitting in his lap, Spencer still felt worlds away from you â if he was on Earth, you were in a different galaxy.Â
Hesitantly, your lips parted, and you took a deep breath before shutting your mouth again, deciding you had nothing to say. While heâd been away, nothing significant had happened, everything in your life had trudged on exactly the way it always did. You went to work at the same job youâve had since you got out of college with a boss who most certainly had it out for you, and you came home to an empty apartment with your phone volume all the way up, waiting for your boyfriend to call you. You really were pathetic, but you didnât voice those concerns, instead, you answered, âNothing happened,â the half-truth easily slid from your mouth. âCanât I just have missed my boyfriend and want to spend quality time with him?â
Spencer hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head back as his hair moved with him, âStop, Y/N,â he said.
Without even realizing it, your hands had drifted down to his chest, and your hands were absentmindedly fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, âI didnâtâŠâ you started to say, but your words faltered when you noticed the way he was looking at you. You looked over your shoulder, making sure that the rest of the world was still there as you tried to climb off of Spencerâs lap. âLet me go,â you insisted, hating how small your voice sounded as you pushed against him to no avail.
âI canât let you go, not right now,â he told you, steadying his resolve as he watched you. You were staring at your hands like they were covered in blood, red-covered palms as you watched, horrified at the idea of them developing a mind of their own. It wasnât as if your hands had suddenly become sentient entities, your heart and your brain were working against each other, fighting a silent, internal war. âPick a spot for your hands, and just leave them there,â he whispered to you.
Your hands tremored as you settled them on either one of Spencerâs shoulders, âYou donât find me attractive anymore,â you mumbled, struggling to find the strength to enunciate your thoughts.
Spencer sighed, âWhy donât we take a minute, okay?â Delicately, he moved one hand from its station on your hip and moved it to cup your cheek, holding your face as if it were made of fine china. âWhat happened while I was gone, honey?â
His hand was wet on your face, or rather, your face was wet from tears that had started to trickle from your tear ducts. You furrowed your brows in frustration, âWhy do you assume that something happened? Nothing happened while you were gone, why canât you just let that be the answer?â
âBecause itâs not the answer,â he insisted, dropping his hand back to your hip, continuing to stop you from getting up and moving away from him.
You scoffed, âIs it not the answer, or is it just not the answer youâre looking for, Spencer?â
âItâs not the answer, and Iâm looking for the answer. You can tell me anything,â he urged, resuming his soothing movements over your hip.
As you watched his expression morph into a slight panic, you realized he was beginning to think something happened to you. With what he did for work, it was always in the back of his mind, you being in danger of being hurt by other people but what he rarely considered was the idea of you being a danger to yourself. âNothing happened, okay? Absolutely nothing happened to me while you were gone and everything in the world stayed exactly the fucking same. I went to work every day and I came home and sat around while I waited for you to call, I waited for you to come home and now you wonât even touch me.â
Your tears kept coming, leaving saline stains on his gray shirt as your head spun and his movements stopped. âWork was bad?â He asked softly, using his fingertips to wipe beneath your eyes. He knew about your issues at work, he had been encouraging you to leave the job for months, but you were convinced that a promotion was coming. âYou shouldn't have to be miserable every time you go to work.â
âNot everyone gets to be hand-picked for a top job at twenty-one. Some people have to work shitty jobs to make ends meet,â you snapped at him, nostrils flaring angrily.
He didnât answer right away, you became hyperaware of the pounding of your heart as you waited for his response. As you waited for him to kick you out. âI told you that Iâd support you if you wanted to go back to school. I meant it, Y/N,â he told you, brown eyes flooded with concern. âYou can leave your job and pursue your dream, thatâs all Iâve ever wanted for you, baby.â Spencer leaned back against the couch cushions, âI canât help you until you help yourself, love.â
Slouching your shoulders, you felt your eyes starting to line with tears again, âIt feels so unfair to have you shoulder more responsibility so that I can go back to school.â
âNo,â he said, âWhatâs not fair is you lying to me and then trying to avoid it with sex. I asked you how your week had been, and you either didnât care to answer me or you have such bad tunnel vision that you didnât even hear me.â He gently chided, giving you time to drown in the blatant concern in his eyes, âand whatâs worse is you never told me it was this bad.â
You averted your eyes, focusing your gaze on the chessboard behind him as you thought about your next move. In one fell swoop, he could checkmate you, completely catch you off guard, and tell you everything that you didnât want to hear. Alternatively, you could sacrifice yourself for his benefit, âI hate my job. My boss is making it impossible for me to make any positive stride, and thatâs on top of him being a misogynistic douche.â You flexed your hands where they remained on Spencerâs shoulders and sighed, âAnd yes, I miss you when youâre gone. Yes, I lied to you about it, but what would you do about it? Leave your big important job because your girlfriend is lonely?â
He craned his head to the side, silently encouraging you to make eye contact with him, âIâd hope that youâd feel comfortable enough to tell me how youâre feeling so that we could work something out â we can talk through this. Itâs a two-way street though, you have to talk to me. I can make an effort to call and text more if you promise me, youâll make an effort to communicate with me.â
Slowly, you started to nod, âI⊠I can do that, but you hate texting,â you reminded him, raising your eyebrows curiously.
âIâll get over it,â he reassured you, studying your features, âYouâre worth it,â he added.
Finally, you pulled your arms back, hugging them around yourself protectively, âIâm sorry,â you murmured, âI donât know why I am⊠the way that I am.â
Spencer took a deep breath before giving you a look that told you he had an inkling, âYouâre unhappy, with me or the world, it doesnât matter, but you think the solution to your displeasure comes in the form of an orgasm and thatâs just not the answer, honey.â
You hiccupped and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself like you could make yourself smaller, âI still donât know why though.â
âYouâre seeking the rush, not necessarily the act of sex itself, you want the dopamine and oxytocin rush that comes with an orgasm. Your brain convinces yourself that itâs what you need because when you get unhappy like this, all you can focus on is how to feel better and fast,â he spoke to you gently â he knew this wasnât what you wanted to hear, but it was what you needed to hear. âItâs brief, and itâs just for that moment, and your brain might even recall how your parasympathetic nervous system shuts down after you come, and your body gets tired. You get a rush of serotonin, and you relax enough to convince yourself that it'll be okay, but you need to find something more permanent. Iâll help you.â
Your arms fell limply at your sides, âDo you think Iâm broken?â
The small smile he gave you was enough of an answer, âNo, in fact, I know youâre not broken.â Tenderly, he reached out and unwound your arms from around your torso, âAnd since I know you wonât stop thinking about it, I do still find you attractive.â Spencer studied your face, âWhere do you want to start?â
âDo you want to help me draft a letter of resignation?â You offered, giving Spencer a shy smile.
He hummed in response, âYeah, in a bit.â Your boyfriend reached his hands out to you, now being the one who pulled you close, âCome here, darling.â
You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder and sighing as he wrapped his arms around your torso, âI missed you,â you mumbled, entirely deflating your lungs as you let yourself relax.
Spencer reached up, ruffling your hair with one hand and keeping another on the small of your back as he sighed with you, âI missed you too.â
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid hurt/comfort#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds hurt/comfort#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#criminal minds angst#margot's requests#written by margot#margot after hours
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Secret of Shadows
(John Constantineâs son x Batfam)
-part1... -part2...

It was a stormy night in Gotham, the rain pounding furiously on the sidewalks, and the wind howling like hungry wolves. In a slum, Red Robin was chasing one of the Penguin's drug dealers, who was trying to escape across the rooftops. Tim was closing in, planning to bring him down with one blow...
But suddenly, a small green and red shadow leaped in front of him with a sword drawn.
Robin stood in Tim's way with a smug grin. "This criminal is mine. Find another."
"Get out of my way, Robin! This is no time for play!" Tim growled, trying to swerve around him, but Damian leaped back to block his path.
"I told you, that's my goal!"
"You're a spoiled brawler!"
"And you're a boring replacement!"
The argument escalated into a fistfight on the rooftop, while the drug dealer took advantage and fled. But he didn't just flee... he pulled out a remote detonator.
"A bomb..." Tim whispered in astonishment after seeing what the criminal was carrying.
Before the building exploded, a massive black shadow swooped down from the sky like lightning. Batman. He grabbed the dealer with one hand and destroyed the detonator with the other at the last moment.
But the rage in Batman's eyes was more terrifying than any bomb as he looked at Red Robin and Robin.
After Batman made sure the civilians were safe, he turned to Tim and Damian, his eyes burning with rage beneath his mask.
"What is this nonsense?!" Batman roared, his voice like thunder.
Damian stood silent, but Tim tried to explain. "I was about to catch the criminal, but Damianâ"
"Enough!" Batman cut him off. "Tim, you're the elder. You should have acted responsibly, not gotten involved in a childish squabble!"
Tim felt like he'd been stabbed. "But he startedâ"
"It doesn't matter who started it!" Batman said harshly. "I expected better from you. I'm disappointed."
Those words were like a knife to Tim's heart.
Tim returned to the apartment he shared with Y/N, his face as dark as the night that followed. Tim completely ignored the stream of jokes Y/N cracked upon seeing him:
"Wow! Your face looks like my father when i burned his cigarette! Want me to read you a bedtime story?"
Tim didn't reply. He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Y/N stood in front the bathroom door waiting, and after five minutes of silence, decided to knock. "I'm going in, so you'd better at least put your pants on."
Before Tim could reply, Y/N opened the door. He found him hunched over the sink, water running down his head as if he were trying to drown himself.
Y/N looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, "There are quicker ways to commit suicide than drowning in a sink."
Tim lifted his head, his eyes red, but he didn't cry... yet.
"I'm sure you'll get my father's wrinkles if you keep pouting like that." Y/N said sarcastically, stepping closer to Tim.
And Tim? He finally exploded.
"Shut up!" he yelled, pushing Y/N away. "Everything is going wrong! I became Robin after Jason died just to help Bruce, and no one thanks me! All the blame is on me, not Damian's! I'm doing everything I can, but no one notices!"
Tim didn't realize he'd started crying until he felt Y/N's arms wrap tightly around him.
"It's okay... Scream all you want," Y/N said, knowing what he was doing. He wanted Tim to explode, to let out all the pent-up emotions inside him. He held him tight, letting him scream, cry, everything.
He didn't care that his shirt was soaking wet from Tim's tears.
After Tim calmed down, Y/N took him for a sandwich in the middle of the night, then put him back in bed. He stayed by his side, holding him until he fell asleep.
But Y/N didn't sleep. He want to revenge.
He concocted a small spell. "Now, they'll see what Tim feels."
First, Bruce had disturbing dreams of Thomas and Martha being shot again and again, while his sons (Dick, Jason, Damian, even Tim) were killed one by one
in front of him.
Then, Damian watched Alfred fall dead while he was powerless to save him, handcuffed.
And Jason relived that night in the warehouse with the Joker, the laughter suddenly fading into a deathly silence.
Finally, Dick watched his parents fall again and again, but this time, he was the one pushing them.
Each of them woke up early in the morning, drenched in a cold sweat, their hearts pounding with terror.
And vice versa for Y/N.
The sun gently peeked through the window curtains, illuminating the room with a warm, golden light. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Y/N sat on the kitchen chair, watching Tim struggle to open his sleepy eyes after a restless night.
Y/N smiled broadly, "Good morning, Mr. Drake! Did you know your face looks like mashed potatoes when you wake up?"
Tim yawned, trying to ignore him. "Shut up..."
Y/N laughed and pushed a cup of coffee towards him. "Don't worry, I added enough sugar to kill a horse, just like you like it."
Tim took the cup and took a sip, then grimaced. "This... is so sweet my teeth hurt."
Y/N pretended to be shocked. "And this is appreciation after everything I've done for you?!" He put his hand over his head dramatically. "But I can't imagine if I hadn't met you, my dear friend... I'd be living in a trash can among naughty cats!"
Tim raises an eyebrow. âA trash can? Really?â
Y/N nods solemnly. âYeah! Or maybe in my fatherâ crappy old apartment that hasnât seen the light of day in a thousand years! Which, by the way, is worse than a trash can. At least the cats like me!â He pretends to wipe away the tears that havenât fallen. âI would have been a hideous zombie, like a battered doll from a cheap horror movie!â
Tim canât hold back his laughter. âYouâre a freak.â
Y/N grabs Timâs hand exaggeratedly. âBut thanks to you, Iâm here now! Drinking poison coffee, living with my potato-like ex-Robin!â He winks. âSo⊠thank you.â
Timâs cheeks turn slightly pink as he finishes his coffee. âYou⊠arenât worth the effort.â
Y/N grabs a pillow and throws it at him. âOf course not! But you love me anyway!â
Tim grabs the pillow and throws it back, finally smiling. "Maybe."
After a moment of silence, Y/N speaks in a gentler voice, "Seriously, Tim... I'm glad you're here. Not just because you saved me from the trash can." He laughs, "But because... you made me feel like I wasn't alone."
Tim looks at him, then looks away, smiling, "You're an idiot."
Y/N grabs a piece of toast and pops it full into his mouth, then speaks as he grins, "And that's why you love me!"
Tim ignores him, but his laughter gives him away: "Disgusting."
Y/N smiles and then hugs Tim tightly. "Let's watch TV."
That afternoon, while Tim is watching the TV Y/N suggested, which is so bad, he doesn't know how Y/N can laugh at this movie, but Tim can't help but laugh with Y/N, and then the doorbell rings. Y/N didn't move from his seat. After all, this was Tim's house, and hardly anyone knew about Y/N living with Tim except for his family. So Tim got up to look at the screen to see behind the door. He found his entire family standing in front of it... and... why was Jason holding a gun and looking angry?
Tim immediately opened the door and saw their pale faces, their eyes filled with nightmares.
It didn't take more than two seconds for Tim to conclude that Y/N had done something... after all, it wasn't the first time Y/N had done something stupid for Tim.
"What...did you do?" Tim looked at the naughty Y/N who was pretending to watch TV.
But Bruce couldn't stand the pretense. He stormed into the room and pulled Y/N up by the shirt.
"You! What did you do to us tonight?!"
"What? What are you talking about?" Y/N said with fake innocence.
"Enough with the lies!" Bruce growled. A voice was heard from behind Bruce, Jason, who was about to blow Y/N's head off. "We've all had nightmares... and I'm pretty sure it was you!"
"Maybe it's your conscience?" Y/N sneered as he looked at Jason's gun. Dick was barely holding Jason back from shooting, and needless to say, Damian was ready to stab him if his father wasn't right there in front of him.
At that moment, Bruce decided he needed outside reinforcements. So he literally dragged Y/N from Tim's house to his limo, took him to the Batcave, and immediately called John Constantine. It took him more than three attempts to answer, which made Y/N laugh.
"Bloody Hell, Batman. This is early even for hell." Constantine replied, his hair disheveled like someone who had just woken up.
"Your son is here in Gotham," Batman said, his impatience harsh.
"Huh? Which one?"
At that moment, Bruce appeared to Y/N, still holding him by the collar. "Hello, dear old father, my favorite person."
Constantine stared at Y/N for a few seconds before looking up in shock. "What?! What are you doing there, you little bastard?!"
"I want him back where he came from. Tell me how to get rid of him." Batman ordered angrily.
John looked at his son in disbelief. "If I knew, I'd get rid of him myself! He steals my money, burns my coat, and disappears whenever I need him!"
"The coat was old! Be thankful!" Y/N grimaced at his father.
"Give me back the five dollars first, you thief!"
As everyone looked at this messed-up family, Tim started laughing... he couldn't contain himself.
"I think there's a worse family than us," Dick said, while Jason burst out laughing like a maniac, at Y/N and J'onn's fight.
And Batman? He felt that Gotham was in more danger than ever.

#yandere batfam x reader#yandere batman#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#damian wayne#yandere batboys#yandere batfam#yandere bruce wayne#bruce wayne#tim drake#tim drake x reader#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson#damian wayne x reader#bruce wayne x reader#jason todd x reader#jason todd#batfam x male reader#jason todd x male reader#dick grayson x male reader#damian wayne x male reader#Bruce Wayne x male reader#tim drake x male reader#richard grayson#richard grayson x reader#Richard Grayson x male reader#batboys x male reader#batboys x reader
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The First Time
Kinktober Day 15: Size Kink
Tags: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), fingering (r!recieving), oral (r!giving and recieving), Frankie's monster schlong, yeah he's got a giant dick we all know it (w/c: 1.5K)
A/N: Part of the rapid-fire Kinktober catch up! My absolutely massive size kink really let itself free with this one (get it?? massive?? hehehe) but anyway please enjoy my ramblings about taking Frankie's gigantic schlong. (I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings for Kinktober!)
The first time you undress Frankie, really see him for the first time, bare and open to your gaze, you think youâre fucking hallucinating. Heâd been so shy when youâd first met, so unassuming next to Pope and Will and Benny. Tugging the brim of his cap to cover his eyes, a timid little smile playing on his face as you flirted with him, not his friends.Â
You couldnât have expected the fucking monster between his thighs the first time you have him naked in your bed, his cock so thick you can barely wrap your hand around him. You don't expect the way you choke on him when you try to blow him, only for you to realize that you hadn't even made it halfway.
He doesnât fuck you that night, the both of you too high on each otherâs bodies and too tipsy from the bottle of wine youâd shared earlier.
âNeed time to get you ready, hermosa,â he whispers in your ear, fucking you so hard and deep on his fingers you nearly cry. âNext time baby, next time.â
The first time he fucks you, he doesnât make it all the way. You think you're ready, despite Frankieâs protests, begging him to fuck you, grinding into his mouth, into his fingers as he works orgasm after orgasm out of your heaving body. Through your blurry eyes, you can see the way his hips thrust gently into the mattress, fucking himself into your sheets as he eats you out, groaning into your pussy as you gush down his face. Itâs fucking maddening.
He lines himself up, pressing into you gently, so gently, but God, itâs already too much. Too fucking much. You gasp as the thick head of his cock presses into your entrance, spreading you so much wider than his fingers, wider than youâve ever been stretched. It fucking stings, and you dig your nails into Frankieâs shoulders as you try to take it for him.
He only sinks in halfway before your body just canât take it anymore, squeezing him so tight that he canât possibly move deeper. Tears spring to your eyes at the feeling of it, and you try to apologize, but Frankie only leans down to seal his mouth to yours, kissing the breath out of your lungs.
âFeels so fucking good,â he mutters against your lips, sounding so fucking wrecked, and you throb around him at the sound of it. âYour little pussy is so fucking tight.âÂ
You feel lightheaded at the destroyed rasp of his voice, and when he moves, you feel lightning rocket up your spine, whining loudly against his lips. He grins, the shy boy from the bar long gone as he thrusts until heâs halfway in again, fucking you on only half his cock as you keen beneath him. You have no idea how heâll ever fit inside completely, how just half of him fills you up more than anyone else ever has. âWanna take all of you,â you gasp, âwant it all inside, fuck, Frankie, please.â
He shushes you gently, smoothing his hands down your sides. âMi amor, we need more time to get you ready,â he murmurs softly. âNext time, baby, next time.â
He fucks you just like that, breaking you open with just half of his cock and fisting the base in a large, warm palm until you squeeze around him with your orgasm. When you beg him to cum inside you, he groans, pumping you full, gripping tight to your thighs. You promise yourself that next time you'll take all of him.
The first time you take Frankie, really, truly take him, you think that heâs more affected than you are.
Youâre so wet, dripping down your thighs from Frankieâs endless preparation, his lips shiny with your slick as he leans down to kiss you slowly, deliberately. You find that you donât mind the taste of yourself.
Heâs been fucking you on his thick fingers for what seems like hours, spreading you so wide, wide enough that you thought youâd break.
You donât know how many times heâs made you cum, how many times heâs told you that itâll make you looser, get you ready. You think he just likes watching you fall apart, his eyes blown wide as you tremble against the sheets.Â
When he finally, finally notches the thick tip of his cock against your entrance, pushing forward slowly, you try to brace yourself for pain. Itâs so much, heâs so much, and it should hurt, fuck, you should feel like youâre being ripped apart.Â
But your mind is foggy with desperation, your need to finally fit him inside, that you can barely feel the pain at all. You can only gasp for air as his cock stretches you wide, pressing in so deep itâs like you can feel it in your lungs. And he just slides in, easy as that, as if it was easy all along.
And as much as you moan and gasp, your fingers clutching into the skin of his back, it is nothing compared to the way Frankie fucking whines at the feeling of it, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he stills his hips, pressed in as deep as he can get.
âFuck me, please, oh my God, Frankie,â you gasp, grinding your hips against his on pure instinct, desperate to get him in deeper, somehow. But his hands tighten on you, gripping so hard you think heâll leave bruises.
âStop,â he says, deep and raspy and fucking primal. âStop fucking moving, shit, âm trying not to fucking cum.â He sounds goddamn sinful, and your pussy throbs at the sheer idea of him filling you up just from finally fitting inside you. You let him breathe through it, raking your nails gently up his back. He shivers at your touch.
You suck air in through your teeth when he pulls out, just barely, only to fuck back in. He does it again, and again, and again, thrusting so deep into you that his cock fucking drags into your sweet spot, not even trying. Youâve never felt so fucking full before.
âFuck, baby, youâre so goddamn tight, donât even know how I can fuckinâ fit,â he mutters, pulling your thighs tighter around his hips and pulling you down onto his thick cock with every thrust. âThis little cunt is just sucking me in, âs like she canât get enough.â
âGod, yes, Frankie please,â you choke out between labored breaths, your vision blurring at the edges. All you can fucking feel, hear, smell is Frankie above you, warm and towering over you, filling you up so perfect.
âSo goddamn pretty wrapped around my cock,â he growls, pounding into you hard enough that tears start to pour down your cheeks. âMy greedy baby, am I big enough for you?â
âFuck! Yes, itâs so- itâs so fuckinâ big, Frankie, I can feel it in my fucking stomach.â Youâre slurring your words, your brain turned to mush as Frankie breaks you apart so viciously. He reaches between you to rub quick circles into your clit with a calloused thumb, and your body locks up, your back arching so far it presses your tits into Frankieâs strong chest.
âThatâs right, honey, just fuckinâ feel it. Nobody else can fill you up like I can, right?â he snarls, and you can only nod frantically, choked moans punched from your throat every time he thrusts inside you. âCum, sweetheart. Show me how much you love my big cock.â
And you have no other choice but to fucking scream, pulsing violently around him as you cum. Youâre fucking lost in it, broken apart in the best way possible, and Frankie groans, stilling inside of your as he fills you up with cum. Itâs pure bliss, a goddamn revelation, and you donât think itâs ever going to fucking stop. He smothers your cries with a kiss, licking into your mouth and soothing you like a wild animal as you both ride out the aftershocks.Â
When you finally feel yourself start to breathe normally again, to find it in yourself to blink blearily up at him, smiling softly when you see him already staring down at you. As he pulls out of you, you feel the emptiness immediately, whining as he shushes you gently. âI know, honey, I know,â he murmurs, falling beside you and pulling you into him. âYou did so good for me.â
âDamn right I did,â you murmur, sleep already weighing down your eyelids. âWho else is going to take that monster dick of yours?â
He laughs, loud and gruff in the most perfectly Frankie-way you could possibly imagine. âDonât act like you didnât fucking love it, hermosa.â
And, well, you donât really have arguments for that.
#oh frankie#sweet husband with a big heart and even bigger schlong#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales smut#frankie x reader#frankie catfish morales#catfish x reader#triple frontier x you#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier smut#triple frontier fic
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BFDI CHARACTER VS FEELINGS TOWARDS CHILDREN AND HOW THEY TAKE CARE OF THEM !
This started with a thought about Golf Ball, check under the cut for a SUPER LONG RAMBLE ABT THIS đđ
LIKES KIDS, IS GREAT WITH THEM
- Baloony: Fun Uncle, possibly a great dad too, heâs also a really great babysitter !
- Barf Bag: GREAT babysitter, extremely patient with kids and 100% gentle parents
- BasketBall: #MOTHER, a bit too busy with her own work but SUPER caring !
- Bell: Iâm going with a feeling, she has been in a team with Grassy, great babysitter and probably sings 2 children
- Cloudy: Cool Uncle, that shows off his trinkets to children and let them play as long as they return them to him
- Eggy: Great babysitter, the type whoâs always making a bunch of outdoor activities for children
- Loser: idk, I feel heâs nice with children as the local famous guy, heâs chill about supervising them
- Marker: Youâd think he wouldnât be a good babysitter, but heâs like SO good, if not the best, in the entirety of Death Pact towards children, super fun and an awesome babysitter
- Nickel: Fun FUN uncle, surprisingly responsible even heâs the type that LOVES playing rough with kids in a way that parents would disapprove
- Pie: Great Babysitter, right behind marker, excels at preventing kids from killing themselves
- Spongy: IS FRIENDS WITH CHILDREN (Rocky) ! He understands them like no other, fun uncle and great babysitter
- TV: GIANT IPAD, he just LOVES to entertain kids !!!!!
- Two: Theyâre chill w kids ! Supervises them just perfect
- Six: Aunty <3 Makes coloring activities for the kids
- X: Great babysitter!!! And he understands kids in a way itâs scary lmao
- Ten: Heâs just a chill guy, great babysitter, manages to keep the child calm most of the day
- Snowball: Thereâs a living proof heâs good with kids (Grassy), and itâs kinda a good contrast to his character
- Coiny: Cool Uncle who is cool with kids, they adore him
DISLIKES KIDS, IS GREAT WITH THEM
- Bubble: The only reason she dislikes kids itâs cuz theyâre too rough and careless, and SHE IS easy to pop, regardless of that she makes sure sheâs a great babysitter
- Donut: Not very patient with kids, but treats them as human beings, so heâs great supervising them
- Fanny: She really loves saying she hates everything and she doesnât get along with kids the best, probably makes them cry accidentally, but sheâs good taking care of them !
- Golf Ball: Definitely says out loud she dislikes kids but sheâs such a great caretaker, a bit too strict though
- Needle: Kids are not her vibe, regardless sheâs quite responsible and well that makes her good at supervising them
- Four: Itâs the fact he doesnât understand children that makes him dislike them, but since theyâre a good host he does end up being good with children
- Eight: Theyâre responsible, even not liking kids they end up being good at supervising them
- Fifteen: She probably hates kids as much as she hates everyone else, PLEASE leave this integer alone ! But she wouldnât leave a child alone if she saw them wandering off, ends up being a really good babysitter
NEUTRAL (NORMAL) ABOUT KIDS
- 8Ball: No strong feelings, ok as a babysitter
- Bomby: No strong feelings, AWFUL as a babysitter
- Bracelety: No strong feelings, is great at entertaining children but not the best babysitter though
- Cake: No strong feelings, not the best to supervise children
- Clock: Heâs a normal guy, no strong feelings abt kids but responsible enough around them
- Foldy: No strong feelings, but has been in a team with Grassy, she ends up a good babysitter
- Gaty: No strong feelings, prefers not interacting with kids but responsible around them
- Lightning: No strong feelings, awful as a babysitter
- Liy: No strong feelings, awful as a babysitter
- Naily: No strong feelings, cool auntie to supervise kids though
- Remote: No strong feelings, not the best babysitter but ok and responsible at supervising kids
- Saw: No strong feelings, responsible but not the best at supervising kids since she doesnât really know how to interact with them
- Stapy: No strong feelings, doesnât know how to exactly interact with children
- Five: No strong feelings, Responsible
- Zro1 + Zero Bunch: No strong feeling, responsible and GREAT babysitters
- Ice Cube: No strong feelings, ok around them but doesnât exactly has the patience or really understands them
LIKES KIDS, IS AN ABSOLUTE DISASTER WITH THEM
- Blocky: ABSOLUTE FUCKING AWFUL INFLUENCE TO CHILDREN
- Book: LOVES kids, but donât leave a kid alone with her she doesnât manage to take care of them alone for her lack of leadership
- Bottle: LOVES kids, too irresponsible to be a alone with them
- Firey: I just feel heâs not responsible enough
- Flower: She likes kids but the kids donât like her lmaoo
- Gelatin: he would lose those kids so easily my fucking god
- Leafy: ADORES kids, not emotionally intelligent enough to be left alone with them for long periods of time though
- Pen: Boyfail at taking care of them, just let him play with them
- Pin: She likes kids, but the kids donât like her- she tries to keep everything in order and be fun but fails miserably
- PriceTag: leave a kid alone with them for enough time and theyâre about to sell something to them OR SELL THEM
- Puffball: sheâs like, A SUPER COOL AUNTIE, DOES SO MANY FUN THINGS WITH CHILDREN, but not responsible enough to keep things in order and she might take things too seriously- chaos WILL ensue
- Ruby: Loves to do fun things with children, but she IS NOT RESPONSIBLE DO NOT LEAVE RUBY ALONE WITH KIDS
- Taco: Likes kids enough, but she doesnât exactly know how to interact with them properly
- Tennis Ball: Likes kids but the kids donât like him back- doesnât know how to interact with them accordingly and fails at fun activities
- Yellow Face: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TAKE THE KIDS AWAY FROM HIM
- Seven: Cool Uncle, but not responsible enough to be left alone with kids
- Fourteen: NEVER FUCKING LEAVE A CHILD ALONE WITH THIS MANIAC
DISLIKE KIDS, IS AN ABSOLUTE DISASTER WITH THEM
- Black Hole: Itâs not that he completely dislike kids, itâs more that heâs afraid of them
- David: Aw, seriously? I donât think I need to explain
- Dora: Itâs not really worth it
- Eraser: Kids do not go with the flow and arenât his vibe
- Lollipop: Professional kid hater, she can put up with them BUT SHEâS NEVER TAKING CARE OF THEM EVER
- Match: Thinks kids are yucky
- Pencil: Not really worth it, even if sheâs responsible enough
- Pillow: NOT WORTH IT AT ALL, she will use them for one of her experiments and will get frustrated when they ruin it
- Robot Flower: Taking care of kids is not in her programming
- Roboty: SAVE this robot from kids
- Teardrop: Kids annoy her, and sheâs a little too rough with them
- Tree: DO I NEED TO EXPLAIN, treats kids as adults and thatâs NOT the moment. He is good at preventing they kill themselves tho
- Winner: Not their vibe! Kids make them uncomfortable
- Woody: EXTREMELY afraid of children
- Announcer: take a little look at BFDI season 1 and tell me he would be a good caretaker (the answer is no)
- One: NOT WORTH IT, she going out to buy milk and cigarettes !
#IsaSpeaks#Iâm not tagging all of the characters#feel free 2 discuss w me tho!#i might have gotten someone wrong for being newgen#BFDI#Battle For Dream Island#BFDIA#Battle for Dream island again#IDFB#BFB#battle for bfdi#battle for bfb#tpot#the power of two#bfdi tpot
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so happy to see that youâre back :p
can you do a katsuki x reader fic where Denki broke something of significance to Katsuki so he begged the reader to take the fall for him.
so Katsuki comes into the common room where theyâre all hanging out and asks who broke it and when reader takes the blame, heâs really upset and kinda cold about it.
which makes the reader cries but he immediately stops caring about the object to comfort her whilst the rest of bakusquad are confessed
Sorry this took long! Ive had it in my notes for a while, ive had a few hectic days at my job, lol. Awesome request, btw. I hope i did it justice!
Katsuki x Reader - If It Aint Broke, Don't Fix It
A story where Denki breaks something of Bakugou's and Reader takes the fall. But....Bakugou...forgives her? What's up with him?
TW: slight angst, fluff and comfort at the end, Denki being an adorable idiot.
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The U.A. dorm common room hummed with the Bakusquadâs usual energy. Kirishima and Sero were debating hero rankings, Mina was painting her nails a bright pink, and Denki paced nervously beside you on the couch. You shot him a wary glance, your stomach churning from the mess heâd dragged you into.
Earlier, Denki had rushed to you, panic in his eyes, holding the shattered remains of a framed photoâKatsukiâs prized possession, a rare picture of him and his mom, Mitsuki, both grinning after heâd won a junior hero contest in middle school. Denki had been fiddling with a charged-up prank, and the frame had taken the hit, glass cracking and the photo bending.
â(Y/N), please!â Denki had begged, hands clasped. âBakugouâs gonna turn me into a lightning rod! Take the blame, just this once! Iâll do your chores for a month!â His desperation won, and youâd hesitantly agreed.
Now, the door slammed open, and Katsuki stormed in, crimson eyes blazing, the broken frame clutched in his fist. The room fell silent, Minaâs nail polish brush freezing mid-stroke, Kirishima and Sero pausing their debate.
âWhich one of you idiots broke this?!â Katsuki roared, holding up the shattered frame, glass glinting ominously. His voice was sharp, cold, and furious. âFess up, now!â
Your pulse raced. Denkiâs pleading eyes locked on you, and you swallowed hard, standing. âIt⊠it was me, Katsuki,â you said, voice shaky. âIâm sorry. It was an accident.â
Katsukiâs gaze snapped to you, his expression icy and piercing. He stepped closer, the frame still in hand. âYou? You broke this?â His tone cut deep, frigid and biting. âThis ainât some random trash, (Y/N)! You know what this meant to me, and you just smashed it? Real careless, huh?â
His cold words stung, and tears pricked your eyes. The guilt of lying, his anger, and the fear youâd ruined things overwhelmed you. Tears spilled over, and you turned away, a quiet sob escaping as you hid your face.
Katsukiâs fury faltered, eyes widening. He dropped the frame onto the table with a clatter and crossed to you in seconds, hands gently grabbing your shoulders. âHey, oi, stop crying,â he said, voice softer, almost frantic. âItâs just a dumb frame, alright? I donât care that much. Just⊠donât cry, (Y/N).â He pulled you into his chest, one hand awkwardly rubbing your back, the other on your head as you sniffled.
The Bakusquad stared, utterly confused. Minaâs jaw dropped, nail polish forgotten. Sero leaned to Kirishima, whispering, âSince when does Bakugou chill out like that?â Kirishima blinked, shrugging. âNo clue, man. I thought heâd blow up the dorm over that photo.â
Denki, pale and sweating, finally broke. âW-Wait, Katsuki, it wasnât her!â he blurted, stumbling forward. âI broke the frame! I was messing with my quirk, and it got wrecked, and I begged (Y/N) to cover for me âcause I was scared! Iâm sorry, dude!â
Mina gaped, turning to Denki. âYou let her take the blame? What?!â Sero shook his head, baffled, while Kirishima frowned, muttering, âNot manly, bro. Whyâd you drag (Y/N) into this?â
Katsukiâs head turned, dangerous eyes narrowing at Denki, who flinched and hid behind Sero. âYou damn sparky idiot,â he growled, but his grip on you stayed firm. He looked down, scowl softening. âYou okay, dumbass? Whyâd you cover for that moron?â
You wiped your eyes, voice trembling. âI didnât want you to hate Denki⊠or me. I thought I could fix it. Iâm sorry, Katsuki.â
He sighed, exasperation mixed with gentleness. âI ainât mad at you, got it? Donât do that again.â He glared at Denki, who yelped. âYouâre fixing this, sparky, or youâre dead.â
Katsuki guided you to the couch, sitting close, arm still around you. âForget the frame,â he muttered. âYouâre worth more than that junk.â You managed a small smile, and he gruffly wiped a tear from your cheek, ignoring the Bakusquadâs baffled stares as Mina whispered, âOkay, what is happening right now?â
------------------------------------------------------------------------------note: should we thank Denki? for, like, bringing them closer together?
my mailbox is open! send in requests, questions, or even statements! I love talking to yall, lol.
-made with loves n' kisses! đâš
#bnha#boku no academia#mha#mha comfort#mha oc#mha x reader#my hero academia#mha bakugou#mha fanart#bnha bakugou#bakugo katuski#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugou#mha denki#denki x y/n#denki x reader#denki kaminari#bnha denki#mina#mha kirishima#kirishima eijirou#bnha kirishima#bnha eijiro kirishima#sero#bakusquad#bakusqaud
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the silver liningâs iâll be there with you Ëââź



part one | series masterlist | masterlist
pairing : aaron hotchner x fem!bookstore owner!reader
w/c : 2,2k
warnings : age gap, anxiety attack, emotional distress, physical touch for comfort, soft!aaron, mutual pining, light drinking (wine), kissing
summary : a thunderstorm, a breakdown, and aaron hotchnerâs arms around her. later, at readers bookshop anniversary, heâll show up late - holding a first edition of her favourite book and a kiss she didnât dare hope for
The lights had gone out.
You were in your bookstore with Aaron. Alone. And the lights had gone out amidst a thunderstorm.
It felt foolish now, being afraid of thunderstorms. But you couldnât help it.
âHey, Y/NâŠItâs okay. Everything is fineâ He said softly, sensing your distress.
But little did he know, your lips were trembling. Your eyes were clouded with tears, and each lightning strike made you involuntarily flinch.
âItâs going to be okay. Can you take a step towards me?â He coaxed, wanting to help you out.
You mustered up a small nod, and then cursed quietly, realising he couldnât see you. Stupid, stupid.
You took a cautious step, but in the process, a few books fell behind you. The cry that youâd tried so hard not to let out, came out raw and barely audible.
But heâd caught it.
âSweetheart, shh. Itâs okay. Okay, okay Iâm coming to you, alright?â
You heard him move, shoes against the wooden floor making your breath hitch.
âIâm right hereâ He reminded you. âDonât be afraid, Iâve got youâ he said softly, just a few feet away from you now.
His arms wrapped around you, hesitantly. Only when you leaned into his embrace did he pull you closer.
Your tears fell faster than you could sniffle them in. And you couldnât stop them. It was like you were little again, curled up on under the covers to shield yourself.
Holding you felt natural to him, as if you were a puzzle piece missing from his life. You fit so perfectly. His hand came to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.
Aaronâs chest was warm, steady. An anchor holding you down when everything else was falling apart.
âIâm so- so sorryâ You whispered, voice breaking. âDonât know why- Don't know why I am like thisâ
âNo, no shh,â He murmured. âYou donât have to explain. Youâre allowed to be scaredâ
That was what unraveled you. He didnât try to fix it, didnât ask why. He just held you, let you break. Even though he didnât know you well - at least not yet - he made you feel safe enough to fall apart.
More tears fell down your eyes, body trembling in his hold. You hadnât meant to cry like that in front of him. Like you were some petulant child scared of thunder.
Aaron never pulled away. He held you closer, not shushing you. Not telling you itâll pass. He simply held you, reminding you every now and then that he was there and that he had you.
At some point, the lights flickered on. The thunderstorm had faded into distant rumbles, but you hadnât even noticed.
Still tucked into his arms - Aaron whispered to you,
âItâs okay, look. The lights are back onâ
You pulled away, blinking back tears as you took in the soft lights illuminating throughout the room.
His hands came to rest on your arms, noticing you were still shaking.
âCome on, letâs sit down. Youâre shakingâ Aaron said, like it physically pained him.
You barely registered the fact that he had helped you sit down on one of the bean bags, pulling you under his chin. His scent filled your nostrils, grounding you.
You curled up at his side instinctively, legs over his lap, one arm draped across his chest like you were afraid heâd vanish.
Then quietly, almost like he didnât want to break the spell - he picked up your worn-out copy of Pride and Prejudice that youâd dropped earlier.
âPride and Prejudiceâ He said out loud. Aaron had seen you one too many times reading that book, and if you werenât reading it, it was behind the counter.
âOh, the pages are falling out,â He said softly, the small rumble of his chest making you feel calmer.
âYeah, itâs⊠Iâve had it since I was 16â You admitted.
âThatâs not too longâ He teased.
You chuckled, a wet and breathy sound coming out. And then you felt it.
A soft kiss to your forehead, followed by the soft turning of pages.
Aaronâs voice came next, his voice a low and soothing murmur in your ear.
âIt is a truth universally acknowledgedâŠâ he began, âthat a single man in possession of good fortune must be in want of a wifeâ
And just like that, with your heartbeat slowing and his voice filling the space around you, both the storm outside and inside you finally began to settle.
When you woke up, you were surprised to find him still holding you, his big hand stroking your hair gently. He hadnât let go.
âYou fell asleep, sweetheartâ Oh, there he goes with the petname again. Making you melt.
âI didnât want to wake youâ
You smiled, eyes still puffy from all the crying youâd done earlier. âThank you for staying⊠for being hereâ
âIâll always be hereâ
True to his word, he was there. In every sense of his words. He came frequently, most times alone. Bringing coffee, pastries, and even lunch.
He never stayed too long or asked too much. But he always noticed. When you were overwhelmed, needed warmth, or when your hands trembled a little more than usual.
He remembered things. Your coffee order, the way you lit up a few candles and put on soft music before closing. How you giggled whenever he pulled you in his arms and swayed to the faint sound of Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra.
He never made a show of it. But his presence wove into your days, until you werenât sure how you ever did them without him.
And now, a few months later, you stood in front of the shop mirror - adjusting the little ribbon on the back of your dress (or at least trying to) for the millionth time, heart hammering in your chest with something you didnât quite know how to name.
Five years. Your cozy, lovely, and warm bookstore had made it five years. And tonight, everyone you loved was coming to celebrate it.
Well, almost everyone.
You didnât expect him to show up - mostly because you knew how hectic his job was. You mightâve nervously rambled about the party and how you didnât want him to feel pressured to come.
Not really good at playing it cool.
Because when you had said,
âItâs okay- Itâs okay if youâre busy Aaronâ
You didnât know if you meant it. A part of you would be crushed if he didnât come.
So you kept busy.
Rearranging the snack table, dimming the lights again and again, until you found yourself surrounded by friends, a few indie authors, and some frequent customers.
Everyone but him.
The shop looked beautiful. Warm and inviting. Fairy lights glowed along the shelves, people were laughing in the poetry section, and the smell of cinnamon pastries lingered in the air.
You smiled. You were proud. Hell, you should be proud.
But as more time passed and as people clinked glasses, making toasts to you, hugging you and congratulating you on your business - you kept thinking about him.
Aaron.
Tall, and charming Aaron Hotchner. Who once held you through a storm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Pouring yourself another glass of wine, you barely heard the doorbell chime. Late. Subtle. Like it didnât want to interrupt.
Why did you miss the door every single time he showed up?
But you turned - and there he was.
Wearing a dark suit, no tie, two top buttons loose from his white shirt. He carried something in his hand, small and carefully wrapped in a burgundy tape. You didnât know whether to cry, run to him, or pretend that your heart wasnât breaking open like a chapter youâd dog-eared one too many times.
The urge to run to him and kiss him was too strong, you might admit. And on top of that, white wine hits you like chemicals.
He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.
âHi,â He said quietly, like this wasnât a room full of people. Like it was still just the two of you in the bookstore, with no one to bother you.
You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
So he took a step closer, holding out the small package. âI know Iâm lateâ he murmured, tone apologetic. âI hadnât forgotten about it. And I brought you somethingâ
Looking down at the burgundy wrapped gift, - a book clearly. Your fingers unwrapped it carefully.
Pride and Prejudice.
Heâd bought you a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy.
A first edition.
Your breath caught. Your eyes flew to his.
Aaron only shrugged, a gesture that seemed so boyish coming from a man like him. âItâs not⊠not in the perfect condition, but I remembered you had yours since you were sixteenâ
Tears pooled in your eyes.
Not because of the book. (well because of that too)
Because of him.
This.
âAaron- This is-â You sniffled, lips already trembling.
He saw the way your hands shook, and before you could speak again, Aaron reached out and pulled you into his chest.
You melted into him instantly.
His arms wrapped around you with practiced ease, like heâd done this a thousand times in dreams heâd never dare to mention. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, the thunder of his heartbeat making you feel dizzy.
And then, like a secret only the two of you would ever know, he pressed a kiss just above your ear, soft as a feather.
âYou look beautifulâ
Your eyes fluttered shut, chest aching in the best kind of way.
Throughout the entire night, you kept staring at each other from across the room. Whether it was him admiring you as you chatted with friends, or you catching him thumbing through shelves as if he didnât already own a hundred books. The glances lingered. You were in your element, glowing in the soft light of your bookstore, and he couldnât look away.
And when the last guest filtered out and the front door clicked shut, the room felt still again. You were left standing across from him, just the two of you. Once more.
âSoâŠâ You trailed off shyly.
His eyebrows raised, and he looked at you with genuine curiosity.
You paced around the room, dimming the lights, picking up a bottle of wine and the forgotten box of pizza.
Placing everything on the floor, you took your heels off and gestured for him to come and sit with you.
âI think you wouldâve left early. Or not show up at allâ You admitted, glasses clinking as you poured.
Aaron gave a small shake of his head. âNo, sweetheart. I wouldnât miss thisâ
The answer, simple as it was - it made your cheeks heat again. You slid down further next to him, knees pulled to your chest.
âI still canât believe you bought me that first edition,â you said, voice hushed now. âNo one has ever⊠Done thatâ
âY/NâŠâ He whispered.
âNo, Iâm serious. No one has ever done something like that for meâ
The room was silent for a moment. Not awkward. Just soft. Heavy with something unspoken.
âYou deserved to be thought ofâ
You sipped on your wine, licking your lips afterwards. âYou always say things like that when Iâm least preparedâ
Aaron smiled, that small and rare expression he wore when he was truly at ease. âShould I stop then?â
You looked at him, gaze steady now. âNo. No, donât stopâ
And then silence again. This time, charged.
He was closer now - physically, emotionally, undeniably. And when your eyes met again, you werenât so shy anymore.
âI was hoping youâd come,â you murmured. âEven though I told you that it would be fine if you didnâtâ
Aaronâs voice was quieter this time. âI didnât want to miss it. I didnât want to miss you.â
You looked down at your lap, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âAaron, youâre making it really hard not to fall in love with you, you knowâ
He didnât laugh.
Instead, he leaned in - noses brushing, his forehead resting against yours.
âThen donât fight it, sweetheartâ
That was all it took.
Your breath hitched, and before you knew it his lips were on yours. Warm, soft. Maybe a little reserved at first. Just like him, you thought.
You could get lost in his touch. In the way his hand found your waist, tugging you impossibly closer to him. Like heâd been waiting to do that for a long, long time.
âAaronâŠâ You whimpered between wet kisses, his name a prayer on your lips.
His hands gripped your waist, your hips - tugging and pulling you flush against him, mouth warm and insistent on yours like he couldnât get enough.
To his horror, you pulled back all at once.
You were breathless, flushed. Pupils blown wide and the straps of your dress almost slipping from your shoulders.
Without a word, you stood.
He blinked up at you, confused. Until he saw you crossing the room, turning the lock with a soft click.
Then you turned back around, the dim light catching your face as you sat down at his level again.
Nothing else was said.
Not yet.
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#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic#aaron hotchner fluff#hotch fic#age gap romance#hurt/comfort#fem!reader#criminal minds
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