#Complexion care cream | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 8 months

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

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

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

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

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

2K notes · View notes

beautyhealth02 · 2 years

Text

Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams.

First Aid Beauty KP Bump Eraser Body Scrub Exfoliant

#Best cream for dark spots #Best whitening cream #Best whitening cream with spf #Biotique coconut whitening u0026 brightening cream review #Garnier bright complete vitamin c serum cream #Himalaya clear complexion whitening day cream review #Lakme perfect radiance intense whitening day cream #Loreal white perfect day cream #Lotus herbal gel cream #O3 whitening cream #Olay whitening cream #Ponds bright beauty cream #Top 10 whitening cream #Vlcc snigdha day cream #skin whitening cream #beauty #beauty care #elegance

1 note · View note

pinkmirth · 2 months

Note

not you literally feeding all the hungry alucard fans😋

thank you sm for your charitable acts! wonderful writing, as always. i’d love to ask your thoughts or imagines? is it called? anyways, i’m just too shy😣 have a beautiful dayyy

i loveee being able to add my two cents to the castlevania community, especially for adrian! even though the fandom’s kinda tiny, i’m glad to know that there are those out there who enjoy what i put out for him, especially since he’s my obvious favorite and i’ll definitely be writing much more for him >.< as for thoughts of him, i have plenty to share! though i’ll just start off with a few:

adrian’s actually quite fashionable! i like to believe that he’s great at sewing and tailoring; courtesy of his parents, especially lisa, teaching him almost every important skill under the sun. a fun little headcanon of mine is that he’s the very one who made that famous black coat of his! for you, he crafts dresses of fine silks & vibrant colors, and it warms his heart to see you looking so pretty in them, the shade flattering your complexion with the neckline settled low, nicely showing off your collarbone and bust. give him a little spin, won’t you? just know he’ll be slipping it off of you later that night . . .

adrian loves self-care days with you more than anything! washing each other’s hair, soaking in the tub together, gently giving and receiving massages, all of it. the whole thing just feels so calming and intimate. you having enough trust to bare your most natural version of yourself to him is what he truly appreciates. it also helps that you two always have much fun on your pampering days! more often than not, you end up making love with him in the tub . . or, on the bed, where he’s taking his sweet time lotioning your body with sweet-smelling herbal creams. or, over the sink, where you’re rinsing the soap from his golden hair . . . the pair of you just can’t stay away from each other, to put it simply! don’t you worry, though; after it all, adrian will make sure to clean you right back up >.<

#thanks so much for dropping by! mwuah 💋#꒰ঌ inbox. ᐟ ໒꒱#꒰ঌ castlevania.ᐟ ໒꒱#( anon.ᐟ )#ৎ୭ ⨾ alucard.ᐟ #adrian tepes #alucard castlevania #castlevania alucard #꒰ঌ drabbles.ᐟ ໒꒱#adrian tepes smut #alucard smut #castlevania smut #alucard x reader #꒰ঌ lookbook.ᐟ ໒꒱

175 notes · View notes

janeyseymour · 3 months

Text

My Irish Girl

Anon asked for a fic where Mel and r celebrate St. Paddy's! Not edited in the slightest because I wanted to make sure I got it out before the day is over!

WC: ~2.3k

Melissa and you have been together for just about a year, and coming up was your holiday: St. Patrick’s day. As an Irish woman, you were delighted to tell her about all of the different traditions that you loved to do back in your homeland before moving here. You were more than excited to partake in some of the American traditions as well.

“So, why do we wear green for St. Paddy’s?” your girlfriend asks you as the two of you roam around Walmart, chuckling at the different apparel that was set out for the upcoming holiday.

“Wearing green makes you invisible to the leprechauns… the mischievous things- going around pinching those who aren’t wearing green,” you chuckle.

She hums. “Good thing I look good in green then.”

“Damn right you do,” you grin as you kiss her cheek.

You continue to peruse the aisles, throwing various things that you need for your living space together, as well as a few little trinkets for the holiday. It’s the usual things that you throw in- four-leafed clover glasses, a few festive shot glasses, the ingredients to make irish potatoes and the dinner that the two of you will be having on the day of corned beef and cabbage.

You’re heading for the checkout with the cart when you realize Melissa isn’t following you anymore. No, she’s stopped in front of the shirts that are there for the Irish day.

“Look!” she grins. The redhead is holding up one of those shirts that says, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’ on it in a font that looks quite similar to the Lucky Charms cereal font.

“I think people know I’m Irish just by looking at me,” you roll your eyes playfully as you gesture to your clearly natural ginger hair and freckles. “And if they can’t tell by looking at my complexion, when I talk, they definitely know.”

Your girlfriend shrugs. “I’m buying it anyway.” She throws it in the cart before taking it from you and steering it towards the checkout area.

She pays for it, of course she does (always spoiling you), and the two of you head home to make some of the treats you want to make for your students.

You’re in the middle of mixing together the cream cheese and butter for the Irish potatoes when your mother calls you.

Immediately, you switch into your native tongue as you pick up the phone, balancing it between your ear and your shoulder as you continue to beat together the ingredients.

Your girlfriend looks over to you, still in awe at the fact that you are bilingual. The conversation is short, mostly just explaining to your mom that you’re doing just fine out in Philly, that yes you are still going to church and are celebrating St. Paddy’s day. You also let her know that Melissa says hello, and that the two of you are quite looking forward to coming out to visit during your Summer vacation.

“Hi, Esther,” your girlfriend pipes up as she settles behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, setting her chin on your free shoulder.

Your mother switches to English, greeting Melissa kindly. “Hello, dear. Are you taking care of my daughter?”

“Mam,” you groan. “I already told you that we are doing just fine over here.”

“You know I have to check,” you can practically hear your mother’s smirk.

“I’m taking care of her just fine,” Melissa promises. “We’re in the middle of making Irish potatoes for the kids at school as we speak.”

“Oh, how lovely. I suppose I’ll let you go, but give me a holler on St. Patrick’s day- preferably before you decide to get intoxicated with that blasted green alcohol,” your mother tells you.

“Will do, Mam,” you roll your eyes. “I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Esther,” Melissa singsongs.

“Chat later,” your mother says. “Love to you both.”

The two of you finish making the sweets for your students before settling on the couch.

“So tell me more about your own traditions,” your girlfriend requests as you take a sip from your wine glass.

You do. Your eyes light up as you tell her what your family used to do, and how you’re quite thrilled to be able to share the traditions with her- even if some of them are silly.

“What do you usually do?” you ask her.

“Get piss drunk,” the faux redhead grins. “Go down to all the skanky dive bars and drink some green beer to pregame the parade.”

“And what do you do with the kids?” you roll your eyes. “I kind of assumed that was what you did.”

“Oh,” she laughs. “Sometimes we make leprechaun traps, I’ll put a few gold coins around the classroom, and whoever finds them gets a prize. They usually all get a baggie of Lucky Charms… and sometimes I dye the toilet water green in the morning and tell the kids that I guess we were struck.”

“That’s cute,” you say as you snuggle into her. “I’m sure they love it.”

“They have for the last… however many years I’ve been teaching at this point,” she sighs. “But I’m sure this year, they’ll all be more excited when you bring in the potatoes and when you teach them the basics of Irish dance.”

“Oh, god,” you groan. “Don’t remind me that Ava practically blackmailed me into doing that.”

“I think it’ll be good. The kids like interactive stuff… you see how they still talk about Tariq and his short lived career with F.A.D.E.”

“I guess,” you roll your eyes.

Your girlfriend is right. The kids are delighted to learn from you and learn about you and your country. You don’t think you’ve ever seen their eyes light up the way they did when they each got a few of the potatoes you and Melissa made last night.

You teach them a few steps, and they love it.

“This is so cool, Ms. Y/N,” one of your sweet students tells you.

St. Patrick’s Day at school comes to an end, and the two of you go out to happy hour with your crew to celebrate a successful school wide holiday.

The Philly streets are already in the spirit, with green painting the town. Most are wearing their Eagles gear to get into the green spirit, and a chorus of ‘Go birds!’ can be heard at any given time as you walk through the streets with your girlfriend and work friends.

You find your usual little pub and order a round. The beers are already dyed green.

“So, what are your plans for this holiday?” Janine asks you.

You wrap an arm around Melissa as you speak, “Get hammered? Make dinner drunk, and then show up to church on Sunday hungover as hell?”

“Sounds about right,” Gregory rolls his eyes.

Saturday morning rolls around, and you and Melissa get ready to head out for the day. You bought those little shamrock tattoos and place one on each of your cheeks before grinning.

“My Irish girl,” Melissa grins as she kisses you softly.

“We should probably call my mom now before we go out,” you chuckle. “We can do it while we get ready.”

You dial her, greeting her in your native language before switching back to English. You and the redhead chat with her for a few minutes, also getting to say hello to your father, before she lets you go to ‘participate in juvenile activities’.

Melissa has all of her eagles gear on, complete with the jersey that she has signed by Jalen Hurts, and you have on the ridiculous shirt that the redhead threw into the cart at Walmart.

You head down to the pub the two of you frequent, and while it’s busy as hell, even for 10:30 in the morning, you’re able to get seated due to the staff knowing you.

Melissa looks away from you to order you a Guinness and her a Yuengling before spinning back around to look at you. She pecks your lips quickly.

While it’s not unwelcome, you do raise a brow. She’s not usually so big on PDA.

“Your shirt,” she chuckles.

Your bartender hands her the drinks and then she turns back around and kisses you again.

“I think I see how today is going to play out,” you chuckle. The two of you clink glasses and chug your first beers.

By the time the parade starts at noon, it’s safe to say that both you and your girlfriend are intoxicated. She’s yelling ‘Go birds!’ at anyone she sees who is also clad in Eagles gear, and there are a lot of people wearing the football team apparel. She holds your hand tightly as you roam the streets around city hall trying to find the best spot you can to watch the parade.

The two of you are delighted to watch as the parade goes on around you. You spend the next hour and a half smiling and laughing so hard your faces are red. Each time she turns away from you and turns back to you, she kisses you- and the more intoxicated she is, the harder she kisses you. There’s something in the back of your mind that tells you at some point today, you’ll end up in bed.

There’s only one hiccup during your outing. Melissa has let go of your hand and is doing her best to sound as sober as possible when one of her old students comes up and gives her a hug. She’s engaged in conversation with the child for a bit, and when she turns around, there is a man who is very clearly trying to hit on you. His lips are puckered, and he’s telling you that he’s just trying to follow the directions on your shirt.

“Hey, asshole, she’s very much spoken for,” Melissa shoves him away from you.

The man stumbles slightly. “Her shirt says to kiss her.”

“I’m the only one who gets to kiss her,” your girlfriend says as she pushes him again. “If you wanna try again… well, fuck around and find out.”

He backs away with his hands raised in surrender, and before he can turn around to run, Melissa’s lips are on your own. She kisses you deeply, throwing up her middle finger in the direction of the guy as she dips you just slightly.

When she pulls away, your cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are filled with lust.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You follow her quickly as you head back in the direction of your apartment.

“Fucking asshole thinks he can get my girl,” the second grade teacher grumbles. “No way in hell.”

“Hun, it’s fine. I could’ve handled it myself,” you tell her as you squeeze her hand gently. “But it’s nice to know that you would fight a man in my honor.”

“Like hell,” she tells you. “Ain’t no way anyone else is gettin’ my girl.”

As soon as you’re inside your apartment, she has you pinned up against the door. Once again, her lips are on yours aggressively, and her hands quickly roam to other parts of your body. She squeezes gently, and you have to bite back a moan when she bites down on your neck. She grabs you by the thighs and lifts you up, taking you back into your bedroom.

By the time the two of you are finished, you’re breathing heavily. That was… wow.

“C’mon, baby,” she whispers as she holds you close. “We gotta start making dinner.”

“I’m gonna need some time to gain feeling in my legs,” you sigh out.

She chuckles as she kisses you softly- much more softly than she was earlier. “That’s fine. I’ll get it started.”

When you finally catch your breath again and the shaking in your legs subside, you make your way out of the bedroom. You still have your ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ shirt on, but you have her denim shirt on overtop of it and a pair of her shorts.

“Damn, baby,” she licks her lips. “You come out looking like that and expect me to be able to focus on dinner?”

You roll your eyes and head back into the bedroom before returning wearing a pair of sweatpants. She pouts, but that quickly goes away when you wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek.

“What all have you done?”

“Gotten a beer,” she says cheekily as she cranes her neck to kiss you.

You roll your eyes. “I was in the bedroom for like forty minutes.”

“Okay,” she sighs before confessing, “So I had two beers while I looked at the pictures I took of you. Sue me for getting distracted by my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Get the cabbage,” you swat her away from you. “And grab me a beer, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she grins as she kisses you again.

Dinner is delightful, and the two of you drink a few more beers before heading out again to meet up with the Abbott crew, aside form Barbara and Gerald. You end up getting absolutely hammered, chugging green beer after green beer with your girlfriend.

By some grace of God, the two of you get home without Melissa getting into a bar fight for all of the creepy men trying to hit on you.

That outing ends much like the first outing earlier in the day. But after, she holds you close and the two of you drift to sleep.

The next morning is brutal, both of you hungover as hell and promising you’ll never drink again (until the next time you decide to drink). You both get ready for church, moaning and groaning the entire time as you drink pedialyte and try to rehydrate yourselves.

While the hangover is killer, this Saint Patrick’s Day is one that will go down in the books.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

197 notes · View notes

redlikemercury · 6 months

Text

𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍

choso kamo x blk fem reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

☆ Summary: Choso and you are going on vacation, but first he has to put you back in your place.

☆ cw: pet names (angel, darling, baby, dove), oral receiving (f & m), dirty talk, degradation, fingering, size kink?, unprotected, squirting, brat taming? overstim? 18+

☆ a/n: it's been a while since my last post, anyways plz let me know if I forgot anything, and enjoy!

☆ wc: 3.6k

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His aloof and stoic nature was something that drew you to Choso. The two of you had been close for a while now. He was so sweet to you and a bit old-fashioned around you. He’ll call you ‘Dove’ or ‘Angel’ when he speaks to you. At first, it bothered you, but he would apologize when you spoke against it, only to turn around and call you again. It was a force of habit. Eventually, it stuck as it grew on you. He was thoughtful of you when the two of you hung out, attentive to your every need, surprising you with gifts while stopping by your home. Choso would give you the moon if you desired it. The loyal, lovesick man was deeply under your spell. Being around him was like heaven; he was perfect, especially in bed. He’ll lay on his back, begging you to bounce faster on his dick. Your noisy pussy would already be filled to the brim from the five rounds, creaming all over his shaft. He was a greedy bastard loving how he molded your walls to take his cock. Those whimpering moans of his were what had you keep going. It was an intoxicating sound. Riding his face was best of all. When he was horny, you swore your clit would have died and went to heaven.

Despite this, you would try everything in your power to tip the odds in your favor for him to be the dominant one, but it’ll always end up the same. When you told him directly one night, he dismissed altogether, and you went to bed early, leaving him to jerk off in the bathroom so he wouldn’t disturb your rest. You still didn’t give up, though. You were going to have your way. The opportunity seemed perfect with the upcoming beach trip the two of you had planned. A lovely resort alongside a shimmering coastline, having the bright white sand in between your freshly painted toes meeting the cold crystal-clear water. The peaceful atmosphere and luxurious amenities had your mind already at peace. All this was paid for by your faithful boyfriend, of course. It would indeed be a wonderful vacation for the two of you.

“Dove, did you remember to get the beach umbrella?” He asked over the phone as the two of you FaceTime while shopping for a new bathing suit. “Yeah, I did. Stop being such a worrywort, darling.” You teased, causing the dark-haired man to pout his lips a bit. “I’m just double checking, no need to tease. I told you I could do it, angel.” He retorted back, causing you to roll your eyes playfully. “I know, I know. Just tone it down with the worrying. I can handle getting a few things for this trip. Honestly, you act like I can’t handle this alone.” You spoke back. You just wanted to show off your vacation box braids as you shopped. You decided to be creative and get them long this time, the medium-sized plaits stopping at your ass. Choso couldn’t be mad at your response, though. He was fully aware of how much he spoiled you. He admired your sun-kissed skin at this hour and how radiant your brown complexion glowed, watching through his tiny phone screen. He could only imagine the intoxicating sweet smell of your perfume and how he would stick his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling such a refreshing scent. It made his dick twinge with excitement. “Just be careful, angel.” He urged with a soft smile creeping on his lips. You grinned before blowing an air kiss through the phone at him, prompting Choso to catch it. “I will, now bye-bye, baby. Love you.” You spoke, and Choso replied with an ‘I love you too’ back before the two of you hung up.

You were determined with your secret motives, striding down the hustle and bustle of the streets on the prowl for the perfect shop. Large rectangular buildings towered above you, casting shadows on the busy sidewalk, and numerous people traveled down the pavement. An abundance of city sounds of cars honking, conversations, and distance music created some enthusiasm for your venture.

A fashion boutique caught your eye with its dazzling display of hot new swimwear with bright prints and a rather scanty display window that encouraged you to enter the establishment. The bone-chilling air condition caused a shudder to run up your spine as you looked around the place. “Damn, it’s cold.” You muttered, walking around and looking at various swimwear. You quickly realize how packed and popular this store seems to be, causing you to be a little discouraged about finding a good bathing suit here, but to your surprise, you find one. On the rack next to you, pick up the sexy red thong bikini as it is to your liking. It would certainly have your more than reserved boyfriend to pay some attention to you. The thought came across that others would be staring too, but all you wanted more was your boyfriend to crack underneath the pressure, even if it had to be something a bit untasteful. You don’t plan on cheating on him in any way, but you were sure a couple of stares from other people would have him asserting that dominant nature in no time.

After waiting in line for an entire century, you paid for your things using Choso’s card as always and returned to your cozy home. Sliding off your shoes at the front door, you made your way upstairs, packing for your trip. You were delighted that your devious plan was getting put into action tomorrow. Once all packed, you took a much-needed shower from the long hot day. Shooting a quick ‘goodnight’ text to Choso and putting on your bonnet, you went to bed.

That next morning, around eleven, you were getting ready, brushing your teeth, putting on some lotion, and sliding on your skimpy new bathing suit with a flimsy, very much see-through beach coverup. Once you had your shades sitting on top of your head, you were ready to go, bringing all your bags and forgetting about the beach umbrella that had stumbled under your bed. Sitting pretty on the couch until Choso came, but your nerves were getting the best of you after a while. The palpitations of your heart were soaring as you folded one leg over the other tightly. The thought of how Choso would react to your body was killing you. Through the fabric of your coverup, you felt the feeling of the excellent plush leather couch against your ass and thighs, squirming around to get comfortable. The red swimsuit felt as if it was becoming tighter on your skin as you were waiting, especially the thong that was getting swallowed up in the back between your plush ass cheeks. That sweet scent of your favorite lotion became more evident to your senses. Such an inviting scent will send your boyfriend over the edge. The cool A/C was the only thing keeping your boiling body from combusting.

Waiting for Choso was agonizing.

You could have simply turned on the television or scrolled on your phone to calm your high-rising nerves, but you knew it wouldn’t. The excitement of seeing Choso’s face when you opened the door is what exhilarated you the most, the sheer jaw-dropping awe. Choso was a man of his word when meeting with you, so you knew he would be here on time, at twelve, like he said on the dot. It was five minutes til twelve, and you stood up and paced in the hall before he arrived. ‘Why can’t time go by faster? This is taking forever!’ You thought to yourself, irritated as your braids swayed back and forth, brushing against your sides and rear.

Ding! Dong!

The sound nearly made your heart jump onto the floor as you exhaled, taking a deep breath. You checked yourself into the mirror one last time before opening the door. Choso stood in front of your eyes in his floral Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned, showing off his muscular figure and some swimming trunks. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came out as he had seen in your flimsy coverup. There was nothing left to the imagination as he stared at your bikini underneath. Time felt like it had slowed, and the world faded into a haze of desire. His gaze was lecherous and memorized, taking in your figure; every inch of that sexy body of yours made his thirst grow. A gluttonous intent flickered in his eyes, watching those pretty titties when your chest rose and fell. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance and making your heart pound. A desirable tension formed between you once his warm fingers trailed over your cold skin. A soft gasp left your lips, expanding Choso's yearning for you. He entered the house, slamming the door shut before looking back at you with a piercing gaze.

“Angel.. C’mere.” He spoke, but this tone of his was unusual. It was commanding.

As you approached him, a hand cupped your face as his thumb stroked your cheek. Choso’s free hand placed firmly on your waist, tightening his grip. Without warning, he dragged you in for a sloppy kiss, his tongue purging your mouth while entangling your tongue with his. He moaned deeply into the kiss, feeling the drool dripping down his chin. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling and holding him tightly against your body. Some soft gasps seeped through your lips while he gave you an inch, intoxicating you with vulgarity. Your legs were growing weak, hearing the wet smacking noise the two of you were producing. “Mphmm…” Choso whimpered, caressing your cheek more with a sense of possessiveness. ‘Oh fuck!’ You thought to yourself, feeling like you were on cloud nine. A few more kisses were shared between you and him before it broke. The two of you breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath.

Choso soon returned to his modest behavior and kissed your forehead, eyeing your bags next to the couch. “We gotta get going, angel, or we’ll miss check-in time.” He uttered to you, walking over to your bags and swiftly picking them up. You stood there almost dumbfounded. You had only shared such a small amount of time with that animalistic side of him, craving more of it. Seeing back at his usual tendency, smiling for you to lead the way out the door irked you to a small degree. You rolled your eyes and walked outside down the pavement to his car parked in the front.

Choso knew he had gotten underneath his skin, choosing to play coy until he felt like snapping you back down to size. His eyes followed intensely on your fat ass, watching it move side to side. He was highly aware of how much he spoiled you—giving you one of his credit cards, buying you lovely things, taking you on nice trips, paying your bills even though you never asked him. Hell, he paid for any hairstyle you’ve ever gotten since you two started dating.

In Choso’s mind, you’re his only lady, and he would make damn sure you knew that. He knew you would try something like this the moment you asked him first for him to treat you like a slutty whore, a few weeks back. He objected but immediately regretted it, remembering the repercussions. He had his reasons. He wouldn’t mind getting rough with you, but only if you were a total brat, even if it took some ‘encouragement’ to get you there. He wanted nothing more than to see you get so angry at him, only to end up a shaking mess creaming in his dick in a whimpering helplessly. Lewd images of such acts are only left to the imagination. You were rarely ever mad at him. The times that you were sparking a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but you were such a good girlfriend that you would always sit down and talk with him about why you were upset. He couldn’t be mad at that, and he admired the way the two of you were honest and open with each other. He still couldn't help wishing for a bit of rise out of you, though, something to spice up the passionate sex between the two of you.

You were slowly shifting into that spoiled bratty personality he wanted to see after that half-assed kiss. Choso grinned while watching that thong get swallowed up by that ass. At best, he was a cunning man, knowing his girlfriend like that back his hand. He just needed to be patient.

Choso had packed all the heavy luggage in the back of his trunk and a few minuscule items into the backseat. He entered the driver’s side. Your arms rested on the passenger side door with a slumped posture. Those furrows, arch brows, and full pouty lips made Choso's cock throb just a little. Despite the devious thoughts Choso had felt, you were highly pissed. To you, it seemed like your plan wouldn’t be accordingly. How could he kiss you like that just to leave you hanging? You were highly needy of him, and the sly bastard knew it, too.

Before the two of you pulled off Choso double-checked all the things you two needed. He noticed the beach umbrella you promised to get wasn’t in the trunk. “Angel, where’s the umbrella?” He asked in a smooth tone. Hearing his voice irked you more and you slung your braids behind your back. Some of them whipped Choso in the face, he was caught off guard with that attitude of yours. “I don't know, it’s probably in the house still.” You said nonchalantly walking back to the house. Choso sighed heavily watching you leave, following behind you. Back in the home, you and Choso looked around for the umbrella.

Choso was becoming just as annoyed as you when you started doing a lousy job helping him search. The tension between the two of you filled with frustration with every passing moment. “Just look upstairs, I’ll look down here.” He spoke in an irked tone. You sighed, annoyed, storming up the stairs. “Whatever.” You snapped back, heading to your bedroom. Choso's eyes furrowed, searching the whole downstairs for the damn beach umbrella, the two of you would be late for check-in time. He didn’t like being late. Going upstairs, he found you in your bedroom lying on the bed. You weren’t even trying to look and wasting time on your phone. “I thought you were looking up here?” He spoke angrily. You scoffed. “I figured you would find it already. I mean, you’re good at everything else.” You said pretty bluntly. Choso rubbed the side of his temples and came up close to you. “This is your damn house; you were responsible for getting it.” He hissed. Your eyes widened when he cursed at you, and you sat up on the bed. “Dammit, don’t get mad at me. We can just leave the stupid thing here.” You sassed him. Choso couldn’t believe that you were so okay with such suggestion. “You’re so stupid sometimes.” He said. Something about seeing the smoldering intensity of his eyes, that jaw being clenched tight, the low authoritative tone had your pussy purring. “Oh really?” You said in a somewhat seductive tone. Choso scowled and approached you, his nose touching yours. Quickly catching onto your advances, it couldn’t be helped that he was just as excited as you were. The fact you were acting out like this, made the bulge he been trying to hide in swimming trunks throbbed.

He had been ignoring the thoughts for a while now, but this was his moment. “On your knees.” He commanded, and you swiftly got into position on the mattress. His hands already pulling up your coverup, pulling down that thong of yours. His two long fingers grazing the lines of your slick folds, before tracing small circles on your needy clit. A soft moan, escaped your lips as you moaned silently. “You’re such fucking hassle you that angel? I’m always giving you my best, and all I expect you to do is be a good girl for me.” His voice was raspy, watching with a lustrous gaze in his eyes before reaching to spring free his thick dick coated in his precum. All that bitching you were doing, while you were getting wet like this drove him insane, he was going to put you back in your place. Pulling his digits free from your needy cunt, his big hands pull you up from bed and turn you around quickly. Your face is nearly touching his cock. “Open wide angel.” He demanded and like the obedient slut you were you did it. His dick invades your mouth slamming his tip to the back of your throat. Gagging and slobbering over his shaft he whines. “God, it feels ss-so good making you shut up.” He whimpers, thrusting faster, as his balls slap against your chin. The rough thrusts had you clenching on his thighs tightly.

Drool coated his girthy cock as you were doing your best to take of him, your throat became sore from the way he slammed into you. The way your eyes looked watered with the tears staining your cheeks from the intensity of it all made him speed up getting sloppy with each thrust. Choso thought it was such a delight seeing you whimper, you were at his command, while you staring down at you made him smirk. Choso got a kick out of those pleading eyes, he gonna fuck the absolute shit out of you for that nasty attitude of yours. Those big hands of his traveled to your box braids, gripping your scalp. He made your head bob faster up down his drenched shaft, with his thrust getting needier. “Shit, angel, I’m gonna show you want a filthy mouth gets you.” He mumbled before he shot the warm cum into your mouth. Choso let out a long whimpering moan, with his head tossed back. He pulled his dick out slowly, before lifting your head to him. “Swallow it. Now.” He demanded you with a deadpan look. Your eyes widened for a second but you didn’t dare question it and swallowed all of it. He smiles wickedly before pushing your body down onto the cool silk sheets. The cool contrast and your hot body made you shiver as you were trying to compose yourself.

“Open them wide for me darling,” Choso spoke, his hands slowly massaging your thighs. His warm touch made you moan softly, opening up your legs wide for him. Your breath was heavy as you were still trying to get hold of yourself, you couldn’t believe he wasn’t giving much of a break. Sliding down his finger to that sloppy hold of yours once again, and using his thumb to circle your clit. The sensation was like no other, as you squirmed on the silk sheets underneath your skin, it felt like you were gliding and sliding everywhere.

“Ch-choso I’m s-sorry..” You whimpered, but that only dug his fingers deeper into your sobbing hole. “Shh-shit.” You moaned. “That shitty apology isn’t going to cut it, angel. We’re already going to be late, because of that nasty attitude of yours. So it’ll be best if I bring the ocean to us….” He chuckled to himself a bit wickedly before finishing his sentence. “yeah, to us, so squirt for me.” He spoke, eyeing your glistening cunt.

His fingers easily slip into that sweet spot of yours making you moan relentlessly, and before you knew what had hit you, your pussy had squirted all over Choso’s abs. He smirks at your fluids pooling on the silk sheets. “Ohh, my god! Ch-choso! I s-said I’m sss-sorry.” You whined, and his free hand gave your thigh a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I heard.” He huffed, still pumping his fingers into your tight walls. “Your filthy attitude is matching this nasty pussy of yours. So do it again for me.” He says, hearing the squelching of dripping cunt. “A—aah! Ohhh!” You moan, and before you knew it you squirted again, the warm fluid dripping down Choso’s abs made him groan. Taking his hand off your thigh, he takes two of his fingers to scoop some up and taste it. “Soo sweet.” He murmurs and uses both of his hands to spread out your thighs.

Cranking up the assault on your needy pussy, he feasts on you intoxicated by your breathy mewls. Your toes started to curl up from the pleasurable sensation, and your back arch further up. “Fuck, you taste so sweet angel, almost makes me forget why I was mad in the first place.” He rasped against your sobbing cunt, before diving in to devour you. “I, uh, I’m gonna cum!” You whimpered, but Choso was too pussydrunk to care, he was becoming greedy. Swirling his tongue around in languid strokes through your pulsing release, slurping up every last drop as your body convulses on the mattress.

Choso lifted his head high to look at your fucked out face and smiled. He leaned closer to you and planted some kisses along your jawline. “Mhmm, I guess being late will be okay, I’ll accept your apology from earlier.” He whispers in your ear. Your eyes flicker over to him as you now can catch your breath. “You do?” You asked softly, as Choso gave a simple nod. “Yes, I figured I should, especially since I want to do this all over again at the hotel, next to an actual ocean.” He said as he saw the beach umbrella peeking from under your bed.

END!

#choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso my beloved #choso x y/n #choso x female reader #choso x black!reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut

221 notes · View notes

jeongin-lvr · 11 months

Text

ᵎ　🍶　⊹ forget him, h. hyunjin

ᝰ✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！ 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 （𝖿！𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀）， 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗉 𝗌𝖾𝗑，𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗃𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝗅𝗈𝗅，𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗃𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗒／𝗇， 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍， 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽，𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽．

[ 4703 words ] ✩ [ do not repost ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 breakups always this hard? I don't remember feeling this amount of pain the last time I broke up with someone. In fact, the last four boyfriends I had, I probably didn't cry once after our breakup. It wasn't necessarily that I wasn't sad or hurt by the breakup, but rather that it didn't burn as much.

I huffed, sitting on the floor was usually comforting, but now it felt cold and empty.

Especially without him.

I heard the door knock, but I couldn't bring myself up from the position I sat in; either my legs didn't work or I didn't really comprehend that the noise at the front door was a knock but either way I didn't answer it.

Which led to more knocks, they were rhythmic and consistent but quiet. But I sat still and immobile on the floor, eyes glued to the blank cream colored wall beside the oak wood doorway. I saw the hazy complexion of someone through that clouded mirror pane that stood angular at the top of the door.

Someone who had, what looked to be, pretty blonde hair, long at least to their shoulders. I could see them glance around. And that's when I realized it was Hyunjin.

I finally scurried up, finding the courage to finally stand. I scrambled toward the door, opening it hastily. I met the eyes of the boy, his brown, galaxy of chocolate irises meeting mine. I found it in myself to smile, he returned the favor, widening his arms and meeting me in the middle.

I gratefully joined the hug, my breath wavering while I resisted the urge to let my tears slip. Resisting the urge to cry was always hard when you're surrounded by people you care about; the sting of salt brines hurts more. But I sucked in a breath and pulled apart from his hug when I began to feel the pain subside.

I glanced up at the taller boy, noticing his calm, empathetic expression. He gave a weak smile, somber yet polite.

He didn't say anything until I did, "Gosh, Hyun, I'm sorry for calling you out so late..." I felt embarrassed that I'd let my emotions get the best of me, I felt like a nuisance. And no one likes to feel like nuisance.

Hyunjin raised a hand to my cheek, brushing away the sticky tears that began to dry at the corners of my eyes.

"It's not late at all," Hyunjin affirmed. Though the clock on the microwave just a foot away said otherwise, "It's only, like, 1 a.m. no biggie."

I couldn't help but laugh. He had an effortless humor, though he was quiet and always made me feel safe, his teasing jokes always helped me distract myself from whatever was bothering me.

"Right, no biggie," I replied, allowing him into my home and closing the door behind me. I watched the taller boy walk in with his hands in his pockets, eyes wandering as he looked at my house.

Admittedly, it was messy. The dishes in the sink were unkept and the couch was covered in pillows and random trinkets that shouldn't have been there at all. I hid my face, ashamed at the mess.

But before I could come up with some lame excuse, Hyunjin turned around and gave a wry smile. As if he understood. And a small part of me melted again, I felt the salt seer my vision until I blinked it away. Hyunjin's expression didn't diminish, his smile never faded. He looked effortlessly beautiful.

"So, how are you doing, Y/n?" Hyunjin asked, stepping closer until our feet were merely inches apart. I sighed, unsure why his expression was beginning to make my heart flutter. His eyes reflected me, they were so wide and caring; I could feel the passion ooze out of every word

I blinked away and chuckled, brushing off the question in fear of scaring him off with... emotions. Emotions are hard.

Carefully, I stepped toward the counter and began to toss unclean dishes and pans into the sink, realizing suddenly that the kitchen was beginning to grow dirtier and dirtier by the second. My eyes refused to meet his again.

"I'm fine. Y'know, could be better- um, you can sit down if you like," I was rambling, the words weren't really making sense. And emotions were always hard to put into words; maybe that's because it's hard to put emotions you can't understand into words.

You can never put into words what you don't really understand.

"Fine? Thats what you say when you don't want to answer the question," Hyunjin have a dry chuckle, unsure what to say to help you open up to him. He wanted you to open up to him, that's all he wanted. Hyunjin prayed that you felt safe enough to do so, "Talk to me, Y/n."

Hyunjin began to help me around the kitchen, clearly ignoring the last bit of my rambling.

I turned my head to him, only for a split second as I tried to construe my words in a way that wouldn't sound bat shit crazy.

How could I tell him that the guy who I thought loved me, dumped me for some chick he met last week? That's embarrassing. So, unimaginably embarrassing.

I blushed and glanced away. Hyunjin didn't know what was happening, or why you were avoiding his eyes, but it was beginning to piss him off. All he wanted to do was to look at you and listen; but he can't listen if you're not speaking.

I continued to scramble about, finally putting the last dirty dish in the sink, and turning to him with a forced smile that made my face feel like strings were pulling at the corners of my lips.

"It's fine, Hyun," I reaffirmed, crossing my arms playfully without seeming standoff-ish. At least I hope i didn't seem that way.

He gave me a look, as if he knew what was brewing in my mind. A small part of me got butterflies when he looked at me like that. For some odd, godforsaken reason, I liked the way his eyes bore into me like that. Or the way his lips curled wide into a unsure scowl. Or especially the way that little mole under his eyes curled when his eyes creased.

For some reason I felt the need to kiss that mole. But I bit my tongue and turned back around, facing the tile backwash behind the counter.

"Y/n..." Hyunjin spoke in a sing song voice, tiptoeing over and leaning on the counter beside me, eyes forcefully staring, urging me to stare back.

I blinked and met his eyes; a wave of nervousness washed over me when I realized just how close our noses were, he was practically breathing on my face. I caught a whiff of his cologne- or was it just how he smelled naturally -it resembled the smell of milk chocolate, and a bit of lavender.

He smelled like fresh lavender and milk chocolate. I didn't know anyone could smell that way. When he had hugged me earlier I didn't catch this smell, I was too focused on holding the tears. But now that he was so close, and I was focusing on him, it was divine.

"Y/n," He repeated, making my gaze shift back to his, he sighed, taking my cheek in hand. It was definitely to comfort me but my heart beat sped up to the point where I felt like it would leap out of my chest, "Talk to me. Please. I want to help you."

"I... Hyun, he left me," I finally spoke. But I gasped when I realized I'd fallen for Hyunjin's charms. He seemed taken aback too, his eyes widened and his head twitched in a way that made him seem angry. And for a split moment I thought I saw a flash of rage coat his features.

"Chan broke up with me." I restated, eyes fluttering while I somberly lowered my face until my eyes met the ground.

Hyunjin was silent for a minute, and for a moment I though he would laugh, tease me. Or maybe even be mad at me. Ask me what I did to deserve this, or blame me. But Hyunjin's touch became firm, his touch hot as he raised his other hand to my face too.

He cupped my cheeks, soft eyes remaining still, "Oh, Y/n, don't cry. Please don't cry."

But his words only made the tears slip, the fell into his hands, grazing the soft skin of his knuckles and rolling down until the lightly tapped on the floor beneath us. I hummed, keeping my head high as if that would stop those idiotic droplets from falling.

"Oh, I think I made it worse," Hyunjin cooed, whispering while holding back his airy laughter. I chuckled too, swiping away at my eyes until they were just puffy and red, "It's okay, love. You're safe. Chan is an idiot for leaving you. It's okay." My hands rested on his chest, firmly planting themselves there and feeling the quick pace of his heart.

"Hyun, what did I do to make him leave?" I choked, breathing heavy and unsteady while his lips met the skin of my forehead. He kissed my forehead over and over again, comforting hands still holding my cheeks even though my tears soaked his hands.

"Nothing! You didn't deserve this," Hyunjin instantly spoke, pulling his face away and narrowing his eyes, as if mad I'd even ask such a ridiculous question, "Y/n, if I were a bit stronger I'd go over and beat the fucking shit-"

"Jin, don't do that," I giggled, finally smiling wide, "But thank you. Thanks for being here for me."

Hyunjin hummed, scooping me close and holding me tightly in a hug that felt so freeing.

He pulled apart, letting our face stay close while he just gazed at me. His eyes remained slender and still while his breath fanned my face. For a moment, it felt like a kiss until I realized our lips weren't touching.

"I... I'm always gonna be here for you," Hyunjin said shakily, leaning forward with every passing word he made. I found myself following his lead, tiptoeing so our mouths could meet. But just before our lips grazed the other he spoke again, "I have an idea, Y/n."

I hummed, "Hm?"

"How about I help you forget?"

I paused, blinking my eyes away from his lips and meeting his eyes again.

"Forget what?"

"Him."

I gawked at the man, but not long before he pressed our lips together, casually yet so effortlessly kneading our lips together. Hyunjin hummed lowly, making this guttural sound that sent butterflies into my stomach and made my mind spin. I had to grab his arms for a second, pushing him back but never letting go of his body.

It just felt too right yet so incredibly and undeniably wrong.

"Hyun... we can't-"

But I couldn't find the words, everything went blank as I tried to reason with my own mind; I tried and failed to make sense of the way this all felt. The way his arms rested at my hips now, rubbing delicate circles into the porcelain of my skin. Or the way his eyes would trace my face, over and over again as if he was memorizing every curve and line. Hyunjin's featured remained soft, but a plague of hurt peppered his expression at my words.

"I just don't want this to be... a mistake." I whispered softly, pleading with him, worry making my eyes glaze with tears once again.

"This is not a mistake." He took a moment, letting the words sink in as my eyes fluttered again. His face drew closer and just like the first time our lips connected and sparks flew. I felt everything that was once bland and dark begin to shine like fireflies, peppering my vision in little specks.

"I want you." Hyunjin spoke again, a low and desperate growl leaving his jaw. I felt the passion in every word, his hands gently began to feel the soft fat of my thighs, then my back until he had touched every surface of my body within reach.

I couldn't say no. My hands rested desirably at his neck, feeling the soft strands of his long, ravishing hair between my fingertips. That little moan he let slip into my mouth was addicting, I could practically taste it on my tongue; and it tasted impossibly sweet, almost like an addicting sugary feeling.

"Jin-" I whined into the lovely feeling. His plump lips were working wonders against mine, between every passionate kiss was a reminder that he was here and he real. That this moment was real.

Why did such a big part of me feel so... complete? Almost like the more he kissed me, the more I'd feel. And the more I'd feel would only present to me with unlimited possibilities.

I was already forgetting Chan.

"Sh, baby, let me help you," Hyunjin muttered against my jaw, his lips planting on any surface he could find. From the corner of my mouth to the tepid warmth of my neck, his lips were there. I shivered, fingers tenderly tugging his hair until he hissed against my skin.

"Do you... want me to help you?" A look is empathy warmed his eyes as he pulled away, softly gazing for my approval. I could hear the glimmer of hope coating his words, almost pleading. And as wrong, and maybe even disrespectful it felt, I nodded firmly. Which even surprised me. I responded much to fast.

"Need you to say it, hon." He whispered through an obviously amused grin, gently pressing his hand into the soft skin of my cheeks and rubbing his thumb under my eye.

"Yes. Hyunjin, just make me forget."

"That's what I hoped you'd say." He chuckled, lips already kissing ferociously at mine. We began to back up, going through the open door of the kitchen and gingerly stepping our way into the living room.

That smell of his cologne- the perfect mix of chocolate and warmth -was beginning to make my head spin. I was growing more and more excited as he laid me flat against the couch, standing above me as he slowly unzipped his black hoodie, teeth holding the top of his cloth.

Hyunjin found himself putting on a show, his teeth held tightly to the metal hem of his sweater as his hand teasingly unzipped the fabric. He liked the way your eyes wandered, widening with every bit of skin he revealed.

He finally slid the jacket off, letting it fall on the floor and revealing the thin layer of his white tank top that firmly fit against his slim body. I ogled, my brain has never fully registered how beautiful this boy was until now. Now it just felt surreal to even be in this position with him.

My hands lightly grazed his body, feeling him tense as he leaned himself above me. With himself propped up by his elbows just above my own body, he studied my face, taking in the sight with an almost infatuated stare.

"Hyun... you okay?" I noticed that almost somber look begin to plague the glaze of water in his eyes.

He quickly shook his head, smiling and beginning to kiss my face all over, trailing wet kisses down my neck and collarbone. He muttered a quick, 'I'm fine' before tugging my top upward and off without another moment to spare.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," He mumbled, his words melting together while his pretty eyes fluttered. He almost sounded drunk as he kissed down my stomach, the warm kiss of his lips shocking me with elation.

I groaned as his kiss paused at the top of my pants, his eyes shooting to meet mine which I was compelled to return.

"Look at me, okay?" Hyunjin was gentle as he pulled my pants down, widening his eyes as he stared at my bare thighs, then my soaked panties that seemed to cling to the sex beneath.

I made sure to keep my eyes wide, watching as the boy slid my pants down, anticipating something beautiful as he peppered short and soft kisses to my inner thigh. As if to reassure me with his lips.

I whispered his name. Hyunjin's eyes darted to meet mine, an instantaneous wave of desire, security, and bliss filled my soul. I couldn't help but smile, he grinned back, planting one last kiss to my thigh before flashing his eyes back to my cunt.

A different sparkle glistened in his eye, he looked almost maniacal as he breathed hard against my clothed cunt. I shuddered, barely whispering his name.

I felt his lips kiss my sex, his warm and wet lips electrocuting me with pleasure; short lived, blissful pleasure. I groaned, silently begging him to make me feel more, for his tongue to press into me- to stop teasing me.

"Hyun- please... stop teasing me," I met his eyes as they glowed up at me; hiding the thoughts rapturing across his mind. Silence filled the air around us, making my heart almost stop.

I wondered what made him pause... my begging? Did he not like it?

"Beg again," Hyunjin spoke, pressing two sudden, hot fingers firm against my cunt, eliciting just enough pressure for me to feel warm in the face.

"W-what?"

"Beg. Now."

I thought for a moment, the effortless pleasure I got as he slowly... so painfully slowly... rubbed at my clit. A feeling frustratingly amazing, I hummed in a shaky breath of air.

Hyunjin's expression didn't change, if anything, he looked darker. He knew what he wanted, he wouldn't press on unless I did as he said.

Oh, he definitely liked begging.

"Baby, please," I pleaded, feeling his face grow closer and closer to my cunt until his tongue pressed a wet strip down my cunt; I helplessly shivered, my eyes fluttering at his slightest touch. "Need... it. I need- I need you."

"Need me to what, baby?" Hyunjin demanded with another lick to my underwear, pressing extra firmly against my clit.

I gasped, hands now in his hair, almost pressing his face further into my cunt.

"Need you... to make me feel good," He remained still, keeping my face toward him as my hands combed through his beautiful locks of hair.

"Fuck, I love when you look at me like that," Hyunjin groaned, allowing his hands to finally undress me in one swift motion. He let my underwear fall off my legs, tossing them out of sight and out of mind.

Almost as soon as my bottoms were gone, he began kissing and licking at my cunt, quietly groaning into it as I pulled at his hair. His lips wrapped around my clit, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there until my eyes began to beg to be shut. I whined and moaned and pleaded into nothing, like a mewling cat. His eyes would occasionally blink back up at me, checking if I was alright and once he'd confirm it he'd go back to sucking on the sensitive bits of my cunt.

God, was he amazing at it. His tongue slipped into my drenched hole, exploring me with licks in and out. His nose and upper lip would work wonders on my clit. I was beginning to see stars.

And his quiet groans leaving his mouth, as if he were the one getting all the pleasure, that was by far the best part.

I grew quiet apart from my whimpers as his tongue quickened in pace, filling me up then leaving me just as quick.

While his tongue occupied my dripping cunt, his hands held down my squirming thighs, messily gripping them. His hold was firm, right enough to leave red and blue bruises I was sure I'd admire later.

I felt that little bundle of desire and nerves tickle me just right, begging to be released. My hands knotted in his dark hair while I chanted tint whispers of his name, over and over again like a prayer. Before I could even warn him my cum was leaking out onto his tongue, thighs shaking and attempting to close around his head. Hyunjin groaned, nails digging into my skin, tongue helping me ride out my delicious orgasm.

"So good, Y/n," He spoke lowly, rising from between my thighs with shiny lips and a wet chin; the male leaned his body above me, arms flexed just beside my head, giving me a view of the veins growing in his arm, "Gonna have to taste you again later..."

His peachy lips kissed mine, the taste of my own fluids drenching my mouth, salty yet addicting.

But despite the kiss on my lips completely erasing any negative thing I could've been thinking, my mind still wandered elsewhere. Soon the thought of the lovely boy in front of me was replaced with Chan; someone who left me without an explanation why, or how, or at least a respectful goodbye. It was like I was feeling my heart break all over again, chipping more and more pieces away.

"Still thinking about him aren't you?" Hyunjin noticed the way my eyes wandered, disconnected from where I was presently.

"I..."

Hyunjin held the delicate bit of my chin, tipping my face up with his free hand. His gushing, gorgeous eyes intently gazing into mine like chocolate swirls. I could see the perfectly marked beauty mark under his eye, begging me to kiss it, aching for my love.

And suddenly I wasn't thinking about Chan anymore, Hyunjin was all here. He was right here for me, begging me to stay in this moment.

"I'll fuck his memory out of you, baby," Hyunjin spoke surely, breath shaky yet exuding dominance I'd never seen in the boy before, "I'll help you. I promise."

I whined, eyes watching as he unzipped his jeans, taking them off swiftly. His eyes laid on me as his hands worked down the fabric of his boxers, giving me a showcase of his cock; probably the prettiest cock I'd ever seen.

I gave a whiny gasp at the pretty sight. My eyes wandering to the reddened tip that oozed with desire; my mouth went dry yet my cunt throbbed with wetness.

My eyes fluttered back to Hyunjin's in an instant when I felt his hands grip my thighs. A small moan left his plump lips as he guided his cock to my entrance, painfully slow with lidded eyes of lust.

"Say it, baby, c'mon," Hyunjin groaned, his sweaty hair dripping and tickling my cheeks, "Tell me how much you need it."

My palms gripped his shoulders, tightening as he just barely let his tip slip in, the stretch barely noticeable but the desire overpowering.

"Just put it in," I moaned, another inch pushed in, "Put it all the way in... and fuck my brain out... please." I added a polite ending to my vulgar sentence, suddenly feeling shy. I covered my warm cheeks with my palms, hoping he wasn't laughing at my desperation.

But instead I felt him pump into me fully, cockwarming for a moment. Still and breathy as he stared down at me.

"You're so goddamn beautiful," Hyunjin groaned, taking my hands from my cheeks and holding my wrists beside my head, charging his hips in and out of me at an incredibly steady pace.

I moaned in sync with his delectable thrusts, each one hitting a new spongey spot within me, morphing my face into a new look of pleasure.

"S'good!" I breathlessly whimpered between pumps, unable to form any other fathomable word. I tried so hard to keep my eyes wide, to let them meet his in reassurance that he was making me feel good- more than good.

But they fluttered shut, absolutely wrecking my mind with his cock.

"No, no, no," He grabbed my chin again, harsher but making sure to make gentle touches, "Keep them on me, I'm gonna be the one taking care of you from now on, aren't I?"

I nodded meekly, my mouth opening to agree but only being stifled by a moan. The boy chuckled lightly between a shaky pant, it was beginning to get harder to keep up with this pace. But he remained resilient, eyes squinting before widening again, watching as I squirmed.

"Aren't I, sweetheart?" Hyunjin breathed down on me, sweat trickling from his chin as his breathes became more and more erratic. The more erratic the more pornographic they sounded, only fueling the fire of my rising orgasm.

"Y-yes! Jinnie... ah, only you."

"Not that idiot Chan, hm?" Hyunjin persisted, thrusts sloppy, hitting my sweet spot spontaneously. I let out nimble cries that were muffled by his own lips meeting mine, sloppily conjoining our bodies.

"Never," I whimpered between a kiss.

"Forget him," Hyunjin sounded like he was pleading now, his eyes fluttering as he disconnected our mouths and began to work on sensitive bits of my collarbone, "You're mine."

"Just mine." He muttered again into my skin, allowing me to absorb his words, "Fuck! Baby, I'm gonna cum... are you close?"

My fingers pulled at his hair, nails grazing the soft flesh of his neck, "So... close. Don't stop!"

He groaned, pussy drunk and so desperate for release. Hyunjin resisted, withholding that high that was so desperately calling for him, burning to be set free.

Hyunjin began to drill into me harder, maintaining the same speed but hitting deeper into me like a hammer to a nail. My eyes rolled, mouth widened as the delicious embrace of my orgasm arose.

Hyunjin groaned, feeling the pulsating delight of my cunt wrap around his cock, needy and aching.

"Cum- fuck, I'm cumming!" I screamed, my moans stifled by his hand that gently held my jaw, middle and pointer finger pressing my tongue and silencing me by a few octaves.

"Yeah, j-just like that," Hyunjin let his head fall onto my shoulder, last few orgasmic pumps drawing out my climax. He then quickly pulled himself out just in time for his seed to drip down my lower stomach and erotically fall between the folds of my cunt, sloppily creating a white waterfall of both of our juices.

I panted, his fingers leaving my lips and allowing more air to fill my lungs.

Hyunjin groaned as well, but quickly grabbed a tissue from the box behind my head, wiping the mess we'd made while he uttered sweet nothings to me meticulously.

"You did so well, baby..." Hyunjin spoke, kissing the skin of my inner thigh as he cleaned, reassuring me in every way; physical, verbally- any way he could manage.

"S'perfect," He uttered again, meeting my eyes, genuine infatuation piercing his chocolate gaze. Silence coated the air between us. I sat up on the leverage of my elbows, cheeks warm and embarrassed from what we'd done; yet my body felt fulfilled, it felt right where we were right now.

"Jin, do you..." I broke the silence, suddenly aware of how long we'd stayed like that, "Can you kiss me?"

"A-again?"

"Please?"

The boy nodded, clearly shy but still trying to remain relaxed. He crawled over, arms on either side of my body as he craned his neck downward, gently kissing me to accommodate my request.

"Like that?"

He spoke as he pulled away, messy hair and puffy, red lips stained with the permanent gloss of our shared saliva. Hyunjin looked so damn pretty, especially in the dim light, like a moon. He glowed, beautiful and bright. And for a moment I wondered how I hadn't seen him in such a perfect view before. Now as I looked at him I saw someone who was everything I ever needed.

My Hyunjin.

"One more time," I gently held the back of his neck, pulling him down and kissing him with every ounce of love and emotion I had. Pouring my soul into that kiss.

"Are you saying you wanna go again... or...?" Hyunjin remained confused but flustered, eyes reflective of me.

"Just kiss me, like, a lot."

#feat. hyunjin .ᐟ #stray kids #skz #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz oneshots #skz scenarios #skz smut #skz hyunjin #skz x reader #skz stay #skz x y/n #skz x stay #hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin smut #hyunjin drabbles #kpop smut

672 notes · View notes

lucysarah-c · 7 months

Note

I would like you very much to talk about the girlfriend effect on Levi's fashion

The man has zero sense on it it's actually hurt

The way I squealed when I read this ask. I was like that TikTok sound of “OH MY GOODNESSI LOVE THIS QUESTION! I THINK..!”

*Deep sigh* Anon, you're absolutely right; it's time we face the truth about Levi's sense of style – it's hideous. Have you witnessed those panels of him in the Uprising arc with a T-shirt on top of a long-sleeve shirt? I mean, seriously, it's like, "You're lucky I adore you, Levi…"

Now, let's establish some basics. We can't delve into the "girlfriend effect" without first acknowledging Levi's life as a man. I hate to break it to many of us, but Levi is, indeed, a man – raised by Kenny, no less. Levi values cleanliness and practicality. To sum up Levi's approach to broad topics: cheap, pragmatic, and straightforward. The only exceptions to this rule are tea and cleaning. Levi grew up in poverty, so he won't waste a single penny on face cream, even if you harass him. As an example, there's a "game" that was only available, I believe, in Japan, that had side stories, and Levi literally told Erwin he wasted too much money on "pointless" stuff like hair pomade…

Levi doesn't buy much furniture, treats for his body, clothes – anything, really. I'd even venture to say he might get some of his clothes from donations. He saves his money for tea… and tea sets.

And here's where the girlfriend comes into the picture. It starts subtly; she spends a night in his personal chambers and suggests bringing in new pillows, curtains, furniture, scented candles, and bathroom appliances for her stuff. Then the full transformation happens.

Levi, pale as ever, refuses to wear sunscreen like any man would. “I'm trying to look after you!" she would insist while running her hand through his face; he's not pleased. He hates the sticky feeling, but it's just the beginning. He pretends to dislike it, but he falls asleep so easily when his face is on her legs, and she's giving him a face massage with a full face glam, mask, and gua sha.

"You have to use it like this, against the hair movement, to create volume so your hair doesn't stick to your scalp," she says, applying molding wax to his hair to give it more volume. Skincare routine? Check. Lip balms? Check. Hairstyles? Check. Personal chambers now looking comfy and homey? Double-check.

And finally, the clothes. He's against it at first, always in uniform, so why bother? But she explains how proportions and colors can make him look taller, and he's tempted to tell her he doesn't care. However, her puppy eyes beg him to wear what she chose.

The result? Levi, who once dressed like a pre-teen from the 2000s, transforms into a model. The LOOKS? He goes out with the vets for a few beers on a day off, and MPs are turning around; even Erwin is surprised. He's supposed to be the high maintenance of the group, not Levi! This transformation becomes the main giveaway that Levi is dating. Glowing skin, glass-like complexion, perfectly cut and smooth hair with ideal volume.

The cherry on top? Suddenly, he's taking days off, going out more, and knows a lot about which restaurants are "not that bad," all while dressing like a Vogue cover.

The only disadvantage? Now he has his pockets full of lip glosses, napkins, hand cream, etc. Women's clothes don't have pockets. How is he supposed to explain to the MPs when they ask for a pen, and he pulls out a pink, glittery lip gloss from his pocket? Not everything is an upside.

I ADORED this question! I hope the answer is somehow what you had in mind! Thank you so so much for sending this.

I hope you and your loved ones are doing great today and stay safe!

Lots of love!

Tags!: @nmlkys @jimoonbeau @fictiondrunk @notgoodforlife @nube55 @justkon @i-literally-cant-with-this @darkstarlight82 @thoreeo @quillinhand @humanitys-strongest-bamf Wanna join my tag list? Here!

327 notes · View notes

taintandviolent · 8 months

Text

go for a drive ; James March x reader

summary: 364 days of the year, you're the one who has to go see him. but on Halloween, you two go for a drive. w a r n i n g s: 5.2k words. smut, kinda slow-burn, smut with a little plot, female receiving penetration, sex toys, fingering, handjobs, mentions of ghosts/death. a/n: [🎃 part of lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] inspired by this gif and @redwoodghost and @silverzoomies (also my beta readers thank you pookies)! Happy (early) Halloween, readers! May your Halloween night / Halloweekend be filled with spooks and fun, but if not... enjoy this smutty little fic. I wanted to at least get this one out on/before Halloween, even though I've been terribly behind on all of my writings. If you enjoyed, please let me know! comments and reblogs are appreciated. 🖤 full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

October 31st.

With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh, James drove happily down the road, without a care in the world. The breeze that exhaled from the coastline fluttered your hair gently, twisting your delicate tresses as it blew through them. You wordlessly watched him as he drove, as he lived, memorising the way that his eyes would dart from the road to look out at the sea, then back again, head full of presumably thoughts. You let out a dreamy sigh; the same one you’d let out as you watched him get gas — such a mundane thing made important. You laughed as he waited in the car for someone to come out, frustrated with the lack of hospitality these places possessed.

Eventually, you’d pulled out your debit card and leaned out of the car to slide the card into the slot. James protested furiously, insisting that a lady should never pay for a date, but you shushed him with two delicate kisses to the corners of his mouth. He’d pay you back in other ways, you promised. That seemed to sate his intolerance.

As he drove, James’ pale complexion seemed to reflect the setting sun, flushing him with warmth. His forever pitch-black eyes were sometimes — when the sunlight hit them just right — the warmest, darkest chocolate brown you’d ever seen. You were so used to seeing them in the dim, moody lighting of the Hotel Cortez, it seemed that every day besides this day, you forgot that. Because three hundred and sixty four days of the year, he remained in the Hotel Cortez. He liked it just fine, after all — he’d built it. His own personal, torturous heaven. Now, of course, it was home to a few awkward (and unfortunately) permanent guests. Still, he never complained, unless of course, you weren't there .

Those were the days where his temper would sour; he’d snap at Miss Evers, or shoo away Elizabeth on the rare occasion she wanted to speak to him. The days where his little cream puff, his hummingbird didn’t grace the hallways with her rabbit soft steps and darling laughter… Those were the days where he wished he wasn’t stuck there for all eternity and instead, doing whatever you were doing in the outside world. It didn’t matter what it was.

While you couldn’t spend every single day there, you were so enamoured with James March that you took any chance you got to pull yourself away from your meddling little life. You would drive downtown and burst through those ornate, gold doors to fall right into his arms. You’d come to learn that it drove his ex-wife mad, the way he’d sense your arrival, and rush through the lobby like a mad man. He always wrapped his arms around you so tightly that you felt your breath rush from your lungs. He frequently kissed a line from your shoulder to your forehead, lingering on your lips for a second longer than any other spot.

He lingered much longer than normal last night when you arrived for his annual Devil’s Night Dinner Party. You hardly cared about that — to you, more importantly, it was his birthday , and no matter the circumstance, you’d be in attendance for that. You were never fond of his guests, and they were never fond of you, but be that as it may, you were spending time with James and that was your joy in life. In recent years, the dinners had seemed shorter to you; James peppered the evening with secretive touches, and whispered comments that kept you going through all the atrocities. Frighteningly, those atrocities had become less and less appalling to you. You watched, wordlessly, as the band of notorious serial killers descended on the unfortunate victims of the evening, and merely blinked, before turning away to look at your hands, or scroll through your social media feeds as they did their work.

Finally, as the night would draw to an end, it was your time. He’d let the psychos free to do whatever they wanted in his Hotel, and you two got to nuzzle each other’s necks for hours on end. You hadn’t brought a present as he insisted that the way you’d give yourself to him was a gift enough.

And give yourself to him you did. After a shower to rinse the sludge of his guests from your form, you gave yourself to him against the wall, with your leg hoisted into the air and then again on the dinner table, where, in a fit of passion, he’d knocked one of the wine glasses to the floor. There was rarely ever a night where James would only take you once. Once was never enough to him, he craved you in ways unimaginable to you.

James withdrew his hand from your thigh to place it on the wheel, navigating around a particularly tight turn. “Well, my dear. How shall we finish off our evening? Dinner as usual? See a picture perhaps?”

You’d spent the early part of your day having brunch at a quaint little cafe a few miles from the Hotel, a darling walk on the beach, and dinner at one of his favourite restaurants. James drove — he insisted. It was the one day a year he got to do anything besides sit in the garage. Someone had polished his cherry-red 1920s ReVere convertible the night before, perhaps Miss Evers, perhaps him. Part of you thought it might’ve been him, because you could easily picture him meticulously polishing this beauty of a car, readying it for a day of gallivanting around Los Angeles.

“James,” you replied, scooting closer on the seat, the silken fabric of your dress slipping easily on the leather interior. The breeze wafted his cologne in your direction and you filled your lungs with it unabashedly — god, he smelled good. “My answer is the same every single year. As long as I’m spending time with you, I’d do anything.”

Anything. He seemed to roll that word over and over in his mind. Any-thing. As though you were beholden with a need to fulfil his wants and desires, you never protested to anything he suggested.

“In that case… something new.” he murmured as he turned the wheel suddenly, veering off the main highway. The wheels crunched the gravel beneath as he wound higher up, before pulling into a small alcove that overlooked the ocean.

This was new.

He killed the engine, letting you both fall into silence. Aside from the crashing of the waves against the rocks and the occasional car driving by, there was nothing. Just nature and the two of you. You must’ve been somewhere around Malibu, you thought. Maybe farther. Perhaps Zuma. You hadn’t been paying attention, but regardless of where, the sight was breathtaking. A romantic spot. Had he brought other girls here? Perhaps to murder them. Surely, the ocean provided an excellent disposal system.

“It’s beautiful out here, James…” you whispered softly.

“As are you. Far more so.”

With your cheeks aflame, you turned away from the coastline to face him. He was staring at you, with one arm stretched casually over the back of the seat. You knew he was analysing you and shamelessly drinking in your presence — savouring the little things that the Hotel Cortez failed to provide; the way the salty air blew your hair about, the chill that made you shiver ever so slightly, the way the sun seemed to wash your skin in gold…

“What? What are you thinking? You’re always so pensive.” you asked, reaching out to cup the side of his strong jawline. He clasped his hand over yours, leaning into it, and turning his face so he could kiss your palm.

“Mm, perhaps — mm.” Another kiss and he brought your hand down to his lap, resting it upon his clothed thigh. “Perhaps I just take you here, my little hummingbird. Right here.” The way he spoke was threatening and lusty, and sent a chill down your spine. You shivered closer to him.

“Perhaps you do…” you said. Although you weren’t from his time, you found yourself mimicking his speech style, and he always seemed delighted when you did. A gem amongst a flooding sea of lingo that he loathed and refused to understand. He was a sharp fellow; he could decipher what certain things meant, but he was as bright as he was stubborn.

James leaned over in his seat, the leather creaking with his weight and with a murmuring sigh, he pressed his lips to the top of your shoulder, skin exposed where the hem of the dress had slipped down. He peppered delicate kisses along your collarbone, dipping down to the front of your décolleté and inhaled deeply. You shivered, tittering girlishly at the sensation of his moustache tickling your chest. “Such a delightful girl you are,” he crooned, his syrupy soft voice melting into you.

While he continued kissing, his large fingers trailed down the front of your dress, watching your reaction carefully. Your breath hitched as he neared your centre and James paused, looking deeply into your eyes. You bit your bottom lip, and crushed your mouth against his, warm and heavy. As he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping out to find yours, the sun sank below the horizon, and James slid his left arm behind your back, wrapping it strongly around your waist.

Even on the one day he was free to be amongst the living, he remained ghostly. His lips were soft and cool, and the inside of his mouth had a particular unnatural chill that sent a wave of goosebumps erupting across your skin. Still, you loved kissing him. You loved the way he’d devour you, encircling your tongue like it was caught in a tango. James always held you when he kissed you, asserting that either you’d not escape, or that you felt safe in his arms. Perhaps a confusing melange of both.

A car zipped past, the headlights illuminating your indecency and you jumped, suddenly aware that despite the privacy of the alcove, you two were still in a public place. More than that, you were fooling around like two teenagers in a public place, just off the main highway. Scandalous. “James! What if someone sees!”

“Let them, my darling. Allow them a glimpse of the greatest pleasures they’ll never know.”

James fingered the hem of your panties, before slipping underneath the satin. He stroked the mound of flesh tenderly, trailing down between the slit of your cunt until he found your entrance. The wetness greeted him quicker than he’d anticipated as told by the devilish smirk that tightened his features. On instinct, your legs spread slightly, giving him more room to work. The reality was that you were already craving more of his touch and hoped to entice him deeper. Still, you couldn’t help but be embarrassed that you were so wet already.

“It’s your kissing, James…” you explained. “It always gets me going… I can’t help it.”

“You’re apologising?”

“Well, no, yes— aaah !”

James clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His large hand cupped your cunt, middle finger encircling your clit gently. Throngs of energy shot up the front of your torso, making you tremble instantaneously. James watched as you writhed and wriggled underneath him, though his strong arm kept you close to his body. “Speak up, my dear.”

You swallowed hard, trying to find the words amidst your brain’s white, hot fog. “I… I’m uh… my god, I wasn’t sure if it… James, my god, please. I can’t get a word out.”

“That’s alright, I can gather what you meant. Nonsense.”

Carefully finding the entrance again, James slid two fingers inside and you let out a gasp, clamping your eyes shut and letting your mouth fall open. Exhaling desperate, breathy moans as his fingers curled inside, finding the spongey flesh with ease. You arched your back, bracing your neck against the back of the seat. As he worked your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, you blindly felt for his groin. Beneath ironed dress pants, you felt the shape of his cock, warm and stiff. James March was many things, and well endowed was one of them. With a playful pout contorting your plump lips, you stroked it outside of his trousers for a few moments, teasing him to the point of frustration. He clenched his teeth, hissing through them.

“James,” you purred. “Then, let me…”

Hips first, he scooted closer, giving you unspoken permission to touch him. You found the waist of his pants, slid the button out and reached in. Inside of you, James’ fingers stopped moving at the sensation, and he huffed breathily in your ear. Although you’d touched him many times, he never seemed to get used to the feeling and always responded to it with the most delighted, euphoric reaction. You yanked the waistband of his briefs down to free his cock.

Keeping eye contact, you worked the saliva up with your tongue, collecting it in your mouth. Once you’d had a mouthful, you bent at the waist and parted your lips, letting your spit fall onto the head, glazing it. James hissed, watching you with a depraved glimmer in his eyes. You were so polite, so innocent, and yet…

With a honeyed sigh, you began playing with him, gliding your fingers over the deep red skin of his head, pressing your thumb into the flesh and squishing more pre-cum from the tip. It was hot to the touch, and with no conscious decision of his own, it began thrusting into the circle of your grip. You made a loose fist, allowing the length of his cock to slide in and out of it. He found his natural rhythm again, pumping his thick digits in and out of your cunt.

Moving your hand further down his shaft, you reached the base, and squeezed gently. The addicting sensation of rigidity, paired with the soft, pliable skin had you biting your lip as you worked his cock in and out of your fingers. James let out a desperately hungry whine, and pressed his thumb into your clit. His chest was heaving now, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he leaned back against the seat.

You whimpered, and dragged your hand upwards, jerking him off faster. His cock was rigid and burning up — he liked this a lot . Perhaps it was voyeurism, perhaps it was circumstance, but whatever it was, it had him acting feral. In turn, that had you acting similarly. You spread your legs further, undulating your hips to further the sensation along. The coil in your tummy wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, and you gushed around his fingers, pulsating in tight clenches. Your lips parted, allowing a drawn out moan to flutter breathily out. To James, it was akin to music. Cries of sex and cries of agony were so similar.

As you came, his lips found the side of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sweet flesh that greeted him. He groaned and snarled into your skin, murmuring lascivious words directly into your ear. You shivered with each one, laughing breathily between moans.

You felt a particular tension within him, and kept your speed, running your thumb along the underside of the head. His breath hitched in his throat. He pumped his fingers faster, curling them deeper into your cunt. His thumb repeatedly bumped into your clit, sending you into a blurry, eye-watering state of euphoria. Beneath your dress, your thighs quivered, trembled with overstimulation. There was suddenly a burn deep within your core that you knew all too well — the second orgasm.

“Don’t — don’t stop…!” He ordered. Despite your quivering muscles, you continued playing with his thick cock. With a coy smile, you leaned forward, angling your open mouth over the head of his dick. Teasingly, you’d lean away every time he bucked his hips upward, seeking out the slick, warmth of your mouth.

“Diabolical!” Sweat glistened across his forehead, his neck reddened with pleasure. You smirked up at him, peering at him through your lashes. Admittedly, you were being rather naughty, but it was so fun to see such a pristine man come undone.

James never worried about stains; Miss Evers could get anything out of anything. So, he came enthusiastically, his entire body tightening and convulsing with the waves of his orgasm. He bucked his hips hard into the grip of your hand as tears of white wept from the slit, cascading over your knuckles and dribbled in large, sticky droplets onto his pants. One hit the bottom of your lip, and as you pulled away, you made a show of wiping it from your mouth before flattening your tongue against the pad of your finger.

As he came down from the high, you watched him silently. You two were submerged in darkness, but the glow from the highway’s street lamps illuminated him in a shadowed, film noir sort of way, chiseling his jaw and bringing the soulless blackness back to his eyes. This was the James you knew. The dark one, the one that was soft for you, but underneath his lust and adoration, you knew he wondered what you’d sound like dying.

“Was that good?”

“That’s not the word I’d use, my dear…”

You grinned to yourself, fiddling with the hem of your dress. James heaved a sigh and tucked his softening cock back into his pants, adjusting it until it was comfortable.

“I’ve a splendid idea. Why don’t you show me your home?” He asked, though it was more of a demand; he’d already made up his mind as he started the car.

“My home?” Immediately, panic flowed over you as he began to drive back the way you’d come. Had you done the dishes? Was the bed made? That pile of dirty clothes on the chair in your bedroom — had you put that away? You didn’t have Miss Evers to clean up after you, and once you came home from work, you wanted to do nothing but relax. “God, there has to be something more interesting than that to do.”

James waved his hand at you dismissively, ignoring your concerns, before returning it to the steering wheel and pulling back onto the main highway, headed back to Los Angeles. Anxiety made the drive feel short; you spent half of the ride trying to visualise the state you’d left your apartment in, and the rest of the ride sheepishly giving him directions, pointing to the necessary exits.

Finally, he pulled up in front of the curb. You looked towards your front door, nervously. It wasn’t a dump, but it certainly lacked the lustre and grandeur of the Cortez.

“Love your costume,” a girl said to James as you passed them. He turned to protest, but you immediately grabbed his arm, towing him towards your front door with a hurried, “Thank you! We love the 20’s!”

You filled your lungs with air, took a deep breath and opened the door. You peeked through with one eye at first, lessening the blow. Thankfully, aside from a hoodie, and a pair of socks, the living room looked… clean. The kitchen was another story; you hadn’t done dishes in a few days, and the impressive collection of coffee cups and cereal bowls would remain in the dark.

James paraded around, taking in the place where you lived, where you spent the time that you weren’t with him. Casually, he muttered an order and he headed towards your bedroom. You straightened up, slightly confused, but reached around the back of your dress, feeling for the zipper.

He stood out front of your door, leaning his broad shoulder against the frame. “Is it here?” He asked, gesturing to the bed. “Is it here that you pleasure yourself?”

Holding the front of your dress to your chest, you turned, blushing. “S-sometimes. Other times it’s in the shower. But most of the time… most of the time - yes.”

“Touch yourself… go on. Consider it a late birthday present.”

He’d made the demand impossible to deny now. A birthday present? You couldn’t be rude. You whimpered nervously as you dropped the dress to the floor, stepping out of the circle of it. Eyes locked on him, you sat down on the bed, scooting backwards until you felt your pillows. With a shaky inhalation, you leaned back and allowed your fingers to trail slowly down your stomach towards your cunt. Once you found her, she was soft and warm, and the entrance was still slightly slick from earlier.

“I want to see what it is that you do…” he crooned lowly. “…exactly how you do it. The only difference now is that you don’t need to imagine anything, my buttercup. I’m right here.”

“Well,” you paused at that, eyes drifting to your bedside table. “Exactly? I usually use my uh…” You rolled onto your side, pulled the drawer opened and produced a deep red coloured vibrator. “This.”

“Ah, yes . A vibrator.”

Incredulously, you asked: “You know what this is?”

“Ahh, my dear.” Hooking his thumb around his suspenders, he pulled them down over his shoulders. “Electric vibrators were invented before I was a twinkle in my mother’s eye. Doctors used them to… relieve hysteria in females. By the twenties, they were a common household item — of course I know what that is. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.

You laid, stunned, at the momentary history lesson. You’d had no idea that James knew what a vibrator was, and moreover, seemed to know more about them than you did. One button at a time, James began undressing himself, watching you as you brought the vibrator to life with a muted buzzing. You neared the tip of the vibrator to your clit, but paused. James opened his shirt, draping it carefully over the end of your bed frame.

His pale chest, lightly muscled, was now on display for you. The visual blindsided you, and you found yourself staring, letting your eyes trail up and down his form. You’d seen him shirtless — and even nude — so many times that you’d memorized his body at this point, but it never failed in taking your breath away.

“Well…” you started, snapping yourself out of your stupor. “You were, but… not… actually yesterday. But you were born yesterday.”

“Quite right. In 1895. Therefore, I know what a vibrator is, and I know how you use one — so… use it.”

You bowed your head shyly, and pressed the vibrator to your clit. You’d turned it up high; the sensation sent a shockwave through your core, and you jerked forward up onto your elbows.

The sight of a shirtless James at the edge of your queen size bed was enough to make you cum again. He looked so out of place in your modern room, but there was something incredibly sexy about it — a fantasy. Something you’d pictured hundreds of times.

The vibrator buzzed on, drilling into the bundle of nerves with mechanical ease. You slipped it over your clit, and swept it side to side before plunging it deep into your cunt; it slipped in with a slick swallow. James wouldn’t take his eyes off you, watching every moment of this erotic torture that you were bestowing upon yourself. You writhed, kicked and moaned… and yet, you still continued. Your breathing was erratic, your breasts rising and falling with each breath you took. You brought the vibrator back out for more clitoral stimulation, and crushed your head into the pillow beneath your head, forcing it down into the mattress as you slid the smooth plastic between your folds.

“ Aaauuuuuggggh… . My god, fuck….”

“That’s it, good girl.”

Your cunt clenched, your lids falling shut. You continued pumping the vibrator in and out, feeling every throb that she gave. You rubbed the angled tip over your clit, edging yourself further. Your legs were shaking again, you were close.

“No no, eyes on me.”

Your lids snapped open, absolutely willing to take in the visual before you. For the first time in long time, you didn’t need to rely on your imagination; everything you desired was currently crawling up towards you from the end of the bed with his pants hanging open and a dastardly smirk on his lips.

“Ffffuuuuck,” you breathed. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Your gaze hungrily dropped to his groin, gobbling up the visual; the outline of his hardened cock beneath his briefs. This had gotten him worked up again, and you knew what was coming next. Or maybe next, after you.

James interlaced your fingers, lifting your hand from yourself and freeing you from the pleasuring. It was his turn. The vibrator dropped to the mattress, still buzzing. Your hand came down on the bed sheets, blindly slapping around until you found it. With a hard press from your thumb, you silenced it.

You were gasping for air like a fish, begging for relief. He had stopped you, edged you just before you came, and the warning clenches were hot and angry. Wordlessly, James climbed atop of you, supporting himself with a hand on either side of your head as he gazed down at you. His eyes danced over your form, lingering at your pulse as it throbbed in your neck — he always was innately interested in your heartbeats and your pulses, he’d press his hand your heart during orgasms, feeling the organ as it hammered an erratic rhythm through your skin. You chewed your lip, gazing right back up at him. He was so handsome; your stomach feeling like a bundle of fried and deeply tangled wires every time you looked at him. You were never sure what about yourself had enchanted him so deeply, but it was an obsession. It was something that tormented him, and needed to be constantly sated.

He reached into his briefs, letting his cock bounce free. It bobbed heavily, bumping into the lower part of your stomach, twitching to find something to penetrate. Beads of pre-cum fell, stringing from his cock to your skin, connecting you two for a brief moment before it stretched and snapped, falling just below your belly button.

He lowered his arms, bringing his mouth to your breast, where he began peppering kisses along the fullness of them. His teeth grazed your nipple and your back arched, a moan escaping as he bit down, just hard enough to cause a twinge of pain — you jerked your hips upwards, pressing his cock back up against his own stomach. The pressure brought a syrupy “Oooh” from his throat.

His cheek was suddenly pressed against yours, his lips by your ear. “I can’t very well fuck you with these on…” His fingers hooked around the elastic of your underwear, snapping them back against your skin. You immediately swung into action, shimmying them down over the curve of your ass, and down your thighs.

“There… all better.” You whispered into his ear, kissing the side of his face.

At that, James straightened up and angled his hips down before pressing them hips into you, urging the head of his cock to breach your entrance. You scooted further down on the mattress to meet his hips, and pushed him just a little bit deeper than he’d already gone. You revelled in the sensations; the hot stinging stretch before the release as the head slipped in, the fullness of his girth pressing against your slick walls, and finally, the ache as he bottomed out, his groin bumping roughly against yours.

His thrusts were quick and deep. You felt the immediacy of his need, the surging desire that coursed through him like electricity. Dark strands fell into his eyes as he slammed his cock into you, drilling deep into your cunt. Every slick, hungry pull of your cunt drove him wild, it was a feeling unlike any other. Not even Elizabeth, with all of her dominating energy, had made James growl in ecstasy like you did.

He straightened up, took hold of your hips and quickly found a rhythm of pulling you onto his cock — your eyes rolled back in your head. Your skin flushed, a sheen of sweat covering both your bodies.

“J-James,” you stuttered. He nodded in response, buried too deeply in his euphoria to respond. “It feels so good — oh god… oh-oh god.”

You felt the sensation of your hot, aching cunt tightening. A moan caught in your chest, and your breath shuddered. As she released in a series of throbs, you rocked your hips against him, pulling James closer to you, wrapping your arms around his scarred back.

He bucked his hips a final time, bottoming out, before he moved his hips haphazardly, bunny humping you. Strings of white coated your insides, you felt it ooze from your hole as he pulled his cock from you.With a sigh, James rolled off of you, and flopped heavily next to you, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling as his breathing slowed.

“You are… sensational, my little pet. Sensational.”

A smile on your lips, you reached for your phone, tapping the side button to illuminate it. Your smile faded quickly; the sun would be rising within the next two hours and your romantic day would be over. Until next year. You weren’t ready for the night to end, and rotated your body on the bed.

“James,” you murmured, stroking his chest with a single finger. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“You never need to ask, my dear.”

As soon as you two walked through the doors of the Hotel, you spotted her. Countess. Elizabeth. She was standing on the second floor, wearing a silvery house robe and presumably nothing else, arms spread out on the railing like wings. She glared down at you.

With a kind smile in her direction, you pulled yourself closer to James as he made his way towards the stairs. She glowered, all but snarling her plump, red lips at you as you ascended. James had told stories of how… tempestuous his ex-wife was, but further, how uninterested in him she was. Was she truly so cruel that the moment he took joy in having someone else, she wanted to crush that?

“James,” she sneered from above, not bothering to address you. You rolled your eyes so hard they ached; her constant bitchiness was alluring, terrifying at first, but it had now become nothing more than an annoyance, akin to the whining of a mosquito. “Have fun on your day off?”

“Immeasurably.” He replied, curtly.

“And what did you two do, hmmm?” Her voice was breathy and hoarse, and even given the tryingly aloof words, was still delicious to listen to. It was a shame she wasted her breath on such immaturities.

“Now, now. Jealousy doesn’t suit you, my dear. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

You smiled. Of course she’d be jealous; after all… it wasn’t her that James had just pumped full.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy / @poltoreveur /

#Happy Halloween #James Patrick March #AHS Hotel #James Patrick March x reader #James Patrick March x you #ahs smut #ahs fanfiction #American Horror Story #lizzieshalloweenfics #myfics

331 notes · View notes

choupicosmeticbeauty · 1 year

Text

Lightening face care cream – B WHITE Turmeric with Saffron – 50 g

Illuminate Your Skin with B WHITE Turmeric and Saffron Lightening Face Care Cream:

Brighten your skin with B WHITE Turmeric with Saffron Face Care Cream

Experience the power of natural ingredients for a radiant complexion

Reduce the appearance of dark spots and uneven skin tone

Nourish and moisturize your skin for a healthy and glowing look

The lightweight and easily absorbed formula for everyday use

0 notes

chrollohearttags · 1 year

Note

i feel like eren luvs backshots like seeing y/n crying from overstimulation and his aggression. Hands all over her ass or holding her wrists behind her back to keep her from pushing him away like ughsjdjd i luv them so much

godddd, cannot believe I missed this when it was first sent but baby, lemme get into it. 🫠🫠

because I am a firm believer that eren is a HUGE bully in bed when he wants to be. Like sure, he’s sweet, always praising you and telling you how pretty you look. Even giving amazing aftercare but when he’s in that mood? (especially if he’s jealous or you’ve pissed him off bad enough 😭) Oh, you’re in for a hell of a night. I’m talking he’s putting you in every position, making you tap even though it does not a bit of good. “Baby, okaaay..okay! I’m sorry..” patting at his abs before he just forces your hand to the mattress and mocks you. “So? I’m supposed to care. Shut up and take this fucking dick, baby. I don’t need no apology.” Aggressively handling you, even adding a couple slaps as he pounds into your core. Making light pulses into the pit of your stomach, forming a bulge in the process. And he always talks so much shit while he’s in it. “Matter of fact, flip over. Put that ass in the air and spread that shit open.” Commanding you to reposition on all fours and grasp your asscheeks, tugging them apart. Your brand new nails on display on that sweat slicked skin. That pretty pastel pink contrasting with the beautiful dark complexion. “Yeah, just like that. Don’t move either.” Just then, you felt him cup your wrists together with one firm grasp and next thing you knew, cold metal and fluffy fur grazed your delicate skin. The pink handcuffs he had copped you as a gift a while back. “So you can listen. I told you to drop that fucking attitude earlier and you ain’t do shit but run that mouth. What changed, princess? Hmm?” Taunting you relentlessly as he teased your clammy folds with his tip without skipping a beat. Watching you writhe underneath his towering frame..tugging you back against his pelvis and his thumb pressed into your asshole. “..made this lil’ pussy cream and feel good so now you have some sense..isn’t that right?” amidst his shit talking, it wasn’t lost on you that he was slowly but surely gliding in, filling you to the brim with that throbbing cock. Your eyes trailing backwards the second it made place between the warmth of that wet cunt. Smacking noises and frothy stickiness forming on instinct. It were as if no matter how angry you were at him, your head, heart and heat were all on different wavelengths. “Yes, daddy! I’m so sorry..fuckkk. Can I come, please?” Whimpering in a frail like tone, wringing your bound hands, grasping on nothing more than air. Completely futile and pointless but you were hoping for relief as those thrusts picked up speed and depth. Instead, all you got were heavy handed smacks and cruel laughs..along with more dick than you could handle.

“Don’t be stupid, princess. Only good girls get to nut on this dick. We’ll see if you earn it after another two rounds.”

2K notes · View notes

itgirlblogger · 7 months

Text

❆‧₊*How to have a cozy and girly Winter *₊‧౨ৎ

As the winter season approaches, it's the perfect time to transform your living space into a cozy and girly haven that radiates warmth and charm. Embracing the winter wonderland doesn't mean sacrificing style; instead, it's an opportunity to infuse your space with comfort and femininity. Here's a guide on how to create a cozy and girly winter atmosphere that will make you look forward to chilly days and long nights.

Cozy Loungewear and Pajamas:

Upgrade your winter wardrobe with cozy loungewear and pajamas. Choose fabrics like fleece, flannel, or soft cotton in girly prints or pastel shades. Having a collection of comfy and stylish loungewear sets will make chilly evenings and lazy weekends feel like a fashion-forward retreat.

Warm and Indulgent Treats:

Treat yourself to warm and indulgent goodies that embody the spirit of winter. Bake girly-themed cookies, sip on hot cocoa with whipped cream and sprinkles, or experiment with seasonal recipes. The process of creating and enjoying these treats can be a delightful self-care ritual. Display a variety of teas, hot chocolates, and coffees in beautiful containers.

Luxurious Bath Time: Elevate your bath time into a luxurious experience. Treat yourself to scented bath salts, nourishing bath oils, or fizzy bath bombs. Light some candles, play soft music, and unwind in a warm bath, enveloping yourself in relaxation and comfort.

Winter Fragrances: Select fragrances that evoke the essence of winter. Warm and sweet scents like vanilla, cinnamon, or lavender can add a comforting touch to your beauty routine. Consider investing in scented body lotions and hair mists to carry the cozy fragrance throughout the day.

Fashion Forward: Cozy and Chic

Winter fashion is all about layering, and you can turn this into a stylish advantage. Opt for soft pastel sweaters, faux fur coats, and cute accessories like mittens and beanies. Don't forget to explore the world of stylish boots; knee-high or ankle boots in soft tones can add a feminine touch to any winter outfit

Hot Cocoa and Chill: Girly Winter Activities

Embrace girly winter activities that warm both your heart and soul. Plan a cozy night in with your favorite chick flicks, indulge in hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and sprinkles, and surround yourself with plush blankets and pillows. It's the perfect recipe for a girly winter evening.

Warm and Rosy: Makeup for the Winter Glow

Winter often brings dry skin and a pale complexion, but that's no reason to abandon your makeup routine. Embrace rosy cheeks, soft pink lips, and a hint of shimmer to capture the winter glow. Opt for a dewy finish foundation to keep your skin looking fresh despite the cold weather.

152 notes · View notes

thatstrangegiiirrlll · 1 year

Text

L x Female reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: L is consumed with his work and hasn’t paid you any attention in the last few hours. You figure it’s well within your right to do whatever possible to get him to focus on you.

“Come on babe,” you beg for the 1200th time. “Take a break for a bit. I miss you.”

L looks over at you from his crouched position — the one he’s always in when he’s working or focused on something. “I took a break earlier; I had some cake. And how can you miss me when I’m sitting right here?”

You poke your tongue into your cheek, trying to hide your laugh as you’re genuinely becoming annoyed and impatient.

“Yeah, smart-mouth ass,” you bark, hands on your hips defensively. “Not only did you eat your cake, but ya’ ate mine too! And you know exactly what I meant by that; I miss you spending time with me and not on this investigation. Sheesh.”

He blinks at you slowly with his big, sleepy, doe eyes. “You said I could eat it. And I’ll spend time with you once I’ve finished for the night.”

You huff out, “Number one: I didn’t think you’d actually eat it — which I should have known better. And number two: that’s what you said the last bazillion times I asked, L.”

“Because I wasn’t finished the last bazillion times you asked,” he replies, eyes fixed back on his computer screen.

You scoff, speechless. You know your boyfriend is an odd one, but you’ve always found it adorable. Sometimes though, there’s this little part of you that wants to choke him to an even paler complexion than he already is.

“Fine,” you hiss, walking up to him to nudge his head childishly. He doesn’t even blink let alone flinch at the push. “I’ll go play by myself — or maybe even with myself.”

“Keep the noise down please,” is all he says as you start to walk back up to your bedroom.

You scoff again, stopping to glare at him before stomping up the stairs, but to no avail. You know you’re being a brat, but you can’t help it. Sometimes L can be cold and detached from you. You understand that it isn’t on purpose and that he cares about you. But every so often you crave a bit more of him than what he’s willing to give.

Lying down, scrolling on your phone, you get an idea in your schemey little mind. You think you know something that might get L to pay you some attention.

You come out of your pajamas, only in your hello kitty slippers now. Confidently, you stride back downstairs and into the kitchen.

“I’m gettin’ a bowl of ice cream,” you announce, taking the frozen matcha treat out of the freezer. “Do you want some?”

He pauses momentarily, taking his thumbnail between his teeth. “Six scoops with chocolate syrup, please.” He hasn’t seemed to notice that you’re butt-ass naked just yet.

“Coming right up,” you respond, preparing his bowl to bring over to him.

“Here,” you say, nudging his arm with the bowl.

“Thank—,” he stops, looking into the bowl with a deadpan expression. “You didn’t put the syrup…”

Your face begins to burn with frustration, but you ignore it, continuing with your motive. “Lick it off me first and then I’ll put it on.”

He finally lifts his head, scanning you up and down, eyes widening. His eyes dart to your chest where you’ve drizzled some of the chocolate syrup on your breasts.

He slides his slender fingers against the small of your back, pulling you to him. You gasp quietly, his cool hand giving your naked body prickly goosebumps. He then stands up and dips his head down, face-level with your perky breasts. You shiver violently as a result of him blowing cool air on your already hard nipples.

“Hey!” You whisper-shout. You’re already finding it hard to stand as your knees are buckling from the tension. You don’t appreciate being teased.

L starts with your right breast, his tongue is contrastingly warm and soft in comparison to the rest of his body. He licks around it, swirling his tongue teasingly and taking your breast into his mouth entirely, being sure to get every last drop of the syrup. He repeats the action to your left breast and then licks down your stomach and belly button to catch the remaining drizzle.

As soon as he finishes, he takes the syrup from your hand, your grip weak and loose now anyway. He sits back down in his chair and neatly drizzles the syrup over his melting ice cream.

You continue to stand there, wet, wildly turned on, and freezing, but hoping to be warmed up very fucking soon.

You snatch the bowl from his hand, staring a hole into the side of his head as he looks ahead, spoon still held up to his mouth. He licks the spoon clean and then sets it down, turning to you

“How dare you do what you just did to me and then just go back to what you’re doing? Like…are you alright in the head? Don’t tease me like that!” You shout, ignoring how innocent and unassuming his face looks right now.

“I just wanted to eat my ice cream…”He murmurs, finger-pointing to the bowl in your hand. “I mean — you made it for me.”

You gawk at him, utterly empty of words. You can’t even be mad at your boyfriend; he’s too precious. It drives you insane. The look on his face immediately fills you with guilt at how mean you’re currently being.

“Fuck,” you exasperate, placing the bowl back down on his table. You lean forward to grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “I’m sorry. That was mean.”

“It’s okay,” he replies awkwardly, looking anywhere but in your eyes.

You kiss him on his squished-in lips and to your surprise, he accepts the kiss without any cheeky remarks. You swap spit, taking your tongue out on occassion to lick his lips and tongue in circles. Nasty, sloppy kissing is your favorite. You release his face from your grasp so that he can move freely.

He sighs, looking down at his throbbing bulge through his pants. “Look at what you’ve done to me. I guess you were gonna get that quality time out of me one way or the other. But this… this just isn’t fair.”

You unbutton his pants, pulling his dick out of his boxers to relieve him. His pink tip is sopping with pre-cum and your mouth waters at the sight. He tenses up in his position, fingers tightening around his boney knees.

“Relax,” you tell him soothingly, kissing his tip with wet lips. You lick the oozing pre-cum off and then wrap a hand around his shaft, using it to rub your clit in circles.

He throws his head back again, groaning deeply. You suck him up for a few minutes, stopping in a decent enough time to postpone his nut.

Dick still incredibly hard, you situate yourself onto L’s lap, his wood slipping inside of you most satisfyingly.

“Mmmm — fuck yeah,” you squeal, letting the full feeling of him slowly enter you sink in. You instantly warm up at the intimacy.

He pulls you a bit closer, wrapping his hands around your waist, thumbs caressing your ribs. “I know I’m pretty cold. Sorry about that,” he apologizes, using feathery strokes with his fingernails against your sides.

“It’s okay, it feels nice,” you reply honestly. Now that you’ve become hot and aroused, the coolness his body provides is refreshing to you; like a cold glass of ice water.

You pull him by his shoulders, tilting your head into the crook of his soft neck to make out with it as you start to ride him carefully.

He bites his bottom lip to conceal his sounds. You hear him fighting to quiet down his whimpers and pants, an occasional sound escaping into your ear anyways.

“Shit, you’re so fucking deep.” You graze his ear between your teeth, using your hips to deepen and quicken your skillful riding.

He kisses you as you continue to thrust against him, fully in control of everything now. You like that he lets you take charge sometimes; no toxic masculinity, complete acceptance, and vulnerability. Crying and whimpering in your ear like a needy and helpless man; now that — that is your weakness.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, intensifying the kiss with the control you have over the direction in which his head goes.

He pulls back, looking at you with half-open eyes. “I’m gonna…I’m about to cum.”

You kiss his forehead messily, closing your eyes tight in deep focus. Your final thrusts are aggressive and desperate, the taste of your orgasm nothing short of delectable. The chair squeaks loudly with all the movement going on. You shudder, yanking his head back frantically as you cum on him. He cums right there with you, his face beaming gorgeously with a deep red against his translucent complexion.

The two of you catch your breath’s, gathering yourselves just enough to come back down to Earth.

L sigh’s, turning his head to examine his bowl of melted ice cream. “Guess I should drink that now.”

I love Death Note so much. L has got to be my favorite character like.... Fucking ever. And this was hard to write tbh. L doesn't seem overly sexual at all, so I had to get creative with this one. I love submissive men. They're so hot. - Ash <3

#death note #l death note #l lawliet #light yagami #misa amane #ryuk death note #shinigami #anime #smut #l x reader #l lawliet x reader #manga #japanese

439 notes · View notes

mostlymarvelsstuff · 1 year

Text

Requested by: @romanoffsbish #6 “Are you really so oblivious?” ; WandaNat•Tony says it to R who’s currently “googly” eyeing the couple from across the room with a sad smile, and Tony’s had enough of the dancing around each other nonsense.

Authors note: requests are still closed. I’m trying to clear my inbox before opening them again. Thank you for your patience 💖

Word count: 2898 WandaNat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Wanda giggles as Natasha playfully spins her around the kitchen, the ingredients for their pancakes quickly forgotten as the spy initiates an impromptu dance session to the music that plays from the Sokovians phone.

They don’t even notice the attention paid to them by the few of their teammates over at the table. Sam smiles at the scene before returning to his oatmeal and Tony pretends to gag at the display of affection before he sits down with his omelet.

“Let them be Stark” Thor chastises with a mouth full of poptart, “Love is special, and it deserves to be celebrated”

“I know that goldilocks” he retorts with an eyeroll, “Besides, I doubt they even heard my teasing."

Clints brow quirks as he drops his banana peel on the table and his eyes meet yours as you glance up from your plate. You both share a knowing look before smirks spread on both your faces.

“Oh yeah” the archer agrees, “No way the super spy with super senses heard you. Ridiculous notion”

You chuckle at the nervous expression that crosses the billionaires face only to earn a glare from him in turn, “At least I let my feelings be known”

Mistaking his jab at your not so hidden feelings for more teasing you simply toll your eyes and grumble, “Whatever Tony”

“Is he bothering you malysh(baby)?” Wanda voice suddenly rings out through the dining room and Sam has to suppress his laughter at the way Tony's complexion pales slightly

“Oh. Uh, no. No, he's just being his normal, annoying self” you tell her, smiling over where she stands with her girlfriend at the kitchen island.

“Good” Natasha says, her tone sending a chill through both you and Tony but for different reasons, “Otherwise I’d have to punch him”

“I’m right here you know” the man says, waving his fork in the air

“Oh I know. I just don’t care.” she replies, sending a wink your way

You try your best to ignore the warmth that spreads across your cheeks at the action, instead focusing back on the man next to you again. He purses his lips, letting out a small huff in annoyance and you laugh at the Russians ability to get under his skin so easily. You completely miss the way Natasha beams at Wanda for being able to make you produce the sound they both adore so much.

“Y/n?”

You turn to look at the brunette again, “Yeah Wans?”

“Tasha and I were going to go into the city today. Do some shopping, go to lunch, sit in the park for a little bit and maybe get some ice cream. Then we were gonna watch a movie when we got home. Would you like to join us?”

“I’m sorry guys, I have a briefing to attend in like half an hour. I think I’m being sent on an impromptu mission.” you tell them as you stand and walk back to the kitchen with your dirty plate to clean, “I hope the two of you guys have fun though”

“Oh, ok” the witch responds, her shoulders deflating at both the missed opportunity and the distance you’ve created. Truthfully both she and Nat have noticed you being a bit more distant with them lately and it was worrying them, "Maybe next time then"

Though you feel nervous about spending that much alone time with the women you nod, "Yeah next free day I have we can definitely do something"

Natasha doesn't like the knot of discomfort she feels in her gut. She doesn't know what other team members are going with you on this sudden mission but she desperately wishes that she or Wanda was on the chosen team. She feels better when one of them is there to watch over you. What if something happens to you today?

The look her girlfriend gives her indicates she feels the same way about this situation and Nat wishes there was something she could do to change things, but there isn’t. So she settles for doing something that both shows she cares and helps slightly settle her nerves.

“Just be careful out there, ok kotenok(kitten)?”

You smile at her, “Always Nat. I’ll see you guys later.”

The two continue to stand there a few minutes after you leave. The worry for your fate on this mission and the disappointment for your lack of presence in their lives of late might as well shine over their heads like neon signs in Vegas. So Tony decides to do his best to reassure them.

“Try not to worry too much” he says, placing a hand on each woman's shoulder, “T’Challa and I are going with her. Hill will be there too so she's in good hands. I can’t promise no harm will come to her because you know how hectic these things can get, but I can promise that I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

“Thanks Tony. I just wish we could go with her.” Wanda tells him, a sad smile on her face, “We like being able to see that she's safe”

“I know. Which is why I will do my best to stick to her like glue, and have her home in time for your movie”

Nat turns to him with a smirk, “You know, don’t you?”

He chuckles, “You may be a spy, Romanoff but there's no hiding that look. Plus witchy here doesn’t know what it means to have a poker face”

“Hey! I can keep a straight face” she huffs, crossing her arms.

Natasha quirks a brow at her girlfriend, earning a glare that makes her chuckle, “I didn’t even say anything”

“You didn't have to, I heard your thoughts” she replies, making the redhead smirk

“Good luck Romanoff” Tony cuts in, “I’m off to the briefing”

Several hours later the quinjet lands back down at the compound and you and your team tiredly shuffle around, gathering your things as you prepare to disembark and head inside.

“It’s been a long day. Head inside and get some rest everyone. Turn your paperwork into me tomorrow morning and I’ll get it to Fury” Hill states before heading off

T’Challa is the next to move, he has a jet to Wakanda to catch tomorrow afternoon and needs extra rest to get that paperwork done beforehand, “Goodnight Tony, Y/n. Good work today, and if I don’t see you before my flight, it was good to see you”

“Goodnight” you and Tony say in unison before heading inside yourselves.

As the two of you walk through the hall you're stuck by the fact that the tv and light are still on in the living room, something which is unusual for this time of night. You both wordlessly decide to take a peek at what's going on and stop in the doorway.

Over on the sofa, curled up with each other under a blanket sit Natasha and Wanda. A Bond movie plays on the tv and even at your distance you can tell by the way the Russians lips move that she's softly quoting every line. Wanda looks up at her with a fondness before linking one of her hands with Nats and her attention returns to the screen. You smile at their cute interaction, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

A deep ache fills your chest as you watch them, and you sigh. You’d give anything to be able to join them, but you can’t. Not in the way you want to at least. And you’re tired of pretending that you don’t want more with them. You've had to withdraw because only being their friend while they held your heart, it hurt. You know it's nothing personal, nor is it their fault, but you couldn’t continue to do that to yourself. You hope one day, when your heart has righted itself, that they’ll understand. But until then, solitude is best.

“Well” you whisper, “Glad to see Nat still likes Bond. Goodnight Tony”

You go to turn away but his firm hand stops you, “Are you really so oblivious?”

Your brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“Kid, it's past midnight and they're in the living room. They have a tv in their room, and you and I both know that's where they always watch their movies.”

You shrug, “Maybe they just wanted a change of scenery”

He exasperatedly runs a hand through his hair, “Christ sake kid, they waited there for you.”

“Huh? Why would they do that?”

He sighs, “Because they miss you, and they didn’t get to spend the day with you, so they at least wanted to be here to greet you once you got home. They wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling guilty for hurting them with your absence while also feeling grateful for their care, “I better not keep them waiting then. Goodnight Tony”

“Night Y/n” he says, with the hope that finally everyone's confessions would come to light tonight

You slowly approach the couple, feeling guilty you were about to disrupt their movie despite knowing they waited up for you. In the end you don’t need to interrupt them as your movements end up catching the Sokovians attention and her eyes light up.

“Malysh(baby), you're back!”

Nats head quickly turns in your direction, but her smile fades slightly as she notices the dirt and small scrapes that adorn your forearms and face, “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, “No. Just some normal bumps and bruises is all.”

They both frown at your statement and Wanda quickly untangles herself from her girlfriend in order to approach you. Her hand gently trails across a bruise on your cheek before grabbing onto your hand and she looks back to Nat to receive a nod.

“Let's get you cleaned up, ok?” You're too tired to say no so you dumbly nod and follow her to the couples bedroom, with Natasha right behind you.

“Sit down kotenok(kitten)” she instructs, her tone softer than what you're used to

You do as you're told, relaxing into the small sofa in their room as Wanda heads into the bathroom and Natasha rifles through their closet. You unintentionally doze off as you wait and the two women briefly contemplate allowing you a small nap before they decide that you’d be better off and more comfortable once cleaned up and out of your uniform.

“Y/n…Wake up sweet girl” Wanda coos, as she gently shakes you

Your eyes strain to open, “Sorry guys”

“It’s alright. You've had a long day.” Wanda says, sitting down beside you, “Let's get you clean.”

She brings the washcloth up to your face first and Nat smiles as she watches you practically melt at the feeling. The brunette softly scrubs your face, careful to not agitate any of the small scrapes as she rubs the sweat and dirt from your face.

“There we go. I knew your beautiful face was under all that grime”

You blush slightly, and you know with as close as both women are that they've seen it, yet neither tease you for it, “Thanks Wans”

She smiles and nods, “Give me your arm”

You do so, watching with sleepy eyes as she cleans your left forearm before moving onto your right one. Youd been so focused on her movements that you hadn’t realized Nat had momentarily left in order to prepare the bed for them.

“She all clean, detka(baby)?”

Wanda nods, “Yup. Clean and ready for bed.”

You assume that's your queue to leave and shuffle as you prepare to stand but the redhead is quick to stop you, “Woah, easy there. We haven't gotten our Y/n time for what feels like ages, so we’re claiming now while you're too tired to protest. Here, go change”

You look down to see that she's handing you an extra pair of her pajamas and your stomach erupts with butterflies, “Thanks Nat.”

The two share a smile as you head off to their bathroom to change and Nat helps the younger girl off the sofa, “Go ahead and get into bed detka(baby)”

When you emerge from the bathroom you find Wanda suggled into her side of the bed while Nat sits on the edge of her side. The Russian can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, seeing you in her clothes has her heart speeding up in her chest.

“Well, goodnight guys” you tell them, taking a step forward only to be stopped by Nats hands grabbing yours

“Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?”

“I- I uh, the couch?” you stutter out, mentally slapping yourself for becoming so flustered by her words

Wandda frowns as she sits up, you never used to mind sleeping in their bed with them on movie nights, when had that changed? Why are you so distant now?

“Y/n?” she hesitates, “Have Tasha and I upset you?”

“What? No. No, of course not. Everything is fine” you stress, but Nat defeatedly drops your hands as her expression turns sad

“Everythings not fine, Y/n. This is the first time we’ve been able to spend any time alone with you in nearly a month. You've been avoiding us, and it hurts”

“Just please tell us what we did so we can fix it.” Wanda practically begs, “We miss having you around. We miss you.”

“You guys haven’t done anything. I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way” the Russian mumbles, and your guilt returns ten fold

“Ok. I probably should have said something sooner, but i didn't know how” you sigh, “I still don’t, but you guys don’t deserve to be left wondering”

You stand there for a moment, nervously picking at your fingers as you try to figure out what words are best to use to explain everything. But your anxiety is getting the better of you, and you can’t blame it. I mean how are you supposed to tell your two best friends, who are a couple, that you love them.

Wandas eyes widened as unbeknownst to you, your thoughts had become incredibly loud. But she doesn’t want you to panic, and your anxiety is already quite high, so she decides to not let it be known that she’d heard you. Instead she gets out of bed and slowly approaches you, grasping your hands with hers once she's close enough.

“Whatever it is Y/n, you can tell us. I promise it’ll be ok” she assures, squeezing your hands for added emphasis.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you think about the prospect of saying the words out loud, but the way Wanda reassures you gives you some courage, “I um, I- I love you both. In a more than friends kind of way.”

“Oh kotenok(kitten)” Natasha coos as you glue your eyes to the floor, and she quickly gets to her feet to join the two of you. She grabs your chin and tilts it up so you're looking at her, “That's something you never had to hide from us. Because we feel the same, don’t we detka(baby)?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief and you look to the other woman for confirmation, “You guys love me?”

“We do, we love you Y/n” Wanda admits, smiling wide

“So very much” Natasha adds, wearing a matching smile of her own and she can wait no longer, “Can we kiss you?”

You eagerly nod and she brings her lips to yours. It's everything you thought it would be, fierce and full of passion and it quickly takes your breath away. As soon as she pulls away from you Wanda replaces her on your lips. Her kiss too is just as you expected, tender and full of love. Once it ends the brunette pulls you into a hug, which Nat joins.

You let out a happy relieved laugh as their arms wrap around your body and you easily sink into them. They can feel just how exhausted you are, so despite the wonderful discovery the three of you have made, they know that their first priority is letting you get your needed rest.

“Come on malysh(baby)” Wanda says, breaking up the group hug, “It’s very late and you need sleep”

“She's right. We can talk more about this tomorrow” Nat adds, ushering you over to the bed

This time you don’t argue, you climb right in and get settled in your spot in the middle of the bed so you can be between the two of them. Wanda happily joins you, snuggling closely as she pulls you against her. Nat smiles as she joins you but instead of snuggling close she leans on her elbow, her other hand cupping your face.

She gives you another kiss, “Love you”

“Love you too Natty” you sleepily mumble, making her heart swell. You then turn to Wanda to let her have a kiss, “Love you Wans”

“Love you too, sweetheart” she whispers, brushing a hand through your hair, “Sleep well”

You end up falling asleep before they even finish pulling the covers up over you. They both scoot closer, each wrapping an arm across your midsection to ensure you remain close.

“Our pretty girl” Nat mumbles as she nuzzles her face against your neck

Wanda does the same on your other side, “All ours”

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @when-wolves-howl @danveration @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories@imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastormm @zoomdeathknight

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat #wanda x natasha #wandanat x reader #wandanat x y/n #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #marvel fanfiction

879 notes · View notes