#Skye writes words

[mistfallengw2]

Guess it's time to expand on this with another "first in-game death turned into backstory"

It is now canon that Lenorey had a close encounter of the unpleasant kind with Draithor the Drill (I forgot he was that strong and I'm still leveling her, welp).

Short story under read more with screens to go along with it [tw: gross "food", implied human meat (and all Draithor-related stuff), written at 1-2am]

_____

The young sylvari wasn't even a yearling when she had stumbled upon the necromancer's lair, following the rumors she had heard during her brief stay at the nearby Black Haven fort. Well, more like overheard, from afar, disturbed by some drunken norn's bellowing, but she did hear the words meat, magic and necromancer, which were all things she had interest in. And so she went, dodging and sneaking past this unknown necromancer's minions after being so rudely attacked when she called for the owner of that lovely cave. Irked by such an unwelcoming welcome, she helped herself to what she felt more pulled towards out of the vials on the tables and the racks of smoked meat -or at least what she could reach and carry, given the average size of the furniture-, then left the place with her consolation loot, settling for a little personal picnic on the nearby hills.

Lenorey had already eaten quite the sort of questionable things in her short life, she was aware of as much in her incessant search and had learned a few important lessons, but while the smaller vials were tasteless or things she had sampled before, that piece of chewy meat was disgusting even to her. It reminded her of the time she took a nibble out of a risen she had found on the side of the road, but not even that left such a foul feeling in her whole body, and not one lasting for so many hours. That was utterly gross. That was new. She had to know.

After her insides and head stopped churning with that weakness, she went back to the cave, and this time something was definitely happening inside. Again, she extended a call and her thanks for the meal as she entered, ready to practice her appeasing skills in order to get to know more about that foul meat and why it made her feel queasy, maybe even apologize and pay him back for the purloined goods. The minions waited in their place, menacing, and a towering figure emerged from the corner, stopping for a moment to grunt before approaching her. Not what she expected, but it sure explained the too-high tables around the lair. This necromancer was a centaur. Lenorey was ecstatic! She had never met one, and she had so many things she wanted to know about the culinary and alchemical traditions of his people, but she barely got past her third question before a thick haze choked the words out of her mouth.

While the sylvari did fall in the thigh-high water of the swamp, she didn't fully lose herself under the toxin, only feeling dizzy and tingly all over as her body relaxed in a sleep-like state. The sudden splash in the water only jolted her a bit out of it, though not enough for her to really keep her eyelids open. Bummer. The centaur grabbed her arm and pulled her up, inspecting her limp body as if she was a discarded doll. Grunting again like the rude thing he was, he uttered something about plant people being useless to his research, then carried her deeper into the cave and tossed her body against something metallic. A cage, not unlike those she had been into before. Again, extremely rude, on top of being unwelcoming and a bad cook.

It didn't take her long to come back to her senses. It wasn't a strong spell to begin with, it had just taken her by surprise and the earlier meal had likely weakened her resistance in some way unknown to her. Another bummer, but she was more concerned with the weird sounds she had heard as she waited out the effects, and she had enough self-preservation instincts to know she didn't want to wait around for him to come back or find out what originated them.

Her frame had been turning more limber lately -or "shriveled" as some of her siblings had more or less worriedly said to her-, but she liked it, because it meant she could squeeze her bark through most narrow spaces with just a little effort, and cage bars were not an exception. To be fair, the door wasn't even closed, but she still opted to slip under the lower bar for the sake of it.

That rude hooved guy was clearly not going to give her any information she wanted, so Lenorey sneaked past the guarding minions, only stopping to disable a pair of them, but curiosity pulled her gaze in his direction. He had his back to her, close to the table she had taken food from, busy chopping something on it. Whatever he had done before that, it was all very bloody and very dripping-from-a-pointy-tool, and it reeked of unsavory necromancy so much that she felt her thorns bristle. Without hesitation, she removed herself from the cave with careful haste, then let her mind fade a bit deeper as she continued on her road. She was not going to find what she was looking for back there, and she already had enough unpalatable things to digest for one day.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

risk

“She needs a surgical airway, that breathing tube has been in too long,” Four noted.

Time shook his head. “She barely has any clotting factors, her body’s just deteriorating, Four. We can’t risk a surgical airway, she’ll bleed to death.”

Four sighed, frustrated. He hated situations like this.

[skyeslittlecorner]

Can I request a Raphael x angel MC please 🥺

The Gabriel x Michelle and Lucifer x Michael were so good 😭😭

I'm stuck with you and your scenarios now 😠

You're welcome, dear~! I see my total eclipse of the brain bring some good after all. I hope I will be able to fulfill this request. Rafael is on the verge of being a character I dare write for, but let's try.

It was all your fault, that you make Raphael feel so special, then forget about it, and after all, you died. Lowly, pathetic human being. How dare you? Do you think he will forgive you for this? Tsk. Not only stupid, but naive, too. You are lucky that you chose to be reincarnated in heaven. Maybe there's still a chance for your pitiful soul.

And *maybe* you will repent if stop teasing him and start to suck.

Even though you were below him, licking his piercing and letting him tug at your hair, you knew who was boss. Poor, unaware angel. Blessing? Being the chosen one? Good joke. Only few strokes and his tip was already covered with whitish ooze. You raised an eyebrow and snickered.

“And who is the pathetic one?” 

He grabbed your hair harder. 

“Shut... up. Do your work.”

“Truly pathetic…” Your tongue stroked his trembling manhood. “Swayed so easily.”

“Enough!” 

As you opened your lips once more, he thrusted deep inside your mouth. Smiled vindictively as you chocked. He wanted you to lose your breath, to finally be quiet, and obediently end the act of his ascension. As cruelly, as holy. New madness hitted his insides as you murmured with a trickle of saliva ran down your chin.

“Better…” Those full cheeks, clenched throat and murderous intent in your eyes make you both dirty and perfect. Perfect to be used. Clouded with pleasure, he thought that he found his new favorite toy.

All Raphael stans! Let me redirect you to @livelaughlovesubs and her wonderful fics - here you got first and second part. I assume you've already seen it, if not, check it out~ She can write and catch his personality way better than me

[etherealyoungk]

chef!mingyu part three

// tw: blood // cw: suggestive, kissing, mingyu being an annoying ass but <3 // here's chef!mingyu part one and two, part four // maria literally jail for you for sending these pics to me because they're literally perfect for this part hshs but JAIL

doesn't it suck to have the person you hate on your mind constantly. expect it wasn't exactly hate with mingyu. it was more how you just refused to believe you were attracted to him that made you think about him even more. not to mention you were rivals in business, so you didn't want to do anything stupid.

it's been a few weeks and you as much it pained you to admit, you did wish mingyu stopped by but he hadn't in the last few weeks. and just as you were locking up and about to leave, you see a familiar figure strolling inside your restaurant - mingyu.

"what do you want?", you ask coldly, tired from the long day. "now is that how you greet a friend?", he asks, crossing arms over his chest. you noticed how the shirt he was wearing just hugged his body and arms, showing off his biceps. and he was wearing glasses too. fuck he looked so hot tonight. you cleared your throat before speaking.

"im tired okay, what's up?", you repeat. "just came for dinner", he prompts and you're lost. "sorry what? we're closed", you say. "did someone forget they owe me lunch and dinner? how ungrateful", he says, shaking his head with a scoff. right, you promised him you'd treat him for letting you crash in his place.

"right...what do you want?", you ask. "i want you to cook me something that you love to eat", he asks. "i'll buy you something how's that?", you bargain. "no can do baby. or do you want the whole world to know that you're dying to sleep with me", he asks with a raised brow making you narrow your eyes at him. "you're such an ass", you mumble, purposely nudging your elbow into him as you walk ahead.

you lock up and mingyu would drive you back to your place where you decide to cook your favorite pasta for him. it was simple, easy to make, and super yummy too. mingyu would hang around in the kitchen as you started cooking, and maybe give you some unsolicited decor advice, making you roll your eyes. and you notice how mingyu's hands would just automatically start helping you gather ingredients or things - i guess that what happens when you cook for a living. you'd have to smack his hands off, telling him you'd manage making him pout.

he'll lean back on the other end of the counter as you stand chopping some vegetables and doing some prep for the pasta. "so did your ex pay you a visit again?", mingyu asks, looking at you keenly. "that idiot did come in the morning again, and was asking where you were", you say. "what did you say?", "nothing, just that you had work", you add. "but i don't think he'll come again, hopefully", you add.

"was he good in bed?", mingyu asks, likes it's the most normal question in the world, catching you completely off guard. "excuse me? what kind of question is that?", you say, looking at him. "what, can't i know about your loser ex? i'm guessing he was pretty shit seeing as you've been dying to sleep with me", he adds with a smug smirk. as he pushes his glasses up. "what- firstly i am not dying to sleep with you and secondly i don't see why that actually matters to you", you say, getting annoyed. mingyu did an excellent job getting on your nerves.

"yeah so he was shit in bed", mingyu concludes when you avoid the question. "fuck you mingyu", you say, giving his a side eye. "oh, so you want me to? i'll gladly do it, just ask", he says nonchalantly. "like you're that good in bed either", you mumble to yourself but obviously mingyu heard you.

"is that a challenge baby? do you want me to show you", he asks with a raised brow. "whatever oh my god, just let me cook", you snap back at him, getting your focus back onto prepping for the pasta.

after a few seconds of silence, mingyu speaks up again. "baby if you need help, i'll be more than happy to. it feels awkward just standing here doing nothing", he asks again. "firstly, my name is -", you start, looking up to glance at mingyu. and maybe it was because you looked away for a second or because you were tired, your hand slipped and the knife sliced your finger. "OW", you yell, dropping the knife on the counter as you clutch your finger to your chest.

mingyu would be by your side in an instant. "what happened?", he asks and he gets his answer from the drops of blood on the countertop. "shit", he mutters. he can tell by the way your finger is bleeding that it's deep and bad cut. "where's your first aid kit", he asks urgently. "top shelf on the right", you mumble. he'll clear the countertop, pushing all the ingredients and chopping board to the side to make some space for you. you feel his hands on your waist as he gently hoists you up so you're now sitting on the countertop.

"here, let me see hm", he asks softly. you open your hands and hear him take in a sharp breath. it was pretty bad. you had cut not one, but two fingers and they were pretty deep slices, ouch. he'll wipe your finger with a wet cloth first. then he'll dab the disinfectant on, and you close your eyes because it burned like shit. "oww it hurts", you whine. "let me do it, i can manage mingyu", you huff but he won't let you. "don't - just let me help you".

he'll clean your other cuts and it just burns so bad you end up leaning your forehead on mingyu's shoulder, as he's standing in front of you. he'll gently bandage your fingers and make sure you were all okay. "done, you okay baby?", he asks as you're still leaning your head against him. "hm", you manage to say. you lift your head up but you're still so close to mingyu, you gulp as you look at him. "sorry, i guess i was just tired", you tell softly. "you should have told me, we could have done this another time", he scolds. "i owed you though", you mumble, looking down. and i wanted to spend time with you.

"i'll be okay, it's no big deal", you add and you're hyper-aware of mingyu's hands resting on your thighs as he stares at you. "you're really stubborn you know", he adds making you scoff. "stubborn? me?? have you seen yourself, you're so fucking cocky about everything", you counter. he won't say anything but he did love seeing you all feisty, he thought it was hot. "what can i say, i like being the best in everything i do", he counters, giving you a little smirk.

and you can't take it anymore. you couldn't take his stupid smile and how stupidly attracted you were to him. you couldn't take the tension anymore, so you just grabbed mingyu by the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward, kissing him. he would be caught off guard for a second but he'll smirk into the kiss, kissing you back as he moves his lips against yours. his hand moves up to cup your cheek as your fist where you held the collar of his shirt tightens, feeling giddy with the kiss. you pull away.

"we shouldn't be doing this", you say breathlessly. "give me one good reason why we shouldn't", he responds as he captures your lips again, his other hand going to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him. "fuck...because we're rivals and i'm supposed to hate you", you mumble between kisses. "let's just screw that and start over", he says. his hand goes to remove the glasses but you stop him. "don't, i like how they look on you", you say, looking at him as you bite your lip. "oh really? how does it look on me?", he asks, fully knowing the answer but he just wanted to hear it from you. "makes you look so fucking hot", you mumble against his lips, kissing him. he starts to kiss your neck, making you gasp as your eyes flutter close. he leaves a trail of soft kisses on your collarbone. "m-mingyu", you whisper. "hm tell me what you want baby", he groans softly, kissing up to your jawline as you grip his arm. "you're so annoying", is all you can manage to mutter as he kisses you again, kissing you with such passion making you dizzy.

you don't know how you made it to your bed, as mingyu hovers over you, his shirt thrown somewhere to the side. but your mind is too fuzzy to care anymore. you look at him, his lips pink and plump from all the kissing and his pupils dilated. his cheeks flushed and his hair falling over his face as he looks down at you. "i'll fuck you so good that the only name you'll remember is mine", he taunts, whispering in your ear before kissing you again, his hands roaming your body as you sigh into the kiss.

and when you wake up in the morning, you're tangled in mingyu's arms. but only this time you remember exactly what happened the night before. you stare at mingyu's face as he sleeps soundly and you wonder what was going to happen now. what were the two of you?

do we want part four?

taglist: @sadkidwarexpert @daisycheols @urboyangelhani

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

pov you’ve just reread the yi city arc… except that clearly wasn’t ENOUGH because of course your analysis brain had to take over and search for parallels, so you have to go and reread and save the most depressing WWX scenes right after…

i’m fine :))

[imogenkol]

— WIP IT’S WEDNESDAY SOMEWHERE

tagged by @kyber-infinitygems @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @adelaidedrubman thank you! 💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @v0idbuggy @statichvm @aceghosts @jillvalentinesday @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch

cheating a little bit again because I have writers block and I’m trying to remedy that by reworking old writing (and also trying to refresh my love for said old writing) so hopefully ya’ll enjoy my two favorite werewolf siblings

Jayde waited in the rain for as long as she could before the beckoning warmth of the twenty-four hour diner across the street became too tempting to resist. It was worth the risk of getting recognized. All she wanted was to not be soaked to the bone like a sad mutt chained to the doghouse. And some damn coffee.

The dark, clouded sky gradually turned gray with an oncoming sunrise. Jayde sipped on the bitter liquid from the warm mug in her hands and stared out of the window beside her, watching the endless streaks of raindrops as they raced down the lightly fogged glass. Finally, she spotted a familiar pickup truck pull into the parking lot. Something bulky lay strapped in the bed, a blue tarp shielding it from the weather.

Skye stepped out of the truck once she parked. She was a fair bit shorter than her older sister with mossy green eyes instead of dark blue, but besides that, the two were unmistakable as siblings. They shared the same blonde hair and facial structure, though Jayde always thought Skye resembled their mother more. Or perhaps she secretly favored the idea of inheriting their father’s features. While they were similar in base appearance, the sisters differed in personality. Skye walked lightly, almost with a skip in her step, to mirror her bubbly attitude. She almost always had a small, arrogant smirk on her face like she understood a joke that everybody else didn’t. Most of the time she did.

She wore that exact smirk as she slid into the booth across from Jayde. “So, spill.”

“I got my ass beat, alright?” Jayde recalled in annoyance. “Wound up on lockdown in the local hospital, but I got out.”

“On your own…?” Skye clearly sensed that she left out important information.

Jayde sighed. For whatever reason, she didn’t want her to know about Nadya. Maybe because she knew her little sister would mercilessly make fun of her for it. “No, I had help.”

A waitress came by to offer Skye a menu and some coffee, which she eagerly accepted with a sarcastic comment about a bear doing its business in the woods that went over the poor old woman’s head. Once the now slightly perturbed waitress left, a moment of silence lingered between them until Skye held up her hands. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“There was a resident at the hospital,” Jayde complied hesitantly. “I convinced her to help me and she took me in while I recovered.”

“There it is,” Skye said triumphantly with a massive grin. Jayde rolled her eyes. “Is that whose scent is all over you? She smells nice, is she pretty, too?”

“None of your business.” She fixed the younger wolf with a warning glare. “Now, can I have my shit?”

“Geez, you’re no fun,” Skye complained.

“Skye, I have had a long couple of weeks,” Jayde told her in a scolding tone. “All I want is enough supplies to be on my way.”

“And where is that this time?” the younger sibling retorted with a sudden seriousness. “Am I gonna get another call in a month asking for more ammo? Or to bail you out of the slammer? Or how about a mental hospital? You haven’t got yourself fucked in one of those yet.”

“For your information,” Jayde started, a snarl nearly escaping her throat. “I’m gonna linger around here for a little while longer.”

Skye’s mossy eyes went wide with shock. “Really. You? The Lodge isn’t good enough, but this city is?”

Jayde was in no mood to have this argument with her for the tenth time. Nothing she could say would make Skye understand her reasons for staying away as long as she has.

“It’s not like that, I have to.”

“Why?” Skye prodded. “I would think you’d want to put as much distance between yourself and here as soon as you can.”

Jayde grinded her teeth. Skye wouldn’t let her deflect. She would also see right through any excuses and become even more pushy for an explanation. “I have to make sure the girl that helped me won’t be in any danger once I’m gone. She broke me out of the hospital and saved my life when everyone was calling me a terrorist. And she did it to protect people, so it’s not gonna sit well with me if something happens to her.”

“She broke you out?” Skye marveled in bewilderment, clearly impressed.

Jayde nodded. “Yes. I’ve been lying low at her place for the past week.”

“Damn, she’s ballsy,” Skye chuckled. “Or just really stupid.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jayde agreed with a small smile. “Trust me, it’s the former.”

“How are you gonna know if she’s safe or not?”

“I had her get a burner phone to call me if she needs help. That’s why I have to stay in the area until this blows over, I don’t want to be too late. Which reminds me, I need your phone.” Jayde held out her hand.

She scowled at her suspiciously. “Why mine?”

“‘Cause yours is the number I put in hers.” She motioned for her to surrender it. “You haven’t gotten any other calls besides me, right?”

“Why’d you give her my number?” Skye asked incredulously.

“Because mine’s gone, genius.”

“Then buy a new one, dumbass.”

Jayde sighed in exasperation. “It was easier to give her your number, now cough it up.”

Skye groaned dramatically and fished her phone out of one of her pockets. “Here.”

Jayde deftly caught the bright pink cellphone as her menace of a sister suddenly tossed it at her head and snickered at her disappointment. Supernatural reflexes had very little to do with the save, she had years of practice anticipating Skye’s antics. When Jayde looked down and saw the cheap Hello Kitty sticker stuck on the back, she glanced back up quizzically. “Really?”

She shrugged. “I went to a couple hospitals looking for you. They don’t exactly keep the kid stickers locked up.”

Jayde made a noise of displeasure. “I would’ve preferred a Finding Nemo one.”

“Then get your own damn burner and steal whatever sticker you want the next time you inevitably end up in a hospital again,” Skye bit back.

“I owe you. Happy?”

“My favorite words to hear,” she replied with a bright smile and took a sip of coffee. “So what did you tell her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with everything the nurse did for you, she must’ve been curious. What did you come up with as a cover?”

That brought up another explanation Jayde dreaded. Might as well get this over with, she thought as she chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before shrugging. “I told her the truth.”

Another charged moment of silence fell over the two siblings as Skye completely froze with the mug to her lips. She blinked a couple of times, then shook her head like she came out of a trance. “I’m sorry, you told her the truth about what?”

“About me. What I am.” The admission made Jayde cringe.

Skye’s expression turned blank, and she slowly set the mug down. “I know you mean you told her you’re bisexual and not that you’re a werewolf, right? Because admitting that you’d be down to clown with a hot nurse is way more believable. Telling a random human that you’re a werewolf is a new level of crazy that you wouldn’t even dream of. Right? ”

“First, she’s not a nurse. Secondly, she deserved to know,” was all Jayde could think to say as a defense.

“So it is the mental hospital for you next.”

“Skye –”

“You are the last person I expected to be that stupid, Jayde.”

The older wolf leaned forward in her seat and poked the surface of the table. “I did not make that choice lightly. Nadya put her entire life on the line for me without any thought for repayment. It was only natural that she had questions, and she was too smart for my shitty excuses. She would’ve figured it out herself if I hadn’t told her.”

Skye didn’t look convinced. “And how do you know she won’t tell anyone?”

“She’s not like that,” Jayde insisted.

“You’re willing to bet everything on that. On a human you’ve known for a few days,” her sister stated more than asked.

Jayde patted a couple of her jacket pockets before she remembered which one she put the small polaroid in. She pulled it out and dropped it on the table in front of Skye. The younger wolf picked it up and studied it with disinterest until she flipped it around and saw the note Nadya wrote on the back. She glanced up at her sister curiously.

“She’s a photographer,” Jayde explained. “When I told her I liked that picture, she gave it to me.”

Skye sat in silent contemplation for about a minute as she stared at the photo in her hands with pursed lips. Eventually, she gave a nod, and Jayde felt relieved that her sister finally accepted what she was certain of. Her eyes met Jayde’s and brightened with that mischievous smirk again. “It’s not just the picture you like, is it?”

Jayde raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Hot nurse saves your life, offers you a roof, gives you a gift before you go,” she held up the polaroid, flipping it between her fingers like a coin, “and you tell her the truth, give her a phone to call you, and stay in the city you almost got gunned down in to make sure she’s safe. Sounds like you have a crush.”

At first, Jayde felt offended by her assumption, but then her face quickly flushed with embarrassment. Is it that obvious? she thought before anything else, which threw her for a loop. Jayde knew she felt attraction towards the human, but it hadn’t even occurred to her that what she experienced might be a crush. Children get crushes for fuck’s sake, but apparently so do full grown werewolves who have to fight for their lives every single day.

Just like always, her sister knew her too well.

“Even if you were right, it doesn’t matter.” Jayde shrugged in an effort to seem nonchalant. “I’ll never see her again.”

Skye wagged an eyebrow. “Or maybe she’ll call you.”

Jayde rolled her eyes at her for the millionth time that morning. “I didn’t give her the phone to keep in touch. It’s for an emergency only, and she knows that.”

“Maybe an ‘emergency’ will happen.” Jayde’s whole body tensed as she sensed one of her little sister’s bits coming. Skye continued, using a high-pitched voice as she dramatically fanned herself. “Oh, Jayde, some trenchcoated goons have been lurking outside my house trying to sell me a new vacuum cleaner! Please, save me! You’re my only hope!”

Jayde scowled at her. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Come on!” Skye urged. “There’s gotta be some small part of you that’s hoping she’ll call.”

“No,” she said firmly, though Skye was partially right. A huge part of Jayde hoped that she would see Nadya again one day, just not under dire circumstances. But another part of her knew that was the only way she’d get to see her again.

“Fine,” Skye said, clearly not convinced, and handed the polaroid back.

Jayde took a few moments to stare at the photo fondly. She flipped it over to look at the note on the back and ran her fingertips over the letters Nadya wrote. Then she carefully returned it to the pocket it came from.

“You want some breakfast?” she asked Skye, ignoring the knowing grin on her face.

[goldiipond]

everytime i get a new note on the ray autism essay my power grows

[writingonesdreams]

Because I know the resulting snippet will probably keep me up at unreasonable hours of the morning going 'oh my gosh' here's a three word prompt from your list - Comfort, Pain, and Tear.

Special connection

Summary: Exploring the unique connection between Skye and Cameron, the way they lie and reveal their ugliest and most vulnerable pieces to each other. 1.3k. It’s without context of the unwritten chapters, so let me know what your impressions are without showing their first meeting! 

Author's note: This was supposed to be a drabble, I swear. I dreamed this up yesterday and couldn't not write it. This needs like 3 unwritten scenes for context lol. But I'm so nervous about those scenes for planning them for so long, they are difficult. This was just inevitable. Thank you for sending the words and setting the flood off :D

From this tiny scene prompt list

“So how did you like the mission with Zephyr?” Skye asked Cameron.

They walked by the snow white beach of the sea of stars, the cobalt blue waves disappearing into the darkening sky. As if the horizon was melting into the empty air. The scenery still took her breath away, no matter how often she walked by.

Cam drew a hand through his curly brown hair, long and intentionally messy in some kind of modern “cool” way. He also wore that black leather jacket and blue shirt that highlighted his eyes. Someone knew how to dress. She didn’t like thinking about it, but it was pleasant for the eyes, she had to admit that.

She hoped the question didn’t reveal how important his answer was, how insecure and giddy she felt all day, when they went away.

He hesitated. Looked to the side. “I think you would be surprised by all the things he isn’t telling you.”

She put a hand in the air between them, as if shielding herself from his words. “Don’t tell me. If you know something he doesn’t want me to know, then don’t.”

“You are not surprised?” Cam’s tone definitely was. “You know I would tell you.”

“Because you feel more loyalty to me? After one meeting?” She smiled. Her lips were hurting from stretching them that way. Always did that when she was upset. It wasn’t a conscious decision by any means. Just a reflex that occasionally got her into trouble.

“You know there is something special between us.” Cam put a hand on her elbow and made her stop, look at him. His blue eyes, the baby blue eyes she was sure he used to charm girls, were glittering and earnest.

“There is nothing special between us. Don’t talk like that. You just happened to be an outsider I don’t care about, who I told my worries to one day.” She paused, a flash of realisation hitting her behind the eyes. “And that’s what happened with Zephyr too, didn’t it.”

“Ouch,” he said and smiled. The pained smile. Her smile. Yes, he understood. Even now she was testing him, even now she was looking for the borders of their sudden connection.

Cause there was a connection, one she couldn’t explain, reason or analyse. She just went ahead and said what she wanted to say, her worries, her frustration with Zephyr, her anger with herself, for feeling like had to restrain herself all the time, cause what was inside her was ugly, not sociable, not acceptable enough. She let her worst secrets, her worst side shine, something she didn’t dare to do with any of her friends, not even and especially not with Zephyr. Nobody knew aside from her family, and they only knew, because they understood. Cause her mother taught her how to be different, how to hide this from people. She never dreamed of someone else knowing and understanding this outside of them, outside of the protection her parents, her home, have given her.

But now she left home, found work, even moved in with her boyfriend and it all felt like there was no way back. That she was an adult, supposed to stand on her own feet and want it. Handle it.

And then Cameron was there, nodding and laughing and agreeing…and the relief was so overwhelming she wanted to cry.

It was also deeply uncomfortable, knowing there was a person who could see her as she was and it wasn’t her friend. Or her boyfriend.

Suddenly she felt really bad for saying it wasn’t true. It was what she wanted to say though. Something about Cameron always made her say things she wanted to say, without thinking of his feelings first.

It was terrible of her.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said as if he read her mind and sniffed. “I’m used to bringing out the worst in people. It’s nothing personal.”

A lie he wanted to tell for a change. She thought not being able to say the truth was the worst, so how come there were lies she yearned to say instead?

His pain hit her, mixed with hers, and suddenly she was throwing her arms around him, pulling him close. His spicy cologne clogged her nose.

“It usually doesn’t hurt you though. But it does, coming from me. How come?” Skye wrapped her arms around his back, buried her face in his shoulder and held him close.

“What we have is special. You just don’t like it.” He was tense in her arms.

“I have a boyfriend,” she protested.

“I know,” he nodded and then leaned his head against her.

“I love him.”

“There are more ways to love someone, you know?” His arms circled her back as he returned her embrace.

“But how can I…how can I feel so close and accepted with you, with the man who isn’t my boyfriend?” She felt the tears now, spilling on her cheeks, dripping on his jacket. She wanted to hold him and now she was being held. “Aren’t you afraid I will fall in love with you?”

“I know you won’t.” He squeezed her tightly. “Because you love Zephyr and I know why.”

“Why?”

“Because you respect and admire him as a person. Because he can keep up with you, and so few people can do that. Because he gives you peace, but you can also sense part of what I witnessed at our mission together. You want to help him, save him, to be the one to comfort him. You want him to need you.”

There was nothing about that she could dispute. It hurt being exposed like that, like he ripped her ribcage open to have a look at her heart. She snuggled deeper into his arms in response.

“I miss this. I miss being able to just hug and touch and not having to worry, if it means something. If it’s not too much or not enough or if he wants something different from me.”

“You can have it. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“It’s going to mean something for me too. It already does. I lied. You are already important to me.”

“I know. You don’t have to lie to me. You never have to lie to me.”

“You know everything anyway. How? How? I’m the mind mage. I know what everyone thinks. I have people sharing my mind. Hal. Zeph. Why is it so easy for you? How do you see what they don’t?”

“Cause we are similar? Cause we think the same way? I don’t know, S. I don’t know. I just don’t wanna lose it.”

“That must have been difficult to say.”

“But you get it out of me anyway. I had a veil on my edges for years. A veil against the world, so I felt nothing, and I could only feel when I was causing pain. You have pierced through it, and now those edges hurt and hurt, but I can only hold on closer for comfort. I can’t stop feeling it anymore.”

“Zephyr offered you to stay,” she guessed. That was a solution. She didn’t want to let go of him either.

“He is a good person. Like he has a radar on people in need and feels obligated to save them.” He shifted, turning his head slightly against her neck. “And you decided to save a person like that. Difficult endeavour indeed.”

They stayed like that for a long time, locked in an embrace that didn’t make sense. But being held felt right. His arms, his scent, the feel of leather under her arms, the heartbeat she felt against her. He was filling a void she was afraid to cross with Zephyr. She couldn’t imagine just coming and throwing her hands around him like this. There were too many hidden meanings, stresses, questions of power and reaction to mule over.

She had made love complicated for herself and she hated it. Shouldn��t it have been the other way around? Shouldn’t they have been comfortable touching, before they got together?

She fell for his brain, felt attracted to his personality, but the physical barriers were still there.

But at least now she knew, as she held on to what she so dearly missed.

[jessicakimx]

Scottish roads, take me Home

The wind that woke me carried me through an awesome gorge erupting sweet flavours of the late summer fruits that flower, for us.

***

Betwixt the faces of the mountains the fairy pools cascade

Fountains of bountiful pure water.

Lilac heathers and dragon flies parade

Droplets of water that hold such power.

As the winds sweep new air into a bedazzled shower,

Swirling, whirling, the way I always dreamt.

Deep gorge-ous views that I grasp onto

Showing what’s Real and what’s meant.

To be kept sanctified, 

Ceremonious forces of Nature.

Feel Gaia in her elements in the way she intended yer’,

Bonnie Isle of Skye, I can feel ye’ within me.

You’ve opened my eyes: there’s always more to beauty to see

Not just Now

But in the future too

A new dawn is rising on 2022.

***

From the Isle of Skye: a perfect composition where the clouds mirror the mountains and waters’ edges.

A piece of Stillness nestled in the North West of a wild, old land.

Though no seas need be crossed, the border that divides creates a line

Of contrast between raw, jagged rock edges and soft, curvaceous cliffs.

Aqua-marine waters with Peace from shadows, breed fauna; from dolphins to

Eagles that rise above our heads.

To feel alone, though practically simple, becomes impossible as you breathe the same air as millions of microcosms.

True meditation after relentless let-downs both of my petri-colony and the entire globe’s day to day occurrences.

This trip was special to me for more reasons than possible to explain.

Allowing the souls that have flown to pass through my memories, leaving their silhouettes laughing with my core.

Feeling truly at One with the Greatness of the world again, and the stamp of approval that I could never be a bore.

Scotland, the land of Lochs, bogs, mountains and Sky.

Here I feel a natural connection to my own rhythms.

A meter that’s continuously ticking and that I will never deny.

***

Get lost, get stuck in a bog.

‘Cause one day everything will be lost in a fog.

[magnus-rhymes-with-swagness]

Rating: General

Summary: Skye and Jane watch the World Cup with the Geiger brothers.

hello penderwicks nation i come bearing gifts

[mistfallengw2]

Been lowkey gravitating towards making SotO a sort of "sidetrack quest" for Aurelia, and seeing other people discuss stuff of that nature has only fanned the flames. The main reason for her to go along with all of it was the chance of learning about what happened to her in the Mists (she quite strongly doesn't want to know, but you know... she wants to understand whether that thing will remain non-issue for Tyria or not), but that's not what's happening and it is messing her up in new ways.

Lil' "reflection story" under read more because of SotO spoilers from the last chapter.

-

Aurelia quietly approaches the figure near the cliff's edge, trying to shake off the thrill in her fur with each step. Peitha is silent and doesn't look at her, only a twitch in her posture acknowledging her presence. Supportive words die on the charr's fangs as she studies her expression. She doesn't need to guess, she knows what her ally is going through, and she knows better than to force unwanted advice when the wound is so fresh. Maybe it's the nayosian air taking a toll on her body, but honestly, she is not sure she even has the energy to do so anyway.

Half a year before this moment, Aurelia had stuck around and helped the Wizard's Court, thinking she'd be able to learn more about what had happened to her in the Mists.

Unknown entities pulling her into different dimensions was not something new to her, nor was finding out that a secret organization was doing something important for their own hushed reasons, but that day she had felt the distant void deep into her mind tug, and that idea had taken hold of her. Not knowing what caused that horror was the constant background noise of her sleepless nights, the quiet apprehension of whether that thing was safely in her forgotten past or something that Tyria would have to face sooner or later, the creeping fear that she was wasting time not preparing for yet another world-consuming crisis. Maybe that was her chance to find her own peace with it, or a new cause for the Pact. Anything was better than that limbo.

It all felt so promising at first: the Wizards seemed to know things about the Mists that the Priory could only dream of discovering, so it wasn't weird to assume that in the whole Wizard's Tower there could be something or someone that could give her at least a lead. Granted, the matter of Fractal experiments sparked anger and disgust in every single particle of her body, but they may have caught a glimpse of whatever it was in the process, maybe even gathered useful information. It was worth a shot despite all the things she was uncomfortable with, so the sooner that kryptis mess was resolved and she gained their trust, the faster she could put that anxiety to rest... and actually rest. She just had to play along their obsession with secrecy and save Tyria once more, then they'd have to lend her their knowledge for a little while, Zojja had assured her of it.

And then there was Peitha, a literal demon, who had sensed the mark that unknown thing had left on her, and even admitted that she instinctively feared whatever it was. Aurelia was called a fool for trusting the kryptis lady so easily, but that wasn't trust, not yet at that point, just... hope. If Peitha had sensed that quiet desperation as well, she didn't say, but after what happened, Aurelia felt more kinship with her than anyone else up there in the Tyrian skies, enough to decide to help her cause.

And yet, the more time passed, the more things started to unravel.

The white lie Aurelia had told to her family weighed heavily on her, but she kept telling herself that they were better off thinking her away on relaxing alone time every few months, just a call away from having an entire army and more descending from the sky to her aid if anything went awry. Ellara immediately knew she wasn't telling the whole truth, and her words of trust and comfort nearly broke her resolve, nearly made her ignore the call to action.

Meeting Isgarren was... not what Aurelia had hoped for. She had given him the benefit of the doubt at first, thinking him too preoccupied with what was happening after barely surviving Cerus, but things didn't improve -quite the opposite-, and the cracks in her hope deepended with each conversation shared with the seer. His insensitive words always grated her somewhere deep, somehow pinching her nerves more than those of many leaders she had dealt with, and yet, despite what she could best describe as heartless objectivity, he never mentioned anything about what had happened to her, even when she vagued about it. She doubted that was just courtesy, and she started to doubt he could -or would- help her in the search, though part of her was relieved at the idea of not having to stand him for any extended periods of time.

As for Zojja... Aurelia wanted to be supportive of the path her old friend had chosen -one she hoped she truly wanted-, but it hurt nonetheless to see someone desiring the kind of terrifying void she had gone through. But she knew what that sort of emptiness felt like, and she was willing to help, be there when it happened, ready on the other side to meet her and soften the blow. And yet, without a proper goodbye, the Zojja she knew was not there anymore, not where she could reach her.

Something had shifted then, before Aurelia even set foot in Nayos. She tried not to let it take hold, she'd long gotten used to disappointment, dead ends and going down paths laid down by others, but... she's tired, drained, alone. Her heart just does not feel in it, not without those who had always been at her side.

And in this moment, as Aurelia's weary stare moves from the pale face of her ally to the beam of eerie light coming from the fortified citadel suspended in the fog, something shifts again, uncomfortable.

It's certain that the nightmare she once survived is not in the Realm of Dreams, and the hope that her new friends can help her search for it has mostly faded, but she is needed there and that's enough for her. When Peitha will call her again, she won't leave her and the Astral Ward to face the tyrant alone, she has to leave again and save Tyria like always. Fool's errand or not, Commander or Wayfinder, that's what she is good for, and she has faced worse than that, after all. It's a small flicker of determination -at this point she's not even sure it can count as hope or desperation-, but if she can't get the answers from those who are on her side, maybe Eparch could be her best shot at her original goal. With any luck, fighting him will lead to him teasing and taunting her with something, anything. Better than nothing for sure. She sighs, and it dies down again. Her emotions checked out a while ago, even the panic she should be feeling right now is muted, and she knows she has just been going through the motions of what's by now her own nature.

Save the farm.

Then kill the demon that sleeps nearby.

Hope there'll be no more loss to mourn.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

For the prompt game… Worcestershire!

"Woostsher."

"Warkestershyre!"

"Whoosh."

"How--that isn't remotely correct."

"The word makes no sense anyway!"

Wild laughed so hard he snorted milk out of his nose. Malon sighed, patting him on the back as the others continued to argue over how to pronounce Worcestershire sauce. Apparently they'd made a bet, and whoever could get the closest to the correct answer didn't have to do the yearly competency module.

"It's Worcestershire," came a voice from the doorway. Everyone looked over to see Time standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand, eyes half open and unfazed by the chaos.

"That can't be right," Warriors immediately denied.

"He's right," Malon said.

"You're biased!"

Malon raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm wrong?"

Warriors' mouth snapped shut.

Wild snorted again. "She's definitely right."

Time smiled at Warriors. "You can do my training for me, then."

Legend, Wind, and Sky laughed at the army nurse's sour expression.

[zombolouge]

I continue to be on my bullshit writing flashbacks scenes nobody was asking for.

[forlix]

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

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

words・11.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous?” 

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

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

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

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

“Just remember who you are.”

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

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

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

“I want you to meet my parents.”

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

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

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

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

“For my newborn daughter.”

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

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She reminds me of him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No notes.” 

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

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You have any jewelry for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About you? Damn straight.”

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

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

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

 “Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

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

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

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

You’re flustered.

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

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

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

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

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

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

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

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

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

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

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

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

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

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

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

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

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

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

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

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

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

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

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

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

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

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

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

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin does not.

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

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

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

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

“Now you.”

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

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

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

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

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

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

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

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

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

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

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

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

“Thank you,” you said.

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

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

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

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

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

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

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

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

Then, you start walking towards him.

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

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

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

Something’s not right.

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

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

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

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

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

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

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

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

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

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

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

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

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

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

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

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

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

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

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

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

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

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

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

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

“No, that’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mind careens; your heart reels. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—and crumble.

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

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

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

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Son of a bitch—”

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

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

He’ll end up doing both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do you find your inspiration?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who would that be?”

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

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

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

[folklvrsworld]

between the books ♡

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, kissing, swearing/cussing, slightly spying

summary: reader is doing assignments in the library when she feels a pair of eyes watching her, harry decided to distract her and get her mind off of school for a hot minute

song: collide - justin skye, tyga

-------------------------------------------------------

Being a sixth year doesn't mean you can relax. Yes, we do have a lot more free time, but those free times are mostly used for doing homework, which the professors gave a lot, or studying for N.E.W.T. exams that we will have to do in our seventh year.

I was in the library, scribbling down answers for my defence against the dark arts homework, while constantly switching books. The library wasn't empty that day, but it wasn't full either. As I was writing, I felt like someone was watching me. I looked around, but no one was looking at my direction.

I shrugged it off and continued on what I was doing. I finally finished my homework and I closed the books, before putting them back in the right shelves. As I was returning the last book, I felt a presence behind me and before I could turn around, I felt someone kiss my neck.

"Harry..." I giggled quitely while turning around to see the raven haired boy standing in front of me.

"Took you long enough to notice me." he grinned and pecked my lips slowly.

I kissed him back and pulled away with a raised eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"I've been watching you for the past ten minutes, I thought you would notice me, but you were very focused on your homework." he chuckled, kissing me again.

"I knew I felt someone was watching me." I said in between kisses, "Now we really shouldn't make out here, I have homework to do."

He groaned, "Oh come on, it's time for you to have a little break. What d'you say?" he smiled while running his hands up and down my waist.

I gulped and stared at him in the eyes, he wasn't wrong, I do need a little break. I've been doing homework for the past three hours, my fingers were tired from writing, my brain was tired from thinking, I needed a distraction.

"Fine.." I finally said, earning a big grin from him before he pinned me to the bookshelf and kissed my neck, "W-Wait...Here?!"

He pulled away and shrugged, "Why not? If you're comfortable with it, of course."

I reminded myself that we were on the back of the library, the section where no one really comes to, so if we were to do it here, it would be somewhat safe. We just have to be quiet.

"Okay...We have to be quiet though."

He chuckled, "You mean you have to be quiet, princess." he smirked as his hand started to go under my skirt, "Let me take care of you, yeah? I know you're tired, you don't have to do anything."

His words gave me butterflies on my stomach. Sex with him was always either gentle and sweet, rough and kinky, or lusty and passionate. Him being cute and gentle was always my favorite one.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and stroked the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him, as our lips collided and moved in sync, his hand made its way to my underwear. He stroked my clit through the fabric making me gasp and  have goosebumps from head to toe.

"Shh, relax. I'll be gentle." he muttered through the kiss as he felt the wetness on the underwear, he fiddled with the fabric at first, before slowly taking it off of me.

When it was off, he kept it in his pocket and started to trail his thumb over my clit. I shuddered at his touch and he did it over and over again, "Can you tell me what you want, princess?"

I nearly come undone hearing his words, but I managed to look him in the eyes while saying, "Touch me...Please, Harry..."

He smiled and pecked my lips before slowly entering a finger in, while still caressing my clit with his thumb. I held back a moan as I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip.

"Merlin, you're so wet." he groaned quitely as he went in and out with his finger, and not long after, he added a second finger.

I threw my head back to the bookshelf and couldn't help but let out a little gasp, he started moving faster and faster, it was getting really hard to hold back my moans. When he added a third finger, he knew I was about to moan, because he slammed his lips onto mine.

"F-Fuck..." I moaned quitely through the kiss, his fingers moving in and out frantically, I pulled away and gasped for air.

Suddenly, I felt the knot in my stomach forming, my body was starting to shake, I was close. Harry seemed to realize as he stopped for a second to rest his fingers before going in and out in a frantic pace, his thumb stroking my clit.

"Come for me, baby." he said while unbuttoning my shirt and squeezing my boobs gently.

Not wasting another moment, I bit back a moan as I felt my body completely let go. I let out little whimpers of pleasure as my body jerk and shake a little from the force of the orgasm. When I've relaxed, he gently pulled his fingers out and licked them clean.

"Good girl." he smiled at me and kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue, "Do you want more or was that enough for you, my love?"

I panted heavily, still recovering from the orgasm, and looked at him and his bulge. I knew I would have to really fight myself to not moan if we go further, but my body needed him. Badly.

"You deserve some too, Harry. Not just me." I smiled while fumbling with his pants, he raised an eyebrow before smirking lightly.

He understood what I wanted so he quickly took of his pants and underwear, while I completely took off my shirt, leaving me only in my skirt and bra. He picked me up and made me straddle him before taking one of my boobs into his mouth.

I moaned quitely as I tug his hair and let out a sigh of pleasure. He continued sucking on my breast while playing with the other one, before pulling away and looking at me in the eyes, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, Y/N."

My body instantly was filled with euphoria hearing that, my cheeks went red as I smiled at him and kissed him. He kissed me back with tongue as he gave his dick a few strokes before gently and slowly entering me.

"O-Oh, fuck...." I pulled away from the kiss and moaned, with our foreheads still touching.

He breathed heavily and continued to thrust himself deeper. When he's fully in me, he paused for a second to take a deep breath, before slowly moving in and out.

"H-Harry..." I rested my hand on his shoulder and clawed his back, we were only getting started and we were already such a moaning mess.

"Y-You feel so good, Merlin..." he moaned, squeezing my ass as he continued his rapid movement.

We were looking into each other's eyes as he moved in and out of me. Both of us sweating and breathing heavily, euphoria and pleasure feeling both our bodies. It wasn't until we heard someone talking that we knew someone was in the shelf next to ours.

"No, that's not the one I'm looking for. Maybe it's in the next shelf."

I widened my eyes and mouthed to Harry, "We're the next shelf!"

He was about to pull out of me but before he could do anything, another voice was heard, "Wait, here it is. Nevermind, we don't have to go to the other shelf, Celia. I got it."

We both took a deep breath of relief and waited for them to leave, when they did, he looked at me and smirked, "Now, where were we?" he started moving in and out of me again. 

Not so long after, he thrusted deep inside me, hitting my g-spot. I had to bury my face on the crook of his neck to hold myself from screaming out of pleasure. I was in absolute bliss. His thrust became faster and harder by the second.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck baby..." I whimpered into his neck, my body jerking from the force of his thrust.

He stroked my back reassuringly and eagerly kissed my neck to calm me down, "Shh, I know, sweetheart. I know."

He started hitting my g-spot over and over again, my body was jerking and shaking from the amount of pleasure I was getting. Little gasps and moans coming out of my mouth, as I feel the knot on my stomach forming again.

"I-I'm close, Harry..." I gasped and my legs tightened the grip on his waist.

He nodded his head and groaned, while pulling away from my neck after successfully making a hickey there, "Me too. Oh fucking hell, love.."

His movement suddenly became fast and hard, he was trying to reach both of our orgasms. My mouth was hung open in a silent scream, he was gasping for air and watching me slowly come building up to my release.

"Beautiful. So fucking beautiful."

With his words, I come undone. I tried my best to moan quitely, as my body convulsed and my thighs shake. I saw stars and I couldn't feel anything else except for pleasure. I never wanted it to end. I was having uncontrollable spams. It was the hardest orgasm I've ever had.

A second after my release, he had his. He buried his face into my chest as he groaned and released inside me. I felt his hot liquid filling me up, making me shudder and jerk slightly. As we were both coming down from our high, he stroked my stomach gently to calm me down, and I stroked his hair.

When we both have relaxed, we looked at each other and couldn't help but smile. He pulled out of me slowly and set me down on my feet, I trembled but I quickly leaned against the shelf so I don't fall down.

"Did you enjoy it, my love?" he said out of breath, while moving a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded my head vigorously and chuckled, "Every second of it, darling." I smiled, "God, I really needed that. Homework has been stressing me out lately."

He smiled and kissed my forehead, "I noticed, princess." he took out my underwear from his pocket and gave it to me, "We should dress up before anyone sees us."

We quickly tidied ourselves up. We made ourselves look like we did not just fuck the shit out of each other as much as we could. I fixed him a bit and he did the same for me, before we both walk away from the shelf hand in hand.

I quickly gathered my stuff that was still on the table before walking out of the library with him, "That was one of the craziest things I've ever done."

He chuckled and shrugged, "Hey, everyone does crazy things from time to time. But you didn't regret it, did you?" he said as he put a bit of my hair at the front, to hide my hickey.

I smiled up at him and shook my head, "Not one bit, Harry."

[nyctophiliq]

Wanted to know your take on Valo women reacting to fem reader wearing their clothes! Can be nsfw or sfw! Whatever you’re more comfortable with, was hoping for skye, sage, and fade (anyone else if you’d like)! If that’s too many the first too would be appreciated!

✮ ┆ WEARING THEIR CLOTHES. skye, sage, fade, viper, deadlock

based on the request above. CONTENT WARNING.           18+ only, minors dni. SUGGESTIVE/SFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; female-bodied reader, stealing clothes, suggestive touches/dialogues,  | ~1k words A/N.                   i don’t normally write for skye but writing this might have just made me put her up on the list guys, i love her <3 anyways, hope you guys liked it, and thank you for reading! apologize for the long wait...

SKYE.

hiking with skye was always something to look forward to, even if one or both of you kept tripping over the fallen branches of the trees. you were waiting for kirra on top of a hill, sitting the the cool grass while keeping your bags safe, waiting for her to get back from whatever it was she wanted to check out at the end of the trail. you felt a shiver run through you, and remembered that you didn’t pack an extra sweater for yourself, you peeked into kirra’s bag to take the one she probably had. you just about pulled it over your figure when you heard skye’s bulky boots approaching. she gaped, her eyes widened and lips parted softly in surprise. “look at you all cozy.” she grinned eagerly, sitting down next to you and taking a good look at you in her sweater. “got a little chilly sitting and waiting, sorry.” you murmur as you lay your head on her shoulder, looping your arm with hers. kirra just chuckles contently, her free hand coming up to caress your cheek while placing a kiss on top of your head. “you look like eye candy, we must pick some more out for you back at base.”

SAGE.

even the protocol had to have a bouge, fancy, get together sometimes to keep morale up and at least have the sense of a normal life. with some important papers to hand in tonight, you had to be late for the party and in the middle of all of it, you forgot to pick out what to wear. hoping that sage would have some idea what to put on you ran to her room, but there was no sign of her anywhere. looking down at your watch there wasn’t much else for you to do but grab one of her dress shirts and run to the event. sage only notices that you have taken her shirt when some of the other agents point it out. “you’re late, bao bei.” she hums behind her champagne glass, taking a sip out of it and you don’t miss the way her eyes give a quick look over you before she puts the glass down on the counter, her pearly whites visible even in the dim lights. “paperwork kept me busy.” you sigh, watching her glide along the counter, letting little distance between the two of you, and hiding her face in the crook of your neck. “looks like i will be some overtime on you.”

FADE.

you knew that fade wasn’t too keen on sharing; she wouldn’t even let you take a sip from her morning coffee when you were too lazy to brew your own cup. which prompted her to when she went out to get a cup for herself, she also got one more for you. you just stepped out of the shower, stuck with the dirty shirt you brought with you or to take something from hazal’s wardrobe. you were gonna take your chances with her clothes and once you finally found a suitable shirt you got back into bed. a couple of seconds ago fade came back, a strange look on her face. “watcha looking at?” you ask, not realizing that her weird expression is all about the shirt- she moves one of her hands in front of her face, trying to hide her blush behind the mug. “doesn’t matter, not important.” she mumbles before climbing into bed next to you, offering you a mug which you gladly took. you feel her hand rest on your hip, fingers clutching the hem of the shirt before leaning to kiss your cheek. “you should keep it…” she hums, voice raspy, and you can feel the smile that pulls on her lips.

VIPER.

at first, you were scared to take a piece of clothing from sabine’s closet, firstly because you weren’t sure if she’d be okay with it, and secondly because when you first opened her closet the way it was so neat and organized scared you. the moment when she spots you in one of her shirts or cardigans she can hardly fight the smile tugging on the corner of her lips as she walks up to your side. you’re ready for her to complain when you realize, stammering out excuses of why you were wearing what’s hers and you are surprised how she grabs you by the neck of the clothes and pulls you to be face to face with her. “sabine!” you yelp in surprise. “you look… good enough to eat, darling.” she murmurs, in that smooth voice of hers that has your heart to pick up an extra beat, pushing her chest closer to yours. you roll your eyes a little at her words though, your hands climbing onto her shoulder to get a little space but she doesn’t let go so easily. her lips are running along your jaw, down your neck, a single finger pulling on the neck of the shirt you stole from her, and her teeth sink into your skin. “what am i gonna do with you now, hm?”

DEADLOCK.

that one green shirt that she always wore and loved so much, that was what you eyed yourself in the mirror. you couldn’t help but try it on, you were always curious what she liked so much about this shirt, why she had so many of it and you kind of understood- soft fabric, the nice stitching, and how the temperature felt just right around you. so lost in the technicalities of one shirt, you didn’t notice iselin stepping into the frame behind you. stammering something, you attempt to take the shirt off but the blonde stops you. “no, keep it on.” she hums, settling her around you, letting one finger trace under the fabric of the shirt, running along your tummy before she settles them on your hips, pulling you against herself. her lips brush against your ear, a featherlight kiss behind it before she talks again. “picks up your scent that way, i’d like that.”