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#and then the hardest challenge of all actually writing it

not-poignant · 1 year

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Your dialogue is incredible, do you have any advice on how to write like that? Like the actual process you use to arrive at what's on the page. Do you write a ton of dialogue and then cut it down to the gems? Or does it just come out like that when you write? The characterisation in the dialogue is superb, and somehow it never feels overwrought or unnatural. I guess I'm just hoping it's a carefully-honed craft you can give practical tips on, rather than something you can just innately 'do' 😂 xx

Hi anon,

So firstly, I'm so sorry anon because this will probably piss you off: I do find dialogue extremely easy to do, which is why all of my stories are so dialogue heavy. I don't sit there writing a ton of dialogue and then whittling it down, and it just comes out as I write. At most I sometimes just have to double check tone continuity on certain characters (i.e. 'would Augus / Dr Gary / the Raven Prince use this exact phrasing or would they use something else')

When I daydream about my stories, I daydream about the dialogue first. I 'listen' to my characters and the things they say. When I write it down, I don't sit and think 'what would they say' I just write what they'd say. But...I've been doing this for like a long time now, and I do believe there are things that can be done to build the skill.

I feel like throughout my life, I've done things that at least some other people don't do, which makes dialogue easier for me.

But firstly, down to mechanics, here's a link to a post I've made before on things to focus on re: honing dialogue as a skill.

What some folks don't realise is that constructing a vocabulary or tone for a character is like constructing a character. A character's voice says so much about them - how much money they make (or if they're nouveau riche in some cases), where they live, if they were popular or unpopular in school, if they're shy or extroverted or charismatic, if they care about how they come across, if they're a precise or messy thinker, etc. Each character you have, you need to be spending time just thinking about elements of their voice and dialogue if you're not used to doing this already.

The best place to start with this, honestly, is by rewatching some of your favourite shows or rereading some of your favourite books and noting down things about the dialogue that are unique to each character. (Ideally this will be in stories that have very unique dialogue patterns lol). This is actually fantastic for fanfic because you can end up with a cheat sheet (which I've also written about) that will instantly make your character's dialogue sound 'true to form' without having to overthink it.

And the rest I'm putting under a Read More because it's literally just me rambling:

Another place to research is simply by listening to conversations. Listen to the people around you talk, and write down the things that are specific to them. How do they agree or disagree with something? Are there sayings they're using particular or specific to where they live? Do they use a lot of slang? And if so, is it generational? Who are the overspeakers? The underspeakers? the ones who deflect? The ones who shut things down? When you're listening to people talk, think about the words they use, the pitch, if their voice is croaky or smooth, confident or shy, what makes it shy? Is it soft? Do they hesitate? If it's confident, what makes it confident? Is it loud? Do they almost never say 'um' or other words of hesitation?

Think about how these people's voices might differ from place to place. How do they talk to a waiter vs. customer service on the phone vs. a best friend vs. a family member vs. a teacher? Think about the changes you make in those circumstances.

Over time, this knowledge comes to you more instinctively. I've spent my entire life being very interested in the way people talk (I'm neurodivergent, and chameleon-like, and I will adopt other people's patterns of speaking unconsciously in order to 'blend in' - but it gave me a pretty good knack with dialogue! As did 'practising conversations' in my head growing up, lol.)

A really good place to look at character voice sometimes is also in actor interviews. Go and check out like... the Hot Ones interviews or something on YouTube, and you'll see a ton of extremely distinct character voices that are right there to research. How Jack Black talks vs. someone like Tom Hanks vs. someone like Nick Offerman vs. someone like Tom Holland shows huge variation in what makes dialogue unique from person to person.

Your characters don't need to sound like caricatures, ideally they will feel things and embody things strongly enough that this isn't really a problem (even Benoit Blanc sounds like a genuine person despite sounding like a cartoon character because of the emotion / feeling he can get into that voice). Your main goal, imho, is to make sure that all your characters don't end up sounding like carbon copies of yourself. I think this is a problem even people who write natural dialogue can stumble into (that I've been guilty of too), it flows naturally because they're just writing how they'd think/react to something, but it's 6 characters and you realise 'hang on, I'm just reading 6 versions of the author.'

This is where researching the distinctness of character voice is really important, and making a cheat sheet to check when you're going back through a chapter can be invaluable.

There are little things I do fairly naturally these days, to use Underline the Black (or Underline the Rainbow more generally) as an example. Temsen says things like 'Goodness!' instead of 'oh my god.' He can still do the latter, but he's far more likely to be quite sort of formal when he's surprised or shocked by something (and Kent has picked that up, so he does it too, lol, which makes sense - because they work together and people adopt each other's speech patterns when they get along).

Efnisien is very comfortable with swearing, he's got 'juvenile alpha who had to fight with Gwyn all his life' throughout his dialogue. Gary is quite formal and talks in complete sentences almost always. He very rarely hedges or restarts his sentences, and as Efnisien observes: He speaks like someone who's about to go onto a podium and confidently deliver a lecture. He's very self-assured. Efnisien on the other hand hedges a lot, shuts himself down, doesn't finish sentences, and bites back some of his words. Dr Gary doesn't use endearments in general, and can be extremely sarcastic. His humour veers towards deadpan.

Caleb is very forward, bold and confident. He uses endearments like 'baby' and 'sweetheart.' He's flirtatious, and he doesn't talk too much. His voice when he says something tends to fill the space - he has the respect and attention of the people around him. He speaks in complete sentences that are generally quite short (but not short-tempered) and to the point. He comes across as someone who's looking for a good time, but he's not obviously emotionally available when he speaks.

Nate (in Underline the Blue) is people pleasing and generally obsequious (but his inner dialogue indicates there's a snarky voice waiting to get out). He hedges, but ultimately tries to be pleasing. A lot of 'what do you like best? What do you want?' He redirects with questions and tries to avoid talking about his personal life. His voice is quiet in tone, and also quite lacking. He sounds like someone who hasn't had the opportunity to enjoy conversation for its own sake. He shuts conversations down rather than opening them up. He almost never initiates any dialogue at all.

I can do this across all my characters because I have their mental cheat sheets relatively memorised. Whatever book or story you're focusing on, it's a good habit to be able to just mentally know a paragraph or two about your character's voice. Checking in with that mental knowledge (or cheat sheet until you learn it) before starting writing any chapter can help guide you.

The way a character talks determines how the story flows. Nate doesn't start conversations, so he needs to be paired with someone who does. This means if Nate starts a conversation - he's going to be more anxious than usual most times, which creates many opportunities for angsty scenes.

Efnisien is hostile and combative, especially when he's afraid or upset, which creates a lot of opportunities - simply through the way he talks - for increased chemistry with a more calm but still incisive opponent like Gary. Once you start to get a handle on dialogue, how your characters speak alone will create flow through the plot, and also create ways to get through a plot or reach certain points. I know for example that Efnisien's verbal response to the directives softens Gary towards him. Or I know that Gary's softer coaxing voice when he's soothing Efnisien will genuinely soothe Efnisien - even against his will. That's a powerful thing to know about my character's voices!

You're gonna pick this up in no time, anon. You might even have really good dialogue instincts and just be over-thinking it. But I do think in general, sit down with whoever you like to listen to - your fave YouTubers, people on TikTok, your favourite shows etc. and then just...listen to the dialogue. Be wary of subtitles in this case, because they can sometimes erase or hide the actual unique details of a person's voice to make it more 'generic.' Some are better than others.

And then just write down the things that feel unique to those people. Especially notice turns of phrase that you don't use yourself. (Which also means thinking about the kind of cheat sheet you'd write for yourself! Tbh that's probably a good place to start lmao).

Definitely click on the links I've put in this post, the first one in particular breaks down all the details of dialogue more specifically. And doesn't take like 4000 words to not actually make much of a point, like in this post sdlkfjas

If I'd posted it as dialogue we wouldn't have been here for so long but anyway tl;dr I find dialogue stupid easy but that's because I've been observing dialogue and what makes it unique all my life and there's no real short-cut for that but if you start doing it now you'll find writing dialogue way easier really soon.

#asks and answers #pia on characterisation #pia on writing #the thing about character dialogue is frankly that i am pretty lazy about it sometimes sdalkfjsa #like i definitely have dialogue archetypes #alex sounds a bit like efnisien sounds a bit like mosk #for example #one of the hardest characters i needed to constantly check on tbh - that *didn't* come easily #was the Gancanagh #the Raven Prince can also be really tough because i know he's a smart wordy know-it-all poet #he *cares* about how he sounds #there's definitely challengers in there #also writing the vench and making sure i remember that they're fluent #but that they're not *quite* there yet dsalkfjas #so some things have to be lost in translation lmao #i thought i'd posted this but instead i got distracted for an hour #is this the most adhd thing i'll post today actually yes probably

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forlix · 7 months

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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

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lustfulslxt · 4 months

Note

hi hi! "local" anon here, and i just had a rlly good idea that ik you will deliver perfectly.

matt "accidently" sends reader a d pick and she's all flustered but just doesn't say anything, until like the next day when they all like go out to dinner and everyone's in their own conversation. she just brings it up like, "so what was that pic you sent last night?" and he knows EXACTLY what she's talking about, but is all like "huh? what?"

but then, later that night, she ends up sending a risky pic of her own and then he just texts her saying to like 'come over immediately' or he's coming over to her house and then yk what!!

again, i love your writing and i know you will NOT disappoint with this!! Love you ! 😘

Take The Risk - Matt Sturniolo

warnings : spicy pics and smuttt

a/n : finally!! am i right?? pls look the other way if this is shit, like actually fr.. lmaoooo

—

“This is actually impossible. I’m gonna die of old age before I finish this thing.” I groan to myself, letting my head fall forward onto the table.

It’s been weeks of me staring at all of these pieces, all the exact same, aside from the shape. I’m determined to complete it. I lift my head up, an irregular piece slowly falling from my forehead.

“Who came up with this shit? Why are they so against me?” I ask no one in particular, seeing as I’m completely alone.

I’m convinced whoever created this was just trying to spite me. I can never back of out a challenge, they had to have known that. It’s been hours since I first sat down to work on it today, I am bored out of my mind, but I still can’t put the pieces down. Just as I’m about to toss my head back and cry from frustration, I realize I only have five pieces left. I jump forward, laying them all out in front of me, studying their pattern and the way they could all fit together. It takes maybe another ten minutes before I finally get it.

The last asymmetrical piece, snaps into place, completing the array of silver configuration. Twenty two days, six hundred fifty four pieces later. There she sits, in all her glory. Silver (Krypt), the hardest jigsaw puzzle to solve. This puzzle has no pictures, instead, it simply consists of hundreds of silver pieces, with a circular center and surrounding pieces making the finished jigsaw a plain rectangle. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this thing.

“Never back down, never what?!” I exclaim, jumping up from my seated position, only now realizing how bad my posture is from the ache in my back. I reach my hand around, holding my back as I groan, “Fuck.”

Straightening up, I grab my phone and immediately snap a picture of the completed puzzle. I just have to show Matt, he’s going to be thrilled. I send the photo to him on snapchat, then head to my kitchen. I grab a bottle of water and a bag of chips to snack on, then go upstairs to relax in my bedroom. Once I put my show on the TV, I notice a notification from Matt.

Matty B

NO WAY YOU FINISHED IT

I DID

Matty B

only took you a month lmao

BYE

it was hard asf 👹

Matty B

me too

UM EXCUSE ME

Matty B

whattt

myb

🌚 you can’t just say that then b like ‘mY bAd’

Matty B

i didn’t mean it

Matty B

congrats on finishing the puzzle tho

now i don’t have to listen to you complaining about the creator being against you

blocked.

Matty B

LMFAO

bro. i was joke

awesome to hear bro

I roll away from my phone, grabbing my chips to eat while I watch TV. An hour goes by, before I make my way to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth, then strip into my pajamas to finally go to sleep. Walking back into my room, I grab my phone to check one last time. As I plug my charger into it, I notice a snapchat from Matt. Upon opening it, my jaw drops.

There, on my screen, is a picture of a dick. Matt’s dick; fully erect, veins dancing alongside it, the tip pink with dribbles of precum. His hand sits at the base, unintentionally giving me a visual comparison of the size, and boy, it’s something. I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight, before snapping out of it and realizing my best friend just sent me a picture of his cock.

I’m at a loss for words. I can’t even think properly, far from being able to articulate a response. So, I just lock my phone and lay down. Yet, every time I close my eyes, I see his dick staring back at me, begging to be touched. I can feel the arousal building in me, my walls now clenching around nothing. Tossing and turning, attempting to ignore the growing desire, I deeply sigh. It’s going to be a long night.

I look at my phone screen, observing myself in my front camera. I’m currently about to walk into the restaurant where I’m having dinner with Matt, Nick, Chris, Nate, and Madi. I haven’t addressed the picture Matt sent me yesterday, and he hasn’t brought it up either, but it’s still lingering in my mind.

Putting my phone away, I lock my car and strut towards the entrance of the restaurant. Upon entering, a hostess greets me and directs to the table where my friends reside.

“Y/N!” Nate cheers, causing the rest of them to look over at me, smiles appearing on all of their faces.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m a little late.” I apologize, scooting in next to Matt.

“You’re all good, I ordered your drink already.” Matt informs me, “They should be coming around shortly.”

I smile, “Thanks, Matty.”

Within five minutes, we all receive our drinks and order our food. While waiting on our meals, we resume light conversation. However, I cannot stop thinking about the picture Matt sent me. Every time I look at him, I feel my heart beat faster and my breath gets caught in my throat. Are we just going to forget about it? Is that what he expects? I can’t just forget.

As the other four indulge in their own conversations, I notice Matt is silent, so I use this as my chance to confront him about it.

“Matt?” I call out, loud enough for him to hear me, yet quiet enough so the others don’t.

His directs his attention to me, softly humming in response as his eyebrows raise, expectantly.

“Um, about yesterday..” I trail off, attempting to read his body language.

I see him slightly tense up, clearing his throat as he looks at me, feigning confusion, “What?”

I give him a pointed look, “That picture you sent last night.”

He looks around as if trying to rack his brain, his eyebrows furrowing as he shrugs, “What are you talking about?”

I sigh, coming to a realization that I’m going to get nowhere with this. He knows what I’m talking about. I know he knows, I can see it all over him. Two can play at that game.

I clearly my throat and shake my head, “Actually nothing, forget about it.”

For the rest of the evening, we don’t speak on that topic again. We all just enjoy our food and the company of each other.

After dinner, I arrive home and immediately head to the bathroom for a shower. The entire night, my mind has been stuck on Matthew, wishing we talked about it, longing for more. We’ve never been anything other than friends, but he lit something in me, a fire that I can’t seem to put out. Should I call him over it? Should I do what he did to me?

After getting dressed in nothing but a black lingerie set, I sit in front of my bedroom mirror. I do look good, but should I really do this? Just take a picture and send it? I give myself another once over, before deciding to turn around and lean forward, snapping a quick photo.

I don’t know how much time has passed as I sit there, staring at my screen. My fingers hover over the picture, unsure of what to say, or if I should say anything at all. Taking a deep breath, I full send, then quickly put my phone down, suddenly ridden with more anxiety as I anticipate his response.

Hopefully I’m not reading more into this situation than what it is. Surely Matt is just playing hard to get. If he didn’t mean to send the picture, he would’ve just said that, right? I try to convince myself that he’s just being a tease, but the more I think about it, the more the pit in my stomach grows. After what feels like forever, I reach for my phone and my immediately face falls.

Opened 12 minutes ago.

Before I can even think a single thought, knocks on my front door sound throughout the silent atmosphere. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I grab my black silk robe and slip it on while walking towards the door. Peeking through the peephole, I see Matt standing there, looking antsy. I freeze, my hand stuck on the doorknob, unable to complete the motion of turning it. I toss my head back, taking a deep breath, before pulling the door open. His eyes light up once he sees me, his gaze flickering over my figure before he makes his way inside.

Within seconds, his lips are on mine, needy and desperate. Taking a few seconds to get over the initial shock, my lips move against his, my hands looping around his neck as his hands pull me in closer by my waist. Without removing his lips from mine, he kicks the door shut and walks me backwards, towards my couch.

As soon as my legs hit the side, he pulls back and asks, “Is this okay?”

I eagerly nod, “More than okay.”

A small grin pulls to his lips before they’re back on mine, kissing me with so much hunger. His hands grope at every one of my curves, squeezing and kneading my skin. His hands suddenly grab my robe, pulling it down my arms and letting it fall behind me, before he pulls away and takes in my appearance once again. He licks his lips and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, and I can see the bulge stiffening in his pants.

“Fuck, you’re so fine.” He groans, pulling me back into him.

His hands forcefully grab my face and he slams his lips onto mine once again, pulling our bodies flush together. My hands tread through his hair, tugging as he turns my head to the side and moves his mouth to work down my jaw to my neck. His breath is hot against my skin, his tongue licking and his teeth biting. I can feel my arousal pool in between my legs, and I have to squeeze them together to relieve the tension. His hands travel down to my ass, tightly squeezing and massaging it, only making me more wet as I let out a soft moan.

He pulls away and rests his forehead on mine, “What do you want, baby?”

I lick my lips, letting out a breath, “You. I want you, Matt.”

Instantly, he pulls his shirt off and comes back to me, pressing his lips on mine again. I reach behind my back, unhooking my bra and letting it fall down my arms and onto the floor. His hands immediately make their way to my boobs, and I’m melting in his palms. He grips them tenderly yet firm, pulling more moans from me. He leans forward and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking on it as he pinches the opposite one.

The desire in me grows stronger with every touch he graces me with. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m weak in the knees because of it. Kissing me with so much passion and lust, his fingers slip into the waistband of my bottoms, pulling them down with ease, only breaking the kiss to fully remove them. My hands tug at his pants, wanting him to take those off as well, which he does, along with his boxers. We’re left standing, completely naked, and hungry for one another.

He places a couple of soft kisses against my lips, before quickly spinning me around and bending me over the side of the couch. His hands travel down my back, applying just the right amount of pressure, causing me to clench in anticipation. His fingers dig into the skin of my ass, jiggling it, and gripping it with enough strength to surely leave bruises. One of his hands breaks away from me, only to come right back with extreme speed and force. I yelp, jerking forward at the feeling of his hand colliding with my bare skin, a moan soon following as he rubs the place he smacked.

“Just wanna make you feel good, baby.” He whispers against my ear, his fingers trailing between my legs, running over my core.

I let out a whimper, pushing back against his hand for more, but his other hand places a firm hold on my back, keeping me in place. His fingers run through my folds, becoming slick with my wetness, causing him to let out a groan. His fingertips rub my clit in slow and soft circles, adding more pressure and speed with every second, leaving me quivering with moans.

“Mm, such a good girl.” He praises, sinking two fingers into my entrance, ripping a loud moan from my mouth.

“Just wanna be a good girl for you.” I find myself saying in between the whimpers of pleasure.

His pace increases, his fingers pumping in and out of me while his other hand runs up and down my back. I could feel the orgasm building so quickly, begging for release. His hand moves from my back, and starts tracing circles onto my clit once more, his fingers inside me going even faster. My legs start shaking and I’m now putting all my weight onto the couch, way too weak to stand on my own.

“So wet.” Matt mumbles in delight at the sound of his fingers in my juices, “Bet you taste so good.”

“F-fuck, feels so good.” I moan, shuddering as he increases his speed even more. “Gon-gonna cum.”

“Let go, baby.”

His fast movements and the sound of his raspy voice fuel my orgasm, my climax falling upon me quickly. I clench around his fingers, letting myself go and cum all over his hands. He continues finger fucking me, letting me ride out my high. He removes his hands from me and I look back in time to see him sucking all of my juices off of his fingers. The sight alone had me clenching again, eager for more.

“I knew it.” He moans against his fingers, “Taste like I could eat you forever.”

I stand back up on shaky legs, turning to face him and pulling him into a deep kiss, our tongues intertwining and exploring each other’s mouth. His hand comes up to my throat, gently squeezing it, pulling me closer, before pulling us apart altogether.

“We’re not done yet, my sweet girl.” He smirks against my lips, turning me back around and laying me over the couch once again.

He wraps his hand around his dick, stroking it a few times, then runs it through my folds, causing me to shake from the sensitivity. Without a word, he places one hand on my lower back and slowly slides himself in my entrance.

A high pitched moan falls from my lips as he groans, tossing his head back, “Fuck. Been wanting this forever, baby. Feel better than I’ve ever imagined.”

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, sliding backwards to take all of him in me. He moans loudly, tightly gripping my hips. He holds me in place as he starts thrusting, digging deeper into me with every pump. His strokes get faster and harder, our skin slapping together as I become a moaning mess. My whole body shakes with every movement of his, my face buried into the sofa, muffling my sounds as he fucks me. My legs tremble as he hits exactly where I need him, and I instantly begin clenching around him.

His hand wraps around my hair in a makeshift ponytail and tugs my head back, “I wanna hear your pretty moans, baby. You like the way I fuck you?”

“Mmm, yes. I love it-” I sound out, breathless from the pleasure. “You fuck me s-so good.”

His thrusts quicken and his grip on my hip tightens. The knot in my stomach continues growing, proving my statement to be true. I’ve never been fucked like this, and I can’t help but think about how I’m so glad I sent him that picture.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good wrapped around my cock, taking me so well. My good girl.” He moans, his hips sputtering.

The pressure in my stomach becomes too much and it’s hard holding it in, my hands gripping the cushions beneath me. He leans forward, his hands intertwining with mine as his lips trail open mouth kisses up and down my back. I can’t help the moans that keep pouring from my mouth, feeling nothing but pure bliss.

“I can feel you clenching around me.” He whispers in my ear, “Cum on my cock, so I can fill you up, pretty girl.”

With that, I let go. My entire body shakes as pornographic moans fall from my lips, my pussy clenching around him so tightly. His strokes become erratic and his moans and groans are louder than before. He quickens his pace as he chases his high, instantly filling me up with a loud raspy moan emitting from his mouth. He continues thrusting into me, pushing his cum deeper. He leans back, standing up straight as we both catch our breaths. His hands find my back once again, softly massaging it. He pulls out, my legs twitching from the stimulation. His hands move down to my ass, gently squeezing it, before he helps me up.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, turning me to face him, keeping his hands around my waist for support.

“Like we should’ve done that a long time ago.” I grin, still breathless.

“We can always make up for lost time.” He grins, placing his forehead on mine.

I nod as we both laugh before he places a few kisses on my cheeks and lips. His hand grabs mine and he pulls me even more into him, capturing my lips in a deep but loving kiss.

“Let’s take a shower, so I can clean you up.” He suggests.

My face heats up and I nod once more, following him upstairs as he never lets my hand go.

Our friendship just changed entirely and I can’t wait for what’s in store for us, because I know it’s going to be euphoric.

—

a/n : tadaaa!!! ugh i hope this wasn’t shit, it’s been forever :((( lmk what you think! requests are closed bc i have wayyy too many that i need to catch up on, but i’m hoping i can get back into it! love uu <333

#lustfulslxt #joss speaks #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #matt sturniolo #imagine #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

478 notes · View notes

teyamsatan · 1 year

Note

This one is a bit smutty...Just a little lol. But !

Okay ! Imagine Neteyam being passed the title as the new olo'eyktan (Just to say that I have no idea when it is done. Like at a certain age or if mate is preg ? I don't know :P)

Him being very very stressed and all. So... they haven't been doing it for a moment (He's not really it the mood). And like one time, in the middle of the night he wakes up with a huge and hard one (He tries to ignore it but of course it doesn't work). He's like really needy and desperate to relief himself but for some reason he refuses to do it alone. Shortly after his mate wakes up because she feels him moving on the mat and hears muffled breathings (panting). And the rest is up to you !

It's kinda kinky haha :× Some slight subby Nete and maybe soft dom in the end :3

Anyways have sweet dreams tonight 💕🌌😴🌙And love your writing ! Muah*

this kinda got away from me hahahah

thank you bby, i really loved this actually! hope you enjoy x

wc: 1.8k words

warnings: smut (p in v, oral - m receiving, squirting, switch!Neteyam, overstimulation, choking) 18+ minors DNI

After some 20 years of incredible rule, it was finally time for Jake to step down as Olo'eyktan. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of going on, it was that it was more and more obvious by the day that Neteyam was ready. He was ready to step in his father's shoes, he was ready to fulfil the destiny that he was born into, that he had worked for tirelessly, every day of his 20 year long life. His father had no doubt in his mind that he would be the best clan leader the Omatikaya had ever seen, a sentiment shared among most of the villagers.

You were incredibly proud of your mate. He was the youngest Olo'eyktan the Omatikaya ever had, and he was more than raising to the challenge. It was an honour to be his mate, it was a privilege watching him be the person you always knew he was, the leader everyone had reason to look up to, the man of your dreams.

Unfortunately, the praise, the title and the status also came with so much burden, so much stress and responsibility, it was hard for either of you to keep up, hard for him to navigate, to find a balance. So recently, Neteyam has been distant and withdrawn, burying himself in work and strategies, being the first one to rise and the last one to sleep. He wanted to be a good leader, and he believed that a good leader should be an example for his people, should be the one that works the hardest, should be the one that continuously strives to be better and do better for his clan.

You barely saw him anymore, much less spent time with him, felt him, touched him, had him. You refused to intervene, though. Neteyam was a well of depth sometimes even you weren't capable enough to swim in, and you knew that when he was ready to talk to you, to let you in, he would. He always did, eventually. He just needed time.

Neteyam was exhausted. Turns out he owed his dad a million apologies for all the times he thought him cold, or unwieldy, or detached from reality or his family. Turns out he was just worried, and stressed and feeling the overbearing weight of so many lives depending on him to lead, to choose, to make the best decisions, and that was no easy task. Neteyam missed you. He felt guilt and sadness enwrap him tightly at the thought. He's always had time for you. You were his priority always, and yet he knew he didn't make good on that recently.

You have always been so in love with each other, so obsessed with each other, so into each other that the rest of the world felt middling and insignificant by comparison. Neteyam could pinpoint the stars in the sky in your eyes, the thrill of tumultuous waters in the colour of your skin, the bioluminescent beauty of Pandora in your eyes, the transcending comfort of the earth in the colour and feel of your hair. You were his world. You encapsulated everything he loved about it, about life, and he loved you, he needed you, he craved you more than he'd ever be able to describe.

The thought of you as he drifted off to sleep led him to dream about you, his mind transposing him to a reality he desired desperately, but which time didn't allow at the moment. He felt you, your taut, lean body writhing underneath him as his hands trailed it hungrily, as his lips claimed your mouth, as he took orgasm after orgasm, the lewd sounds escaping you music to his ears. The dream dissipated slowly, much to his disappointment, leaving him a panting mess, his cock twitching, hurting against his now too-tight loincloth.

"Fuck."

You were fast asleep in Neteyam's arms, your soft, steady breaths the only thing that could be heard in your shared tent. Your ass was pressed snugly against Neteyam's groin, furthering his pain and incessant need to just take you and fuck you until you both passed out in exhaustion, blissfully spent.

The sound of quiet moans woke you up from your dream-filled slumber, wet dreams haunting your mind recently, the only way you got to experience the release you needed desperately. Your eyes widened slightly when you realised the dream spilled onto your reality, and the sounds came from your mate, who seemed like he was in pain. You turned around hurriedly, only to find him sprawled on his back, long slender fingers wrapped around his thick length. The heat you felt within your womb spread like wildfire all within you, awakening your senses and focusing them on him, on his beautiful face contorted in pain, on his pheromones that inundated your nostrils, on the way the pronounced veins running down his arm were more accentuated with the grip he had on his cock, and God, what an incredible sight that was. Your mouth filled with saliva taking it all in, at the memories of all the times his dick made you see stars, at the thought of how he would again tonight, after so long of being without it. He was a god among men, and you had him. You owned him. Maybe it was time he was reminded of it.

"Neteyam... if you needed help, all you had to do was ask."

His moans increased in volume as you wrapped your fingers around him and started pumping him with slow, languid motions. He was rock hard under your touch, white liquid pooling at the tip, and you couldn't help but accept the silent invitation, bringing your lips to it and kissing him softly, throbbing deep inside of you at the way he was coming apart at the seams around you.

"Baby, please..."

"Patience, my love."

You took as much of his impressive length in your mouth as you could, feeling him deep in your throat, eyes watering as the pressure made you gag slightly. You started a slow, purposeful bob of your head, taking your time, feeling every vein, every ridge, every striation of his cock, learning him by heart, imprinting him in your mind. You loved this man, and as much as you loved when he rutted into you like an animal in heat, there was nothing that compared to the thrill of the power that came with seeing him putty in your hands, in your mouth, in you. As the ache you felt continued to rear its ugly head, you let go of him with a small pop and straddled his thighs, aligning yourself easily and rubbing his tip in between your soaked folds, moaning at the contact, craving the way he filled you up in the way only he ever could.

Your synced gasps made your cunt clench around him as you lowered yourself slowly, until you bottomed out, until you could feel him deep in you, so deep that a small bump was formed in your abdomen, that you revelled at, that you wanted him to. You took his hand in yours and placed his palm on the spot, moaning at you started grinding on him leisurely.

"Feel that, my love? Feel how deep in me you are, how good you fill me up? I feel your cock in my guts, baby."

You felt the growl he released deep in your soul, its intensity leaving you breathless, and you allowed the feeling to overtake you, as the atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, and so did his demeanour. Your words snapped something in him, because his eyes darkened so much, you could barely see any discernable yellow in them anymore, and you barely registered the way he grabbed you roughly and flipped you until you were on your back, his cock still buried inside you. You gasped loudly at the way your body made contact with the ground and at his look, feral and untamed, and it would have scared you if it wasn't so fucking hot, so primal and raw, so erotic and so, so necessary. His hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed until there was no air in your lungs anymore, until your head went dizzy, until your insides churned in need.

"You make me fucking crazy. How did I go so long without your tight little cunt wrapped around my cock, huh?"

Without warning, he starts a ruthless pace, knocking you back with every animalistic thrust, keeping you in place roughly by your throat, until your cervix was battered and bruised, until you came around him once, twice, three times. You were crying from overstimulation, from the high of the intermittent asphyxiation, from how his brutal actions were antithetic to his gentle caress of your cheek or the occasional peck on the forehead in between orgasms.

"Neteyam, I can't anymore -"

"Yes, you can, my love. One more. Just one more and then you can sleep. You're doing so well for me, baby."

He brought a hand to your thighs, bringing them over his shoulders and the new angle was allowing him to drag his cock on your G-spot repeatedly, making your vision blurry and your core throb yet again, the familiar feeling pooling in you once more, more acute than any of the previous. His thumb was circling your clit, and the pressure was too much, it was so good, it was heaven and hell, it was everything and not enough.

"There you go, baby, I can feel you squeezing my cock again. You gonna milk me? You gonna be a good girl and take my cum, let me fill this pretty pussy up? Gonna smell like me for a whole week, huh?"

"Y-yes, fuck yeah!"

"You like having my cum drip down your thighs for all the village to see, huh? Like everybody knowing you're getting fucked by the Olo'eyktan?"

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head at his words and you squirted all over your mate as the most intense orgasm you've ever had in your life washed over you, leaving you convulsing around him until your body was limp and your mind blank. He came with a moan, ropes of thick cum painting your pink walls and spilling down your ass and onto the fabric of your mat. He didn't pull out, not for a long time, collapsing on top of you instead, kissing your face and down your neck softly, like a whisper or warm hug. You loved how he was the best of both worlds, how he cherished you, how he always made sure you were ok, how he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, about how amazing you were, about how well you did for him, how you were his world and his brightest star, the love of his life, the best thing that has ever happened to him.

You were both spent and on the brink of sleep when you spoke serenely.

"So... did you only want to become Olo'eyktan so you can use that line on me or...?"

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pinkaditty · 5 months

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Perv!Asmodeus Thoughts (Obey Me: SWD)

hihiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii this was totally 100% self indulgent it's just me thinking about Asmodeus if he was just a little more unhinged

summary: you're so innocent. he's quite the opposite.

a/n: can't really 100% say that this was inspired by anything ive just been thinking about Asmodeus and wanted to give him a little appreciation. admittedly perverted characters just... do it for me. my guilty pleasure lol <3 anyways anyways!!! answering more asks by the weekend or tmrw it depends on how much free time I have!!!! and am almost done with pervert pt 3!!!!! woo!!

cw: perverted behavior, creepy behavior, no penetration/sex but sexual acts mentioned, masturbation, non-con (no r*pe or anything just really weird scenarios in which one party is oblivious), cum eating, and other weird things that i don't really know how to tag, not proofread.

MINORS DNI AS PER USUAL!!!! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY!

You're so innocent. And god, it drives him crazy. Your eyes make the most perfect alluring expressions, your lips curve into the most perfect smiles, and your body shaped so wonderfully… he can't help it if he feels a little wanting.

At first, he attempts to stifle it… keep it under wraps as much as he can. Sure, his eyes wander, but as soon as he starts imagining what you may look like under those clothes, he quickly tears his eyes away and censors his thoughts as much as he possibly can. Unusual for the Avatar of Lust, but he knows once he starts, he will not stop.

Saliva collects in his mouth so much he has to gulp it down as he watches you eat, teeth tearing and tongue licking and lips slurping. It makes him wonder, would you treat his flesh the same? Biting, licking, and slurping, leaving marks in your wake, swallowing down whatever juices spring forth from him before he is wrung dry? He often finds himself palming himself at the dinner table, completely enamored by your idle consumption of food, leaving his plate to grow cold from neglect. Even watching you walk is pure torture. He watches as the fabric hugs and rubs against your thighs, your ass, your torso, and your waist especially… He imagines how easy it would be to tear it apart, to simply lose control and throw the useless fabrics to the side, caring much more about the skin underneath. Sitting behind you in class proves to be a challenge, much more so when you're wearing that perfume he recommended. He bites his thumbnail until it bleeds, gripping his uniform pants, trying his hardest to resist the alluring scent of your perfume. The perfume is fine on its own, but mixed with your natural scent, it tears him apart.

As far as you are concerned, Asmodeus is a close friend, one you can come to in any scenario. He's proven himself worthy of your trust in your eyes, so you find it fit to spend time with him. Little do you know that while you suspect Mammon is going through your trash to sell things, it's actually Asmodeus, stealing this morning’s finished coffee to lick off the remnants of your saliva on the rim of the cup. While you suspect Belphegor of stealing your pillows, it's actually Asmodeus, humping into them at night, creaming to the thought of you sleeping on the same pillows he's used for personal pleasures. While you suspect Satan of nicking away your magazines, it's actually Asmodeus, taking note of which pages you licked your fingers to turn, carefully licking those edges. While you suspect Beelzebub of stealing some of your open snacks, it's actually Asmodeus, jerking off pointed directly at them, leaving his essence there for you to enjoy but be oblivious to. While you suspect Lucifer of taking your pens on occasion, it's actually Asmodeus, writing on his body how much he craves you, and then using that pen to pleasure himself, leaving his scent all over it. While you suspect Leviathan of stealing your underwear, it's actually Asmodeus, burying his face in them at night, wearing them, jerking off inside of them, all until he sees fit to return them to the wash. He just can't stop. He especially loves it when you visit his room with your guard down, having no idea how much of him you've consumed, touched, and felt just from doing your daily activities.

He's on cloud nine with how deeply you trust him, enough to feed you various snacks during your weekly spa session. He watches as you lick the icing off a pastry, oblivious to how most of it is his cum, simply enjoying the sweet-salty contrast. He is impressed with how much you'll let his hands wander as he gets a general feel of your body while you're in a robe. He's choosing the cutest outfit he can think of, but first, he needs to get a feel for your body to know what looks good on you, which is a total lie. He's letting his fingers drift awful close to your chest, dragging his fingers as they gently graze over your waistband, and pausing for an unusually long time when his fingers reach your ass. He's hard as a rock, but who can tell?

When you leave, having used his body products - to the point where you smell like him - and having consumed various amounts of his bodily fluids, he dreams of you laying on a pillow that he used to masturbate, eating snacks that he's creamed all over, using pens to doodle that are covered in his essence, reading magazines that he's licked every corner of, and having no idea about it at all.

You're just so innocent. And god, it drives him crazy.

a/n: this is short but regardless I enjoyed writing it. if I have any more insane thoughts about perverted characters ill post more.

reminder that i love likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! tell me how much you liked it or ask for more! I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3

#obey me #minors dni #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #obey me swd #obey me mc #omswd #obey me solmare #obey me nightbringer #obey me!#obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmo x reader #obey me asmodeus #om! asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus obey me #asmodeus x mc #asmodeus x y/n #asmodeus x you

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dead-girl-tells-stories · 4 months

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I have another idea for a story, but I once again don't know what to write, so I'm building a skeleton.

It's a DC x DP x ML crossover. Damien, Marinette, and Danny are triplets born into the LoA. From birth, they were taught to not see each other as siblings but as rivals for Ra's attention. When they were five, they were dipped (more like dropped) into the pits for the first time. Danny never comes back out. The second time was when they were six. Damien and Marinette came back from a mission gravely injured. Marinette doesn't come back out. Damien becomes the sole heir.

As one can imagine, Danny and Marinette aren't dead but simply taken to where they were needed at the time. That being said, things for these two characters go mostly according to their respective shows after they integrate into society. With the exception that the two of them are more competent and don't fight like rabid raccoons. But things take a dark turn when they turn sixteen.

Marinette

. After finding out that his father is Hawkmoth, Adrien is unable to carry the weight of being the holder of the cat Miraculous, as he doesn't want to fight his father and gives it to Ladybug. He promptly moves to the States to further his modeling career. Marinette, unable to find someone else worthy to be the holder of the cat Miraculous, stores it away and becomes the sole hero of Paris (with occasional helpers). But because of this, her two lives get more intertwined, and she is forced into a corner where she has to choose between being Ladybuy or Marinette.

. But she doesn't get a chance as Hawkmoth is dethroned and replaced by an even greater threat. She is forced to take on the persona of LadyNoir. Her life crumbles as she tries her hardest to balance her life as a hero and a person. She tries to save everyone but someone always ends up getting hurt. Whether it be her as Marinette, clinging to what little of her life is left. Or her as LadyNoir, with no choice but to watch innocent civilians die because she couldn't think of a better plan that could've saved everyone.

. It gets to the point where she makes an unforgivable wish. But every wish has a cost. She only finds out the price when she is forced to stand behind an invisible wall and watch as her life replays before her eyes, the film slowly burning away till there's nothing left. She cries as she falls into an ocean of familiar Lazarus green.

Danny

. Danny's life is also crumbling around him as he struggles to separate his human life from his ghost half. But after becoming the Ghost King, things only became more complicated and even more dangerous as more ghosts started coming through the portal to challenge him for the crown. And while he would really love to give it away, the guys that kept fighting him for it are very clearly evil. So he has to keep fighting, winning, and solidifying his position as the King of the Infinite Realms. But with every win comes a newfound power. Power he doesn't want. Power that scares him.

. It gets to the point when Danny has to drop out of school. He wasn't even scoring double digits anymore so what was the sense of keeping him? But Danny couldn't stay home either, it was too dangerous as his ghost and human halves were slowly becoming one. And his parents' obsession was slowly becoming a threat to him. He thought he had the solution. He was going to shut down the portal and leave Amity Park.

. It was perfect really, as no ghost portal meant no ghost. And he couldn't be vivisected if neither the GIW nor his parents could catch him. He talked the plan over with team phantom and they reluctantly agreed. The ghost portal is destroyed, and Danny leaves Amity and files over Elmerton and a few other towns. But after flying for a while, Danny gets to a sort of border where nothing meets... NOTHING. On the other side was just an infinite void. Nothing.

. Danny slowly realizes that in this world, all he knew was Amity Park. He never actually traveled or went on field trips. Never went to visit extended family nor did any visit. No one 'new' ever came to Amity Park because they were all just nearby. He learned no relevant history besides Amity Park because there was nothing outside of Amity Park. When the realization had finally set in the world began to crumble into the void and it became a race against him and the void.

. Danny knew that he was fast but the void was faster, and before he knew it he was back in Amity. He was going to warn them and try to save as many people as he could. But saw something in their eyes. They already knew. Danny watched how teary eyes and big smiles, everyone and everything he loved crumbled into the void, fading into nothingness.

Scientists across the galaxy, the universe even, often theorize about how everything came to be. Well, it didn't start with a bang, that's for sure. 'Well then how did it start?' you might ask.

Well..., it started with some tears and a scream.

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malusokay · 2 years

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How to get better

The first step to living the life of your dreams is being in-tune with yourself. Getting on track can be challenging and confusing, so I made a list of suggestions that might help you start your journey! <3

Body :

Drink a large glass of water first thing in the morning. Gotta stay hydrated!

Take vitamins. I personally like taking my vitamins on an empty stomach. If you can, go get a blood test to see what your body actually needs.

Don't skip meals! Food is fuel. You also DONT have to earn food through exercise.

Try going on morning walks. Feeling the fresh morning air always makes me feel better.

Cut down on caffeine. We all know that too much caffeine is bad.

Start including more vegetables and fruits in your meals. If you guys want a 'what I eat in a day/week', let me know! :)

Stretch regularly. I try to stretch for 10 to 30 minutes a day; it helps me with my migraines and overall makes me feel better.

Get some sunlight. You don't have to spend hours tanning if that's not your thing, just a bit of sunlight will already help you feel better.

Track your water intake. I'm guilty of being constantly dehydrated, so keeping track of my water intake really helps me!

Use lotion. Your skin will thank you.

Mind :

Read more. I've been neglecting my book lately... don't be like me.

Get rid of clothes that don't fit. There is no need to keep them, especially if you struggle with your body image.

Use your phone less. Weekends mean Phone free evenings/nights for me. It really helps you reconnect with yourself.

Focus on something you're passionate about, and invest all your efforts into developing it.

Write down things that you are grateful for. Journaling is great too!

Establish a propper morning/night routine. Taking care of yourself should always be your main priority.

Listen to more music. Listening to music helps me to get out of my mind when I'm overthinking.

Plan your days. I started planning more about a month ago, and it's actually really fun!

Get a Cat. Adopting my rescue kitten Charlie and slowly helping him heel and get comfortable really pulled me out of my worst depressed phase, and I've been doing a lot better ever since. Would totally recommend haha.

Soul :

Watch more Sunrises and Sunsets. I try watching one of each at least once a week.

Go for walks in nature. Going on walks in the forest/countryside really has become one of my favorite things.

Meditate. It doesn't really do much for me, but I recommend giving it a try! (maybe I'm just doing it wrong, lol)

Learn to say No. Still one of the hardest things for me, but it's getting better day by day also, remember that you DONT have to explain yourself when saying no! <3

Try reading poetry. You can also check out the App 'Motivation'.

Get a Plant. A year ago, I planted an avocado seed, and now I have a really cool plant! Slay.

Say goodbye. Don't surround yourself with people who don't bring positive energy into your life.

Complain less. It can be tough to stay positive but try to focus on the good things, even when they are really small. <3

As always, please feel free to add more suggestions in the comments! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

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e-dubbc11 · 4 months

Note

you said you could be persuaded to write about dean sooooooooo what about retired dilf dean? 🤔

My dear sweet Selene, it’s very hard for me to say no to you. 🤣 I came up with a little something for DILF Dean Winchester. I hope you like it, thank you for challenging me, my lovely friend ♥️♥️♥️

Carrying On

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dad Dean Winchester x F! Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluff, mentions of readers father’s death, smooches, a little hunter violence

Word Count: 1.7K-ish

Summary: You just bought a house in a new state, trying to see if you can move on after your father’s untimely death. Your neighbor introduces himself and already you’re feeling more at home

A/N: So this is my first time writing for Dean, dear god I hope it doesn’t suck. I wanted to write more for this but I still have asks in my inbox for my sleepover I need to get to(I’m trying my hardest to answer them all, I thank you all for your patience.) I’d even be willing to do another part for this because I had fun writing this one! I hope you like it! ♥️

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The house was at the end of a nice quiet street. Your suitcases were piled high in the back seat, almost too high to see out the rear window but it wouldn’t be for much longer. It will be nice to finally stretch your legs after being in the car for such a long drive.

When you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that the “For Sale” sign had been removed from the front lawn. This was your home now and you were determined to live your life as normal as possible from now on.

After your father passed away, you left the flat lands of Oklahoma for the mountains of Colorado. There was just something about that cool mountain air. But you didn’t want to live IN the mountains, you didn’t want to be alone so moving into a neighborhood NEAR the mountains was a good compromise.

A man and, what you assumed to be, his young son were playing catch in the front yard. The boy tossed the baseball to his father but the man wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy looking at your car which happened everywhere you went.

You and your father had rebuilt that car and restored it to its former glory. It was your dream car…a 1967 Pontiac GTO in midnight blue. The way the paint reflected the light, the car almost looked purple. It was a gorgeous car.

The car in your neighbor’s driveway was impressive also. It was a 1967 Chevy Impala, black.

“DAD!! You missed!” The boy shouted.

“Hold on, son. You see that car? She must be our new neighbor. Let’s go say hello.” The man said.

Reaching for the sky, you stretched until some of the tightness in your shoulders went away. You then saw your new neighbor.

“Fuck me.” You whispered under your breath.

He was very handsome with medium brown hair, a well-groomed beard, and green eyes. As he came closer, you saw a splash of freckles across his nose and his young son was a carbon copy of his father.

You smiled warmly as they came closer.

“Hi there! I’m your new neighbor. I’m y/f/n y/l/n.”You extended your hand to shake his.

After you introduced yourself, the man had a slightly confused look on his face that quickly disappeared.

He extended his hand for you to shake. “I’m Dean and this is my son Charlie.”

“It’s really nice to meet you.” You said.

Charlie interjected himself. “Dad missed the ball because he was staring at your car.”

“Charlie…” Said Dean through clenched teeth.

“Ah, well I do get that a lot. You wanna sit in it?” You asked.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Sure!”

You opened the car door so Charlie could sit on the driver’s side.

Dean pointed at the car. “That is a nice car. ’69?” He asked.

You bit down on your lower lip to keep from smiling. “It’s a ’67 actually, like your Impala.”

“Impressive…I don’t know a lot of women that would know that to look at it.” He said.

“Well, we do exist.” You said, a little sarcastically.

Dean smiled at you and said softly. “Yes, I guess you do.”

When he realized he was staring, he quickly snapped out of the trance he was in.

“Um, yeah so um, do you have furniture coming or anything? I’m happy to help.” He said.

“Oh the moving truck is coming tomorrow so I just have the bare essentials for tonight. Thank you for the offer, I may take you up on that.” You said.

“Well, we’ll let you get settled. Just knock when the truck comes…Charlie!! Come on, let’s let y/n settle in to her new house.” Said Dean.

As they walked away, you heard Charlie tell his dad, “Dad, you were staring at her.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “No I wasn’t…get the ball.”

“Yes you were, Dad. I saw you.” Said Charlie.

You shook your head back and forth then smiled. They both seemed really sweet.

Three Months Later

You had settled nicely into your new home. The final box had been unpacked and you were adjusting to your new surroundings and your new neighbors. Although there was something that bothered you about Dean’s house.

Every so often, not a lot but every now and again, you noticed that the basement light would flicker. It wasn’t all the time but when it did, it was always at the same time, which you thought was strange.

Everything else seemed to be fine so you didn’t look too closely at it.

You really did like Dean and you adored Charlie. They were your friends, so you contemplated, at least telling Dean about your past, how your father really died, and why you left your home state.

One Saturday morning, all of the windows were open and you could hear music coming from their house. It sounded like…Asia – Heat of the Moment.

You giggled a little bit and thought to yourself, “Really Dean, Asia?”

Dean had a deep booming voice.

“Rise and shine, Charlie!!” He said, loudly but playfully.

After doing some housework, you heard a knock on your door. Walking down the hall from the bedroom into the kitchen, you saw Dean standing at the side door through the screen. He was leaning against the door frame.

“Hey there. What can I do for ya?” You asked, opening the screen door.

“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight? I thought maybe we could tell Charlie, um…well, about us.” He said, shyly.

Charlie didn’t know that about a month after you moved in, you and Dean started to hang out with each other after he went to sleep.

He’d come over for a drink, sometimes a movie, or a lot of the time, the two of you would just talk, and the relationship just sort of happened.

Charlie’s mom had passed away three years ago and it had just been the two of them since then. Obviously you weren’t trying to get in the way of their relationship and you DEFINITELY weren’t trying to replace his mom but you really did like the both of them and Charlie deserved to know the truth…they both did.

You snaked your arms around Dean’s neck, let your fingers run through his soft brown hair, and leaned in to kiss him. The bristles of his beard tickled your chin and you smiled in between his kisses. You really were smitten with him.

“I’d love to…I’ll bring you guys a special dessert.” You said.

A shy smile extended across Dean’s face. “Awesome…oh and I’m not much of a cook so I hope you’re ok with burgers. Alright? Ok, good talk.” He said, as he smacked you on the ass and turned around to walk back home.

You were going to come clean tonight.

Walking over to Dean’s, you remembered the first time you saw the last name on the mailbox…Winchester. Dean Winchester. All hunters knew that name, that family, his brother Sam, their father John, and their mother Mary.

They were famous in the world of hunting. Your family name stayed under the radar. Sure, you and your dad had some pretty big hunts and cases but nothing compared to the Winchesters.

Charlie answered when you knocked.

“Y/n!!!” He said, excitedly.

“Hey buddy!” You replied.

Charlie saw you holding the pie in your hands.

“Oh you brought Dad’s favorite.” He said.

“I did? Well I hope you guys like it, I made it from scratch.” You said.

“Dad’s always eating pie…he’s out back, come on!” He said, tugging on your t-shirt.

The three of you had a nice dinner together filled with a lot of laughs and you breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie said he was ok that you were his dad’s girlfriend.

The child like smile Dean had on his face as he was about to taste the pie made you smile. Before he could take his first bite, the lights flickered.

He looked up at the kitchen light as it continued to flicker. “Son of a bitch.” He boomed.

“Dad, language!” Shouted Charlie.

“Not now, Charlie.” He growled.

You stood up and backed away from the kitchen table. “Where’s the salt, Dean?” You asked.

“What? How do you--?” He started to say.

“The salt, Dean…NOW!!!” You shouted.

Dean got the bag of salt from underneath the kitchen sink and you had Charlie stand in an open area in the dining room, while his dad drew a salt circle around him. Then he pulled out two shotguns from underneath the couch in the living room filled with rock salt.

“Charlie…buddy, don’t move from this spot, do you understand?” You asked him, looking into his scared eyes.

He nodded.

Standing back to back, holding the shotguns, Dean asked, “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

As fast as you could, you explained yourself. “Ok, so I come from a family of hunters too, nothing like yours of course but I left Oklahoma after my father died saving me from a nest of vampires. It was just me and him, my whole life and when he died, I felt like I couldn’t hunt without him.” You said.

Low moans and hisses were emanating through the walls as the lights continued to turn on and off.

“I can’t believe you’re a hunter. That’s why when you introduced yourself, your name sounded familiar to me!” Shouted Dean.

Charlie stood petrified inside the salt circle. “Dad, what’s going on?”

“It’s alright, buddy. We’re gonna be alright.” Said Dean.

Two apparitions came through the wall and headed straight for you when you blasted them with rock salt.

“Are y-you m-mad?” You asked, while trying to catch your breath.

“Mad? I’m only mad that I didn’t get to eat my pie! As far as you being a hunter, well…I gotta say I’m a little turned on.” He said.

In the middle of a life or death situation, Dean managed to make you blush.

“What does that mean, Dad?” Asked Charlie.

In unison, you and Dean yelled, “Not now, Charlie!”

“When we’re done with this, we’re gonna have a talk.” Dean pointed his finger at you.

“But you’re not mad?” You asked with a slight smile.

Dean smiled at you, his bright green eyes looked like fresh blades of grass as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Nah, I’m not mad sweetheart. Now let’s kill these things so I can eat my pie.”

Tagging: @munsonownsmyass @gijos

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #ericca answers #winter sleepover 2024 #ericca and selene

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the-s1lly-corner · 7 months

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C, I, K, L Q and Z for Jax plz? 👀

Fluff Alphabet w/ Jax! (1)

as of writing this i only have this request and one more!! i didnt think i would be able to catch up them all when i woke up this morning, but ive been killin it today i guess! yahoo! Im still taking requests but after this and the next ill take another short break to stretch my legs and recharge my brain !!

CUDDLING- if you read the caine alphabet, i believe i mention that caine would wrap his arms and legs around you and trap you (at least i did, im p sure i did but im too tired to check)

well, jax does that to you, pretty much, but hes a lot more stubborn about letting you go and wants to see you squirm and fight for your freedom... so good luck if you had anything planned that day...! he looks like he would be soft, both because bunmy... but also like, stylistically he looks like he would be squishy.. pretty pleasant to cuddle in to!

IN HOUSE ADVENTURE- unless the adventure gives him some ammo and/or way to be a menace to others, i think he just skips them. or if he does stick around he just. doesnt help, instead kind of just not doing anything.. now whether or not you and jax share similar traits is up to you, but if you needed help and asked nicely he would help you with something but otherwise youre on your own sister (gender neutral)

KISS- lots of kisses, especially if you get flustered easily. sure, you get a bit of a break from his antics but not by much... and if he can make you turn red from simply kissing your cheek hes going to exploit that.. speaking of, a lot of the kisses he gives are quick and fleeting, usually short pecks while hes walking by

LOVE LANGUAGE- little harmless pranks that make you do a double take or mildly confuse you are how he shows his love. now this is different from his usual stuff, because what he does to you is like. he leaves you a note. aww hes telling you how cute he thinks you are..! you pull the note out and BOOM! theres now powder everywhere and the note says you're sweet (the powder, being sugar). shit like that. outside of that words of affirmations work for him to, giving and receiving.. gonna be real though, i think jax is one of the hardest characters for me to write for since hes an ass (no shade to everyone asking for him! i love a little challenge!)

QUIET TIME- does not like quiet calm moments, but thats because hes an enjoyer and bringer of chaos, so moments of true silence are very rare. but lets say you two both just sit down and just. exist. actually, ill do you one better and tie this into the cuddling segment, he would probably busy his hands with your hair or any accessory you have on you

ZZZ- assuming you guys can sleep if you so desired, and you somehow convince jax to sleep with you (i think he would be the type to need to be talked into it), he would steal all the blankets. and the pillows. regardless of if hes actually sleeping or not. if this were the real world, and you guys were normal people and you actually needed to sleep due to exhaustion he would ease up on you (if hes doing this while awake). most definitely the type to say something as youre trying to sleep

"first person protagonists in video games never blink" or something similar

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #jax x you #jax x reader #jax imagine

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shorthaltsjester · 5 months

Text

maybe i’ll write something longer about this at some point but the choice that bell’s hells made in terms of which activity to do first i feel like actually illuminates some of the party’s issues and is why (particularly their truths) it seems like parts of the activities might just exacerbate their issues. like in particular the choice to do honesty before communication because honesty is required for communication is an interesting choice. like on the one hand i understand the logical steps and reasons they have for that, but on the other where imogen just took of her circlet in demand of honesty without insisting on communication as well and where orym had a conversation with ashton insisting that ashton know the group truly cares for him but also incidentally implying that ashton shouldn’t communicate the extent of whatever demons he’s fighting because it will get in the way of the fight on the horizon… i think perhaps communication is the first step for this group.

because the group has honesty, very recent events aside — and even the ashton and fearne lying thing was Very very short term — what they don’t do is communicate around that honesty. imogen in particular is immensely honest but often expresses it in ways i wouldn’t consider communicating in any beneficial sense, which i think also tracks for how willing she was to be honest. the problem for the group tends to come in that there are various degrees of willingness to communicate and several different modes of communication that they’re trying to use that aren’t cogent with the group actually communicating as a group.

and this isn’t malicious or ‘fault’ of any one member in a pejorative sense — the ones i think tend to be the ones who make it hardest for the group to combine honesty and communication have very understandable reasons for the forms of communication they lean towards. imogen’s bluntness because of her association of thought with character given her access to peoples thoughts as much as the expression of them, fcg’s similar but not identical habit of taking in everyone’s emotions and suggesting solutions but not actually really having conversations around those experiences/emotions (tho this is changing), fearne’s reluctance to express any discontent or fear about what’s happening in the group but willingness to lie to avoid those fears, orym’s tendency for simply pushing through problems due to his own experience with grief (which as other users on here have aptly explained is not a good emotional solution for many things other than grief). so while they all have rationales for the communication/willingness towards honesty they posses, it’s definitely still the responsibility of all of them to find ways to communicate that allow them to work as a group.

obviously i cannot predict the future and i don’t like doing serious predictions about the show in anyway because a) i think it’s useless and boring but b) literally anything can happen. that said, i do think that the honesty challenge As The First challenge might’ve had the effect of just being the exact same thing the hells have been doing for the past 3(?) in game months. which, the rapidity of everyone’s confessions paired with the other two challenges and the recent Heightening of the Circumstances will hopefully mean that they deal with it some way - whether that’s resolving problems or further party fracturing i’m excited to see.

#bell’s hells #critical role #cr3 #critical role campaign 3 #campaign 3

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amongemeraldclouds · 2 months

Text

Mattheo’s Gamble

Anguished by your tragic passing in the Second Wizarding War, Mattheo makes a bet with the Grim Reaper to get you back (features different AUs)

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Official entry for @thatdammchickennugget's Hogmarch challenge, prompt 3.

Author's note: Steering off the prompt a bit as I have no idea how to write sports so here's another 'game' I thought of. I usually prefer writing full fics but this idea is so complex, enjoy this bite sized version instead.

✿ Masterlist | 677 words

♡ They had no right to take you away from him, Mattheo seethes as he strides into the Grim Reaper's lair.

♡ He had sacrificed way too much in the war only to lose what's most important to him in the end.

♡ Mattheo pleads his case, the Grim Reaper has to revive you. You are meant to be together in every single lifetime, losing you in this one is a mistake. It was never meant to happen.

♡ Mattheo doesn't actually know if it's true, but he is desperate.

♡ The Grim Reaper agrees to his request, if he wins a wager. He and Mattheo will visit three different lifetimes to test his theory. If proven correct that you always end up together across different lives, Grim Reaper is ready to correct the mistake and revive you fully, as if you never left at all.

♡ But if Mattheo is wrong, he would have to spend a hundred years in damnation. Mattheo believes he has nothing left to lose so he agrees to the wager with no hesitation.

Ancient Egypt AU

⛺︎ In the first lifetime Mattheo and the Grim Reaper visit, you are the pharaoh's daughter, beloved by all people.

⛺︎ Mattheo is the high court magician, highly favored by your father.

⛺︎ You and Mattheo grew up together and eventually become lovers. Your father would not approve if he found out so you keep it a secret.

⛺︎ Meanwhile, your father is arranging a strategic marriage for you.

1800s AU

☾ You and Mattheo meet while taking an extended vacation with your family. He’s staying in the same hotel as you and you become fast friends.

☾ It doesn't take long for the two of you to fall in love and promise to write each other letters to stay in touch.

☾ After your departure, you send him a letter but never hear from him again, thinking he has moved on.

☾ Forty years later, a mailman takes his last shift before retirement. While clearing an old pile of mail, he finds your letter wedged in between cabinets. Mattheo never received your letter.

☾ The mailman takes it upon himself to track down Mattheo to deliver your letter, his first adventure after retiring.

Mafia AU

⭐︎ The final life Mattheo and the Grim Reaper visit. You and Mattheo come from two warring gangs. He's one of the leaders of his gang, whereas your father is the leader in their rival gang.

⭐︎ To keep you safe, your father hid his world away from you and the mafia doesn’t know much about your existence either.

⭐︎ One day, your father disappears. To investigate his whereabouts, you go undercover in the rival gang to gather intel. They assign you to the subgroup that Mattheo leads.

Between the Grim Reaper and Mattheo

♡ The Grim Reaper reveals he chose the hardest timelines for you and Mattheo to end up together. During their journey across the different AUs, the Grim Reaper throws in more obstacles on your path.

♡ "Filthy cheater," Mattheo accuses the Grim Reaper.

♡ "Did you think I was going to go easy on you?" he replies with a cold smile. "I thought you were so sure about this little connection of yours.”

♡ Mattheo grits his teeth but says nothing further.

♡ In the end, you make your relationship work and end up together every single lifetime, against all odds. Thus proving that love is its own kind of magic. And oh, it is one of the most powerful.

♡ The Grim Reaper is amused by the whole wager and holds up his end of the bargain by reuniting you back with Mattheo.

♡ "How?" you ask, looking into Mattheo's eyes once you get a moment to catch your breath from all the happy tears and the vice grip of his embrace.

♡ "Would you believe me if I told you it was the power of love?" he asks.

♡ You laugh, "who are you and what have you done with my Mattheo?"

♡ "I'm right here love and you're here," he says, pulling you back into another hug, savoring the moment. Just as it was always meant to be, he thinks.

Cue Taylor Swift's Timeless: 'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this so, even in a different life, you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: Changed the name to the Grim Reaper bc tumblr shadowbanned the original name starting with D.

Inspired by: The (Unalived) Hallows, Cloud Atlas, Doctor Who, Letters to Juliet, reading the Akashic Records.

#I'm such a hopeless romantic #hogmarch challenge #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #Mattheo Riddle #modern au #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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akutasoda · 8 months

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how do you think Chuuya and Jouno (both romantic please and you can add anyone if you want) would be with an S/o who has anger Issues but doesn't take it out? Like bottles it all up and it's always, "Wait, (Name) has anger Issues, no they don't they are so kind you know?" bc it's honestly frustrating (╥﹏╥) Anyways- Take your time and your writing is SO good <33

calm before the storm

synopsis - perhaps you hid your anger too well around your lover

includes - chuuya, nikolai, jouno, ayatsuji

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, bottling up emotions, reader has anger issues, reader is a hunting dog in jouno's, wc - 808

a/n: ahhh ty so much anon!

chuuya nakahara ★↷

originally you both seemed to balance each other out, you were normally very nice, calm and composed when faced with situations while chuuya wouldn't ait it but had a bad habit of letting his anger take over. and even during that you helped him calm down.

so it came as quite the shock when he learned of your anger issues. he had originally heard about it from koyo as she had asked him if something happened to you as you seemed like you were practically seething. and he denied that as you normally wouldn't act like that but made sure to check up on you as soon as possible. to which you told him you were fine.

so he kept denying it and always saying that you simply were too kind and good tempered to do that. but boy was he shocked when he sas you finally snap. after all everyone has their limits. it wasn't major but all the rage that had been surpressed had boiled over at you snapped at some random person next to you.

you apologised after but that's when it clicked in chuuya's head. bottling up emotions often doesn't tend to be the best coping mechanism. and you've helped him, so why doesn't he return the favour and help you find a better way to deal with your anger. it still comes as a shock to him sometimes.

nikolai gogol ★↷

being around nikolai was wuite the challenge according to most people - sigma. but to you, his lover, ot was pretty easy. maybe because you acted as his buffer. he often tried doing quite the extravagant things while you stipped him before he got too carried away.

nikolai found your seemingly everlasting kindness quite interesting as well as your composed demeanor. sort of like two sides of the same coin. so the last thing he expected was for you to have anger issues.

sometimes his colleagues would comment on how you seemed quite upset somedays, but he would always tell them that you were too kind for it to be actually you. and it wasn't until fyodor had blatantly told him you were bottling stuff up that he starrted to notice. you always seemed to surprise him.

but he didn't want to pry. you bottled them up for a reason, he presumed and so it would be insensitive for him to do such a thing. but he does wish you would tell him.

saigiku jouno ★↷

when you had originally been introduced as the latest member to the hunting dogs, he had been very surprised at how calm you always were. and how you treated everyone with niceties. even in the hardest positions you kept calm and it was interesting to say the least.

but upon getting with him he still could never see through the facade. he had a small sense that something was a miss but your heartbeat was always so calm and he could tell you always wore a smile so he tried to ignore it.

sometimes after a mission or two, a fellow hunting dog would ask jouno about if he knew of your anger issues. he would always deny it, there's no way you could right? and he believed that firmly up until he witnessed it himself. and even then he was still shocked. how did everyone else tell before him?

and that's when he learnt that it was because you bottled it all up and you didn't want to take it out on anyone. but he didn't like that bottling it all up was your approach to it. there were much better ways of dealing with it. and if you let him he would show you some alternatives.

yukito ayatsuji ★↷

he saw your kind and calm demeanor as another endearing feature about you. he himslef was quite collected but unlike you liked to tease others so seeing you be nice to everyone was nice to watch, but he always wondered how you kept it up.

he always thought that something may be up with you but if you didn't tell him it wasn't his business to pry and if you wanted to talk he would just let you know he was there anytime, anyday. but whenever he hear tsujimura say something about you getting really angry but quickly calming down he would tell her that it wasn't you, you didn't do that. and it got annoying correcting her.

that was until he realised you had indeed pulled a fast one on him and left him speechless at the news of your anger issues. another way he admired how you kept it together and didn't take it out on people.

but he did want to discourage you bottling up emotions. it wasn't good for you, but if it worked for now he could let it slide until you would need a better alternative.

#x gender neutral reader #x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #bsd nikolai #nikolai x reader #bsd jouno #jouno x reader #bsd ayatsuji #yukito ayatsuji x reader

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nqify · 1 year

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I saw ur submissive reader and OMG GIRL IMAGINE THE OPPOSITE, like human!reader being bratty n' teasing all day like using mini skirts (in public), letting other guys flirt with you, being all bubbly and shi infront of other guys, and the whole situation turns into navi!miles brat taming you (imagine him with a spanking kink too)

AND ALSO HIM SAYING STUFF LIKE "whats with sniffling cupcake, didnt you ask for this?" While the reader is literally being fucked dumb

Also have a great day!!

YESYEYSYES!!!! BEEN NEEDING TO WRITE THIS!!

so many ppl have actually requested brat taming!miles or brat!reader so Ima combined all those requests into this one if y’all alright with that!!

brat taming. — miles quaritch ☆

pairings. brat tamer.na’vi!miles quaritch. brat.fem!reader

content warnings. spanking. little bit of sir kink. daddy kink ofc.

note. this kinda like sadist!quaritch but WITH MORE DETAIL AAAAAAA

as much as miles would love his s/o to be submissive and listen to every word he says, he also likes being challenged. the way you talk back to him or even ignore his requests rlly gets this man GOING!!!

It’s the simple things! he’d ask you, “sweets, grab that book for me yeah?” you just look at him dead in the face and say, “get it yourself, you have legs don’t you?” nah why is he getting turned on.

you’d test the waters a bit, constantly being a brat around miles to see if he breaks!! you’d try your hardest, letting lyle touch you, laughing at his jokes a little to hard and constantly compliment him.

you could see miles at the corner of your eye, hes looking at you, a lustful angry look is spread across his face. His ears low and his tail swaying side to side. You smirk, you’ve won!!!!

you’d be alone in a room and he’d come running, “you think ur funny huh?” His arms would be crossed, leaning his body against the door frame. “wdym, miles?” acting as clueless as ever. “dont get all dumb with me mama, I know exactly what your doing” his tone is stern. you shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know what ur talking about” yeah you hit a nerve.

He’d walk up to you. “you better cut the shit baby, I’m giving you one more chance” ur not breaking. ur still acting clueless, like wtf r u saying daddy??

oh he is pissed now. he’d grab your throat, squeezing down and blocking your air pip, “such a fucking stupid baby, you’d do anything to get dicked down wouldn’t you?” your hand is placed on his wrist, your shaking ur head like NO!!!!! but yeah u right

“cmon baby, I know you would, say it cmon, say it and maybe you’ll punishment won’t be so bad” UR NOT SAYING SHIT!!!!

he’d release the hand from ur throat, “ur ass better be in my room in 5, u hear me mama???” yes daddy.

ur RUNNING to his room, the dick too good girl fr. You sit on the bed, nervously biting your nails and questioning everything you’ve done. Was it rlly worth making miles so worked up??? (Yes)

you hear the door open, shit GIRL RUN!!!! this mf rlly chuckling like he walks in and starts laughing at you. “strip”, ur stunned, “w-what?”, “you heard what I said, strip baby” u r RUSHING to get ur clothes off. You’d get to ur panties and miles is like, “uh uh, keep those on for me” anything for u daddy!!!

”want u on all fours mama, ass up in the air for me” and ofc u did!!! you could feel his presence behind you, he’d grab your ass and squeeze the FUCK outta it. and the BOOM SPANK!! ur shocked asf!! “you’d think id let the shit u did slide baby?? uh uh, gonna have to fuck u dumb” GIRL HAVE FUN WITH THAT!!!!

he spanks you again, “how many spanks do u deserve baby?” you shrug, “I-I don’t know” he smiling a little omg. “10 it is then”

SPANK SPANK SPANK!!!! over and over again this mf hitting ur ass till it’s red asf!! ur whining and complaining, “please miles I’ll behave now!! it hurts” he is not taking that. “shut the fuck up slut, ur taking this wether u like it or not, u hear me??” Yes I hear u daddy.

he slaps ur ass one more time before snaking his hand down to ur pussy. He rubs ur clothed clit just a little, to tease you. “look at this pussy baby, u think u deserve to cum??” U nod ur head. He leans down to where his chest is hitting ur back, “u r so fucking dumb” omg…..degrading!miles!!!

this mf is pounding into you from behind, his thrusts are hard and so so deep!! his reaching all the right places. this guy making u think you’ve won. NAH UH!!! like ur about to cum, fluttering around his dick when he stops, pulls your body up, back hitting his chest and say some shit like, “ur so fucking stupid baby, u rlly think Ima let you cum? U think daddy is gonna let his stupid little slut cum after what she did huh baby???” Your whimpered, clawing at his hands on ur hips. Def gonna leave some bruises, “answer me”, “I-I’m sorry sir!!! pls, let me c-cum I’ll do anything” he LAUGHING!!

”oh so ur sorry now huh?? u weren’t so sorry before when u were practically eye fucking lyle??” girl I feel sorry for u. “u want him to fuck u?? u want him to take this pussy and call it his mama??” U shake ur head no, letting out small cries as he begins to buck his hips into urs, “Yeah that’s right, cuz this dick to good huh mama?? this dick makes u so so stupid doesn’t it??” YEAH IT DOES

he flips you over to were ur now facing him, his hands immediately touch ur bottom lip, “open” HE SPITS IN UR MOUTH OMF. “swallow baby, lemme see” u swallow and open ur mouth again, “now ur listening, good girl”

hes being so harsh on you, his hands are digging into ur hips, his thrust are hard and his kisses are quick and dry. girl u are crying. Tears begin to travel down ur cheeks and miles just scoffs.

“what’s with the sniffling princess?? u asked for this didn’t you?? You wanted daddy to fuck u till u go all dumb over his cock right??” u can’t seem to find the words to answer, u just open ur mouth and hope for the best. Moans and whines escape ur throat. he’d won. “yeah look at you, so fucked out all from my big dick, c’mere give daddy a kiss” he leans down and softly kisses ur lips. this kiss was a different tho, it wasn’t quick, it was slow and passionate. His tongue was exploding every inch of ur cave.

Girl he is moaning into ur mouth. little, “mms” or “a-ah fuck” are COMING FROM THIS MANS THROAT AS YALL KISS. it’s driving u mad and his knows it. He pulls away, you whine in response. HES IN AWE “u finally gonna be a good girl for me??, u gonna stop being a brat and let daddy be in charge??” yes ofc omg

”Y-yes daddy!! pls l-let me cum!! wanna cum so b-bad!!” ur begging for him girlomg. he smirks down at u, pleased that his punishment is working. “cmon say it mama, say you’ll be a good girl”, “I’ll be a g-good girl!! I promise p-please!! so close” HE FINALLY BROKE U OMG!!!!

he could feel u fluttering around him more and more, “much better, cum for me baby, you’ve been a good girl” GIRL EXPLODING!!!!!!

nah but why is this the worse thing I have ever written.

requests are officially closed!! only for a few days so I can get this requests out!! if ur request hasn’t been done in that time frame it is either bc writers block, not enough information or smth I would NEVER WRITE LIKE😨😨😨

#miles quaritch smut #colonel miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #avatar #avatar smut #na’vi quaritch #na’vi smut #na’vi

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art · 2 years

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @textless

Hi! My name is Amadee, and I am a librarian who lives in Arizona. I also love taking photos in my spare time.

Check out our interview with Amadee below!

What got you started in photography?

Both of my parents were very interested in photography. I’d always loved looking at their work, and in high school, I got a 35mm camera as a gift, so I could start taking photos myself. Back then (in the actual 80s), HS students in the Minneapolis area could take classes at area colleges for dual credit. I started taking photo classes at the University of Minnesota and had access to a darkroom and nearly unlimited film and processing supplies without realizing just how amazing that was. I took many photos of friends, acquaintances, and strangers, and I loved looking at work by Nan Goldin and Bill Owens. After college, without access to a darkroom, I stopped taking pictures almost entirely.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work?

Bluntly, technology allowed me to start taking photos again. The first digital cameras I tried in the early 2000s were terrible: slow, clunky, and with next to no storage capacity. Even so, they seemed like the first step in an interesting direction. By 2008 or so, I had a point-and-shoot digital camera and rediscovered what I loved about photography… except that I no longer wanted to take pictures of people. Soon I started taking photos of tiny things, especially insects, and my little camera wasn’t up to the task. I got a DSLR with a macro lens in 2010 and haven’t stopped taking photos since.

I know many photographers who are nostalgic for film, whether or not they were around in the analog era. More power to anyone who wants to spend the time and money, but I don’t miss film even a little. For the kind of photography I enjoy, which is almost entirely documentary, the ability to take an unlimited number of photos, and see what did or didn’t work right away, makes all the difference.

You've also written books in the past—what was the most challenging, yet rewarding part of the process?

I was a children’s librarian for many years and just love books. So, when I started writing, I hoped to create books that would connect with kids and spark their imagination. Cortez the Gnome was a book I would have liked to see as a kid, and the art project elements were fun and frustrating. Gentle Hands filled what felt like a gap in my storytimes and gave me a chance to work with a publisher I like very much. Alas, my biggest challenge is that I haven’t had an idea in years! I write occasional blog posts for Free Spirit on topics related to serving youth, but working with kids was the spark for new ideas, and these days my work is mostly admin. I enjoy it more than I would have guessed years ago, but as a wellspring of inspiration, it is not.

How do you create healthy boundaries in balancing your day job and personal aspirations?

Work comes first every time. That might sound like a drag, but I truly like my job and think library service is critically important. In some of the tiny communities we serve, the library is the only gathering place open to everyone, and the only place to access fast internet, enrichment activities for kids, books, movies, and all kinds of other good stuff. I love taking photos, but I would hate to make a job of it.

What is the hardest part of your process?

The process itself is just fun, and I’d stop if it weren’t. I used to stress about editing and posting photos soon after taking them because I wanted to create a sort of nature journal in real-ish time. That wasn’t sustainable, partly because the subjects that interest me are so seasonal. I might take 2,000 photos in August (peak macro season here), but only 100 in February. Now I just try to indicate when photos were taken and know that I’m the only person who particularly cares about that. For years I posted six new photos each day. Now I generally post two and skip days or longer whenever it suits me.

Right now, the biggest challenges are external. First, my vision is less and less sharp. It’s nothing severe, just a function of age, but it makes me think I’d better develop an interest in non-tiny subjects at some point. Second, some small but annoying health problems have kept me from getting out much over the last year. I used to take a hike or long walk at least once or twice a week, and more in peak bug season. Since last September, I’ve taken two longish walks and mostly stuck to the yard. On the plus side, it’s an excellent yard with an ever-growing assortment of interesting plants and insects.

While this is frustrating in some ways, it’s also a distillation of something I have always liked. Even when I was hiking all the time, I enjoyed going back to the same places, again and again, getting to know them in detail and watching the seasons roll through. Staying so close to home this year has been an extreme version of that, and some aspects of that have been very satisfying.

I should also say, for the record, that I am not technical at all. I’m not interested in new gear as long for its own sake, and I don’t like messing with camera settings or anything fiddly. My favorite piece of photo advice ever was “f/8 and be there,” which I took to mean finding a basic setup you like and focusing on the subject at hand. I like finding strange or beautiful things that other people might not notice and trying to make them interesting to a wider audience. (Wider than just me, that is.)

What is something you would love to photograph but haven't had the chance to yet? Why?

This is oddly specific, but I desperately want to find an Arizona Unicorn Mantis (Pseudovates arizonae; check out the photos here). Several have been spotted within two miles of my house, but I have never found one yet. They are otherworldly and just fascinating. Insect goals!

Are there similarities or differences in your workflow when it comes to photography and writing?

Mostly difference in that photography is relaxing, and writing is nearly impossible, at least right now.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

There are several excellent photographers who live in my corner of Arizona, and I love their work because it shows different aspects of a place I care about. Also, their photos are just gorgeous.

@fatchance is practically a neighbor and an all-around lovely person. He takes beautiful pictures of birds and desert flora, and unlike me, he takes the time to learn about and share good information about his subjects.

@thelostcanyon is another south-eastern AZ photographer I admire, and he is also a very good painter.

@inlandwest is actually my partner. We’ve lived all over the west together, and I like that his wide-open-spaces aesthetic is so different from my focus on the little things.

A little farther afield, I love @macroramblings, and Celeste, of @celestialmacros, @celestialphotography, and @occasionallybirds, for their beautiful macro work. @mostlythemarsh is another long-time favorite. He’s not a macro photographer, for the most part, but I like seeing familiar places through the seasons, and I like the stark difference between his environment (east coast/Canada) and my own.

Thanks for such wonderful answers, Amadee. Check out her beautiful photography work over at her Tumblr, @textless!

#creator spotlight #photographers on tumblr #writers on tumblr #macro photography #textless #insects #bugblr

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