#fuck me duck i hope u like this
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drawing stuff for valentimes and u all better enjoy it once i finish bc its the sappiest stuff ill ever draw ever
#then i will go back to not doing that kjahsjah#both bc like ive said before i have a way better grasp on yellow and ducks dynamic than red and ducks#<- they make no damn sense. compel me tho#and also bc makeing cutesy stuff with these guys feels a lot like the cutesy fanart of the NOPE movie that came out after it dropped#if that makes sense#idk. esp with fandom stuff theres a lot of room i feel to get like. caught up in other peoples interpretations of characters#and not often enough think about the actual source material#which is sad to me when its something like this that i love and think about SO much#so u all get ONE (1) for my fav bday month holiday and then thats it#then ill keep posting my fcking 6 page long comics that are just duck and yellow talking at 3 am jdkfhskjdsh#<- i have TWO OF THESE. ITS NUTS.#anyways i hope the dialouge in the stuff im making now sounds vaguely like anything red would say EVER bc i think hes the one#i struggle the most with#how would duck handle being gushy? i already know in my HEART can write that in my sleep#idk wtf is going on with red still not over him driving a car into a wall#hes so like. everyone thinks hes way more serious than the other two and he absolutely is not are you kidding.#hes JUST as looney tunes as the other two#its like. sometimes. after building and building. he'll decide to be serious.#one ep we need to get the fuck out of here we need to get the fuck out#NEXT EP AND IM ACTUALLY GLAD WHOEVER GAVE US THIS BORING NON ELECTRIC URN DIED!!#i cannot sort that boy out in my head he makes no sense to me#ANYWAYS I COULD TALK ALL DAY ABT THEM. GUESS THATS WHAT THIS BLOG IS FOR LOL BUT BYE
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I know my therapist did NOT just seriously suggest a my pillow product 😭😭😭😭
#I THOUGHT IT WAS A FUCKING JOKE#we were talking about comfort items and how soft blankets were my mom brought up ugg comforters AND THIS BITCH DUCKING SAID#' have you heard of the my pillow guy?'#i almost started laughing and i looked at my mom like ohh yeah... and i was about to bring up how we always see the jimmy kimmel skits#BUT I DIDN'T GET TO BECAUSE THE BITCH FUCKING WENT INTO HOW HE ALSO HAS A SLIPPER PRODUCT#i ducking canttttt#the first thing she said was that we could take off our mask and dont have to wear them 🚩🚩🚩#multiple times just 'go ahead take it off i have a humidifier feels better BLAHHH 🥹#...i may have caved because my mom took hers down and yet again the lady kept going on about masks and take it off/they arent effective????#whatever we warned u we're get getting over the flu- fuck it if u get sick ig with your improved immunity shit 🙄#still hate that i caved but if anyone deserves whatever flew out its her#she seemed nice enough though but still there were comments that had me lookijg at her straight faced like keep fucking talking i want to#know where you stand#its obvious but keep goinggg im curious#she definitely needs to dial it back#if 'dont live in fear' was a personnnnn#ughhh#there were so many points where i was like shit i could've said this or that or at least hoped my face got it across#at one point i just blatantly dropped it in that we watch Colbert and kimmel like HELLLOOOO#again seemed nice enough and had good professional advice but THERE WERE SO MANY INSTANCES OF WHAT THE FUCK#I'll probably see her once or twice more but if it continues im requesting someone else#ik i cant agree with everyone/its not exactly connected to her job but i feel like this is at least the one place where i should be picky &#choose someone thats not making me turn my head every five fucking minutes trying to figure out if they're a full blow piece of shit#i probably should find someone else now to not waste time but ahhhh#she kind of looks like Julia Louis-Dreyfus#it felt like a skit#blown*#is requesting a non republican/conservative/qanon therapist a thing?#part of me is like it wasnt that bad just focus on what shes professionally advising for anxiety and the other half of me is like that was#not fucking normal and i dont have to take it
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Is there any better feeling than saying something stupid and making your friends laugh
#its easy. its free#it makes me happy. it makes them happy#just knowing that even for just a second i imporved someones day and made them smile makes me so#mmmm#fuck i love my friends so much#i may do things for attention but who am i hurting when the things i do is bring chocolate eggs to school and give them to ppl no context#or carrying whole rubber ducks and holding them on my palm randomly in the middle of conversation#or just saying the first stupid thing that comes to mind#i think its funny it makes the pol around me laugh its a win win situation here#besties i am so. overwhelmed wit h how much i love my friends rn#besties on discord i hope u guys know this includes you guys too#i love making my irl friends smile but just the Idea that someone on the complete other side of the world has taken time out of their day#to talk to me. and then that some stupid thing i said or made can make complete strangers#and ppl who more than likely will never actually meet me smile or happy for even just a minute or two while were talking……….#it makes me emotional about the power for good that people and the internet can be#sentimental hour with duck!#every time you guys think im calming dosn and youre getting a break i come back out with this shit!#Tree Man Posts#i love that ive made that my personal tag. theres like one person here who knows what it means its so funny#sentimentality
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still sad. still miserable. but i did have a nice walk. that was a good decision
#i was walking to the trail#and thought okay universe pls show me something beautiful#i saw some GORGEOUS graffiti under the bridge and two ducks#and there was an old guy fishing who said hi to me i asked if he caught anything he said no but he wasn’t giving up !#im glad someone’s having a good day..#that old man is an inspiration to me i truly truly hope he’s doing well#i’m really glad i decided to take today off#im so so stressed about. everything#like how are u gonna tell me i’ll likely need a major surgery when i JUST quit my fucking job#but right now i want to lay down and rest#and focus on the ducks i saw#i saw two ducks they were so beautiful#the mental image of those ducks is quite literally all that’s keeping me from completely losing it rn#snow.txt
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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
© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡
#hyunjin x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids smut#skz x reader#hyunjin smut#skz smut#k-labels#hyunjin imagines#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#hyunjin fluff#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#hyunjin scenarios#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#stray kids#hyunjin#*writing#*oneshot
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Hello! I hope you're having a good day! I was thinking about this Bakugou, where he penches his s/o lips whenever she teases him or compliments him, saying that her lips should be punished for driving him crazy or smth.
I just find this idea cute if you please can write about it 😭🤍
a/n:..wait...cus why are you a literal genius this got a lil kick teww ittttt.. (kinda soooorta angsty but like if you squint, katsuki is bad at feelings but he tries his hardest, kissing, no biting for once wow its been a while..dont worry yall its comin, short lil drabble, hope u enjoy ! <3)
"your eyes are so pretty katsu."
katsuki bakugou thinks he'll never be able to get used to you when he looks down at your head in his lap, raising a brow as a defensive mechanism to not turn red all the way down to his chest.
"where'd this come from ?" he leans into your hand almost reflexively when you place it against his cheek, still not breaking eye contact as you smile at him, he feels warmth crawl up his back and it makes him squint.
"nowhere," you run your finger across his cheek, than across his nose bridge "just wanted to tell you."
he gulps, clearing his throat his eyes fight to keep looking into yours, relaxed and happy and comfortable. it feels strange to see someone so comfortable around him.
"yeah ?"
"mhm, your lashes are so long too." you muse. it's casual, it comes out so easily.
he feels his heart beat loudly against his chest when you run your fingers over his eyebrows. you keep on touching him, and he likes it, usually. but it's overwhelmingly nice, you're overwhelmingly nice and he doesn't know what to do with it. because bakugou isn't sweet like you. he can't casually tell you that he loves your eyes, that he could be perfectly content staring at you doing whatever for hours on end, that random things he sees when he's out remind him of you and that you're the last thing he thinks about when he falls asleep.
because it comes out wrong, when he does. but even still your words make him so unbearably giddy. it's foreign receiving compliments, and if he does their almost always quirk related. but these are different and they're from you, so it feels even better and though embarrassment creeps up onto his body his heart buzzes and beats proudly. he feels like he can't sit still so he does the next best thing.
"shush." he mumbles, pinching your cheeks to make you pout. you splutter out a giggle when he leans down to place a sloppy wet kiss onto your duck lips. "you keep sayin' weird shit.." he dodges your grin when he lets go of your cheek.
"but they are long ! and your eyes are pretty ! that's not weird, it's the truth." you maintain, nodding afterwards like your word is law. fuck, he loves you.
"be quiet." he pinches your lips shut and you start flailing around with muffled giggles and squeals. katsuki follows, laughing through his nose and meanly moving your lips around in his grip.
"fuck, you drive me crazy.." your eyes snap open at his soft eyes and words. his eyes shine mischievously but his cheeks are bright as he smirks. you pout at him and it makes him want to squeeze you until you pop. ( he remembers you called it cute aggression or something)
"you talk too damn much." he pinches your cheek "needa be punished for drivin' me nuts all the damn time."
"jush shay yur not goo wif complimeshs." katsuki snorts at your attempts to talk with your cheek in his grip, and he can't help the half smirk on his face when you laugh. he releases your cheek in favor of leaning down to press his lips against yours.
"you're the pretty one, dummy."
"but we can both be pretty !"
"whatever, you're prettier then."
katsuki still feels his heart thump loudly in his chest, and he's sure he'll keep feeling like this for a long while. your words will keep sticking to his heart like they always do. and maybe he is 'pretty', he'll go along with that for you, but you're definitely prettier.
#thanks for the ask anon!#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugo fluff#bakugou imagine#bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou katsuki#i wrote this at lightning speed cus this was such a cute idea#i couldnt wait#kinda poopy ending msorry :((#bakugo drabble#bakugou drabble#katsuki bakugo fluff#bakugo katsuki x reader#katsuki x you#katsuki x y/n#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugo x female reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n
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Blocking the words “cock” and “dick” and “bulge” on tumblr now. I don’t need to know what’s in your pants and it’s gross and I hope you die and stop bringing me into it.
#hello this is my post#I hope you people die for making me read that. suck a girls cock. like what? no you ducking do it. id rather fucking die. and don’t#‘then perish’ me. ok. bc I would actually rather perish. I hope someone kills u people#no dick allowed party 2k22
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u dumbfuck i adore u !!!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they're secretly together and one comment leads to the grand reveal.
or
for when you find out that it'll always be them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader
warnings - language
author's note - max's version!!!!!! i hope u like it <3 charles' version coming soon!!!!!! thank u sm for reading, i love you <3
≡;- ꒰ °instagram stories ꒱
*maxverstappen1 added to their instagram stories*
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 865,427 others
yourusername when maxverstappen1 irritates you so bad u have to go and reconnect with nature but he follows u there too
9,627 comments
username THEY'RE TOGETHER OMG
username everyone stfu my parents are on vacation TOGETHER
username babe wake up y/n is being annoyed at max again
username i love them sm
username the og childhood friends to lover (yes i am delulu)
-> username they're childhood friends????? but they hate each other
-> username yeah 💔💔💔 after getting seats in f1 it's just the way it has been :/
-> username their families have known each other since before they were even born!!!! y/n and max were really good friends before getting to f1
username praying they get together 🔥🔥🔥
danielricciardo he has attachment issues
-> yourusername i know, it's BAD
-> maxverstappen1 both of you, STOP.
username no bc i know max can't function without y/n
username max was missing his emotional support enemy 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
username nah but she's so pretty ❤️❤️❤️
maxverstappen1 "reconnect with nature" you fell in a ditch
-> yourusername i could've said that u fell into that pond and ducks encircled u for 20 mins but i didn't did i
-> maxverstappen1 sorry ma'am
maxverstappen1 i don't irritate you
-> yourusername yes u do
-> maxverstappen1 i thought you liked listening to me talk about jimmy and sassy
-> yourusername i love my babies but i wanna FUCKING sleep
-> maxverstappen1 sorry darling ❤️
*this comment has been deleted*
-> maxverstappen1 sorry you witch
-> username NAH WHAT WAS THAT
-> username these mfs
username WHAT THR FUCK DID I JUST DISCOVER
username if they are together u can have my first born
landonorris oh u dumb bitches
-> yourusername BLAME HIM
-> maxverstappen1 I SAID SORRY
-> yourusername no u ruined my plan of soft launching our relationship over the course of 10 months which would include me pretending to hate u for a majority of those 10 months
-> landonorris she really thought this through huh
-> maxverstappen1 she had a vision board and everything
-> yourusername WHICH I NOW HAVE TO DELETE THANKS TO UR DUMBASS. PAAGAL. ( stupid )
-> maxverstappen1 ice cream
-> yourusername say less jaan i am On my way!
username these bitches so dumb (im in love with them)
username IM SO HAPPY OH MY GOD
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
liked by yourusername, landonorris, danielricciardo and 988,728 others
maxverstappen1 rarely recorded moments of her not looking like she wants to bash my head in but i love it when she smiles ❤️
tagged yourusername
11,628 comments
username SHUT THE FUCK UP
username OH MY GOD
username SHE'S SO PRETTY
username *our girlfriend just so u know
username no bc the way they talk about each other even when they were NOT together :///
-> username "i have known her for so long and it's safe to say that she's got real talent and she deserves all the support and praise that she is getting, i tolerate her and all but i do hope she will stop stealing my cats"
-> username "he's kind of a cool guy, okay okay"
-> username poetic bf 🤝 k gf
username she can run me over anytime just saying
charles_leclerc her face is doing that weird thing
-> yourusername it's called smiling u dumb fucking bitch
-> charles_leclerc ah there's the y/n i know 🥰
username the paper rings omg
username I 😭 LIKE 😭 SHINY 😭 BUT 😭 I'D 😭 MARRY 😭 YOU 😭 WITH 😭 PAPER 😭 RINGS 😭
username this is INSANE like im going CRAZY over this
username mama y papa
username if my relationship isn't like this then i don't want it no thank u lol
username they're so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
landonorris mom and dad
-> maxverstappen1 no
-> yourusername no
-> landonorris nvm then im disowning u
username im SO normal about this
username they make me so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️
username i just know the f1 gc went WILD
-> username i know a lot of money was lost and made
yourusername not u going all sappy on me
-> maxverstappen1 how can i not??? 😘
-> yourusername gross (❤️)
yourusername ur kinda cool too ig
-> maxverstappen1 that's not what you were saying last night
-> yourusername mf my maa and papa are on this app ( mom and dad )
-> landonorris AND UR CHILD
-> maxverstappen1 thought you disowned us
-> landonorris i see how it is
username i love them sm
username me when.
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
liked by lewishamilton, maxverstappen1, carmenmmundt and 986,427 others
yourusername u dumbfuck i adore u
tagged maxverstappen1
12,628 comments
username WE GOT A SAPPY POST FROM Y/N
username IM SO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
username screaming throwing up sliding down the wall bashing my head gagging rolling down the stairs laying on bed like a spider ripping my hair yelling kicking
username the lil fuck u pastry is so her
username IN LOVE WITH BOTH OF THEM ACTUALLY
username my heart 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 i love them so much
lewishamilton 💜
*liked by yourusername*
username god has been so kind to others 💔💔💔
username i need this oh my god
username ENEMIES TO LOVERS AT ITS FINEST
username i just need to know who confessed first and i'll be happy with my life
username he looks so babygirl
*liked by yourusername*
pierregasly i made money, thanks to you
-> yourusername happy to have helped
username I KNEW MONEY WAY MADE IN BETWEEN THE GRID
username i'll be telling stories to this to my children
username this is life changing u don't get it
username im so so happy like i can't even form words
maxverstappen1 don't call me dumbfuck
-> yourusername dumbfuck
-> maxverstappen1 you're lucky i love you
-> yourusername ❤️🖕 (i love you)
maxverstappen1 i actually enjoyed that pastry
-> yourusername thank u, my maa taught me that recipe
-> maxverstappen1 i miss her pav bhaji
-> yourmomsusername i'm catching the next flight to monaco, i need to feed my son-in-law
-> yourusername and when i ask u to come and visit me, u say no
-> yourmomsusername it's because i love him more than you
-> yourusername wow
maxverstappen1 i adore you too
-> yourusername i adore u ❤️
-> yourusername dumbfuck
username i cried
username shed a few tears this is revolutionary
#f1 x reader#f1 x female reader#f1 imagines#social media au#fake instagram imagines#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen imagines#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x fem!reader#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen instagram au#max verstappen blurb
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I would love the reader flinching during a fight blurb (I think u did it with James and Steve) but with eddie! Only if u want of course
thank u for ur request, hope this is okay, 1k fem!reader
cw mentioned past abuse/abusive situation, please read with care!
Eddie doesn't do anything to provoke your reaction, obviously, and if he did it would've been accidentally. He only raises his voice and puts down his keys too hard at the same time on the table, barely looking at you as the argument reaches a crescendo.
The sound catches you off guard. Your arms leap in toward your chest and your head turns to the side, defending yourself from a blow that would never come from him. Nausea floods your system, and no sooner have you flinched than you're covering your mouth to smother it.
"Holy–" Eddie takes a step back initially, but he quickly closes the space between you to take your elbow. You force your arm out of his grip. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"I thought you were gonna throw your keys at me," you start to explain, reaching for him. "I–"
"I would never do that."
"I know," you say, blinking and straightening up your hunched back, "that's not– I know you wouldn't, but the noise…"
"Sorry," he says tightly.
You take a deep breath and feel embarrassment like a rushing wave hit you, ice cold, your hands covering your face for a moment to get air in right. You peek at him through your fingers. "No, I'm sorry," you say, "what were you saying?"
"It really doesn't matter. Were you scared of me?" he asks, sounding terrified.
"No. I mean– I mean," —his expression dampens further at your stammering— "I flinched because it was loud."
"You said you thought I was going to throw my keys at you–"
"Because I did think that. It was only for a second."
"Somebody chucked shit at you enough you started expecting it?" Eddie asks, his terror melded into something much worse. He frowns at you, an imploring pinch to his eyebrows as he rubs your upper arm.
"Eddie, I don't wanna talk about it."
"You don't?" he asks.
"Why would I want to talk about that? It's so fucking embarrassing."
Eddie takes your arms into both hands gently. "Pause on our fight. Or forget it." He ducks his head to meet your eyes, his lashes like half diamonds, long and dark and emphasising the browned honey colour of his irises. "It's not embarrassing. It's not embarrassing. I'm sorry it felt like I could throw them at you, but I wouldn't."
"I know." You sound more annoyed than he deserves.
"Yeah?" he asks gently.
You try to calm down. Chill out. "I know you wouldn't. It wasn't like that, it's just 'cos we don't fight and it was instinctive. Like a yawn."
Heartbreak blossoms on his face. You hate it at first, thinking he feels sorry for you, but then things slow. Your heart rate, your adrenaline. For the first time since you started arguing a few minutes ago, breath comes easily to you. Eddie waits for your cue, his hands sliding down to take a loose hold on your fingers.
It shouldn't be instinctive to expect pain during a verbal disagreement. His face says as much.
"I swear, sweetheart, I wouldn't," he murmurs.
You start to cry when you realise you believe him. Of course you know he wouldn't, but you could've said that before about someone else. And he's asking you if you wanna talk about it like you should, and you say you don't but of course you do —you want him to tell you it'll never happen again. That it was undeserved.
Eddie's rough around the edges but his hands are always nice. He sews your fingers between his and squeezes weakly.
"Somebody threw stuff at you?" he asks, eyes darting down your cheek, following a heavy tear.
"It's okay," you say.
"I'm supposed to be telling you that. Shit, c'mere." He pulls you in for a hug. "This is okay, right? I don't wanna make you feel worse."
"It's fine." You sniffle into his shoulder. "It's fine, I don't know why I'm upset."
"I thought you were gonna throw up, baby. I didn't mean to make you feel like that, I shouldn't have started shouting. I wouldn't have. If I knew, I wouldn't have. I shouldn't have."
You cling tighter.
"Sorry," he says, kissing your forehead, his voice all closed up like he's upset.
You shudder as you inhale, your body's attempt at regulating, and press your nose into his neck until it hurts. If it hurts him, he doesn't say, but you readjust in case it does.
"What happened?" Eddie asks.
"It's shitty, Eds. You don't wanna hear it."
"Yeah, I do. Anything that happened to you that warrants that sort of reaction is something I want to know about, not just 'cos I have tires I need to slash–" He audibly winces. "Or, like, an angry letter to write."
"You can slash tires. It's not like that, I don't think you're violent, baby."
"Good. I wanna know what made you feel that way because that's stuff that happened to you, and I love you. I don't want you carrying that by yourself. And," —he drops his cheek toward his shoulder, smiling At you tentatively— "I don't ever wanna make you flinch again."
"It's not your fault."
"It's not yours, either. None of that shit was your fault."
Eddie rubs your back until it feels weird, your skin almost raw under the constant back and forth, but it's a steadying touch that you don't want to go without. You tell him the gist of things without crying anymore, and if you need to do it with your eyes pressed to his shoulder he doesn't say a word.
He has some assurances to make you. How loved you are. How the last thing in the world you deserved was a raised hand. You've never heard him speak that sincerely for that long, but you need every word. When you think he might get sick of comforting you, he props you on the couch.
"Tell me if I'm being too much," he says, wrapping you up in a one-sided hug.
You feel safe and sound under his arm, pressing a kiss to a blown out tattoo. "Not too much," you murmur.
Eddie pulls your head to his lips for a peck nestled lovingly beside your eyebrow.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
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Not to be annoying but I rlly hope u write some kind of blurb for the jealous frat!Peter when someone flirts w reader after they are officially boyfriend girlfriend bc u wanna assess what kind of relationship they'll have after all the emotional trauma and angstttttt (idk if u got my first ask though)
*cleaning out my inbox*
kisses scattered across your face woke you up, hair tickled your nose, and you showed you were awake by lightly pushing on peter’s shoulder. it's just too early.
'can't snooze me, trouble. you're the one that told me to wake you up.' another round of kisses, your wake up call isn't that terrible. 'c'mon, up and at 'em. you've got a midterm to study for, leslie's waiting for you.'
his reasoning doesn't make you move any quicker, it was on leslie for choosing saturday morning as peak study time. you weren't even able to hang at the party last night, instead you hunkered down in peter's room and lightly woke when he crawled into bed around one to tug you into his side.
'it's so early.' peter pouts against your cheek, 'you'll survive. you've been putting in overtime this week. i swear that you've hung out with leslie everyday.' it's true, and like peter said before your first study session 'you'll feel your brain grow, super proud of you.' there's no question you'll ace the midterm.
'promise me you'll let me sleep in tomorrow?' a flurry of kisses, you savor them, you know it's the last attack of the day. 'you got it.'
---
peter thought you could use a little pick me up, so, he gladly walked into the library doors with your favorite fast food. it might've been slightly selfish, because he knows he just won himself some brownie points.
it took him a minute, but he found you. back in the study section, lightly kicking your feet under the table. you were nodding your head while chewing on the end of your pen, peter's heart picked up; he couldn't wait to see the look on your face.
you laugh, he smiles. peter moves around a bookcase and comes to a sudden stop. sitting right next to you, was a guy. he had your total attention, no other sign of people around you, peter couldn't even try to pretend it had turned into a last minute group session.
peter finds it hard to swallow, it's not that you're not allowed to hang out with guys, it's the fact that you lied about it. was there ever a leslie, or was it code for this guy the whole time?
the answer will be in your reaction, and he's about to catch you. you don't see him coming, your eyes flash to the bag on the table then to the hand setting it down. you almost burst at the seams, a surprise visit and your favorite food.
'peter!' you wince at your tone, a nasty look from the table next to you gets a silent apology. 'what are you doing here?' you're already digging through the bag, you miss the inspection he's doing on your study partner. you also miss the way he's avoiding peter's eyes.
'just wanted to say hi,' you chew on a fry and hold your mouth closed while you pucker, a chaste kiss. 'hi.' you swallow and tap on the arm next to you, peter follows the motion closely. 'have you met peter yet?'
'uh, no.' he scoots closer to the table, you shrug and look up at peter. he has his focus on leslie, it seems more intimidating than friendly. when your study buddy looks to you for help, peter loses it.
'trouble? wanna come talk to me for a minute?' you frown, your fries are at the perfect temperature. 'but, you-' the look in peter's eyes tells you he isn't playing, a sense of urgency has you scooting your chair back.
the second you're ducked behind a shelf, it spits out. 'who the fuck is that?' peter's tone has you drawing your head back, it's sudden and aggressive. 'who, leslie?' he laughs, 'nice try, who is he?'
it feels accusatory, you take a slight step back. 'that's leslie, peter.' he snorts, 'and you left out the fact he's a guy?' the reason for his sudden change makes you feel dirty, you don't like how he's directing his words.
'i didn't feel like it had to be spesified.' peter nods sarcastically, 'so i tell you i'm hanging out with... jordan, and i've been around them for hours a day, for the entire week then you find out it's a chick and you wouldn't mind? not even a little bit?'
'it depends on what you're doing with her.' a dry laugh, 'you knew exactly what the fuck you were doing with that name shit. don't stand here and tell me i'm the idiot.'
he's making you feel sad, you don't understand how peter could think of you like that. 'i don't understand why you're so upset.' peter tugs at his snapback, scratching at his curls, he replaces it.
'because you're my fucking girlfriend.'
your arms cross, 'so i can no longer hang out with any other guy?' maybe you were being a little difficult, but he's the one that implied you were cheating, or at the very least capable of it.
'jesus christ, that's what you jump to? no, honey-' the name sounded sour, '-it's the fact that you knew i'd think he was a girl and you didn't try to change that.'
'i don't see why it matters.' peter feels like he's talking in circles and he really wants to break from the conversation because he can feel his frustration building, he's about to start saying things he'll regret.
'it doesn't!' you pull on his arm with wide eyes, your head spins to look around. peter brings himself to a whisper shout, 'it doesn't fucking matter, but it starts to matter when you lie to me.'
'don't make it seem like i'm cheating on you.' you tried to ease him down, like the two had nothing in common. it was the wrong choice of words, a fire blazed in peter's eyes. you stepped back when peter pointed a finger at you, for once, he's making you feel really small.
'you're the one who brought up cheating. go back to your fucking friend, i'm done.'
you try to grab onto his wrist, but peter shakes you off like you're nothing. 'peter,' he has no interest in what you have to say, you can't follow him, he's too quick. 'peter!'
when he's out of sight you look down at the ground and sigh. peter was right, you knew what you were doing by alluding to the fact leslie was a girl. and peter doesn't care when you hang out with other guys, but because you left that part out, you've been lying by omission and it makes everything seem worse than it is.
you just don't know what he meant by 'i'm done,' and you really hope it just pertains to the conversation. either way, you shuffle back to your table with a tail between your legs and hope to god peter would let you apologize.
---
gentle knocks at the frat door, you were scared that if you gave peter a heads up, he'd bolt.
'uh oh, you're in trouble.' ethan has a smug look, it tells you that he's been preparing for you to show up. 'how much?' you need to know your chances before you can think of your plea bargain.
ethan wavers, 'he was... upset.' you hold your face between your hands as you slide in, mumbling out a 'fuck,' before building confidence to move up the stairs.
you lightly tap on your boyfriend's door, when there's no response you slowly twist the door knob. peter's lying on his bed, ankles crossed while a book covers his face.
'peter?' the door clicks shut. you timidly step forward, 'petey?' nothing from him, just a slight adjustment and he's back to reading. 'did we break up?'
the book drops, you're looking right at him. 'no, we didn't break up.' you can breathe a little bit better even if he went back to glaring at words, the main anxiety was flushed. 'okay, good.' you reach the end of his bed, rubbing at his shin you try to soften him up.
'i love you.' peter has a very unimpressed glance when you capture his total attention by taking a seat, pushing into his thighs. 'i don't know why i didn't tell you leslie was a guy, i mean, i honestly forgot but when you started saying she... i didn't correct you.' your fingers twiddle with the band of his watch, 'and i don't know why, i guess i wasn't thinking about it like that. but yeah, i'd feel a bit cheated if you did the same to me.'
'you keep saying cheat.'
cheating is almost number one in things you should never do to your partner, but for some reason, it really hits something in peter. just saying the word, out of context, has him pulling from your touch.
'peter, c'mon, stop it. you know what i mean. i'd never, ever cheat on you. i love you too much. i was on the spot and i thought you were implying i was cheating, and i was trying to say i wasn't cheating but then i think you took that as a guilty conscious coming forward and admitting i was cheat-'
'please stop saying cheating. please.'
you hold your mouth shut, a sheepish look crosses over your face. 'sorry.' it comes out as a mumble, it's an uncomfortable silence. you don't really know what to say, or do. you smash repetitive clicks on the side button of peter's watch, when you take a peek, he's watching your hands.
you're really trying, but you need to wash away any idea of it from his head. 'it's just that i never want you to think i'm cheating-' you're shocked into silence when peter rips his arm from you.
'fucking quit it with the cheating, trouble.' you open and close your mouth like a guppy, nothing sounds right. 'i know you don't like it, but i just need you to know that me hiding that leslie was a guy didn't mean i was trying to-'
'say cheat one more time, i fucking dare you.'
you stay silent. 'i don't know how to fix it, peter. i'm sorry i lied, and i’m sorry i keep saying the 'c' word.' you jump at peter's stage claps, you never knew how sarcastic a noise could sound.
'there we go! that was hard, huh?' it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you frown at him. 'you don't need to be so condescending.' peter snorts, 'and you don't need to be lying about girls who are guys that wanna fuck you.'
you freeze on the spot, pushing the words out like they'll make you puke if you think too hard about them. 'leslie doesn't want to fuck me.' peter nudges your back with his knee, 'you're cute.'
you shake your head, 'i mean it. he knows you're my boyfriend, i talk about you all the time.'
'that's so cute, you're so cute.' you push his arm, 'i mean it, peter! i promise he wants nothing to do with me, he even told me he likes someone else.'
peter plays along for the sake of it, 'oh, yeah? he does? let me guess... it's someone you know.' you light up, 'yes! he wouldn't tell me if we were friends, but he said i know her!'
'right, right. and she's super pretty, right? maybe a little outgoing?' it's impressing how well peter knows this. 'yes-' peter keeps going, 'maybe intimidating because she'd never notice him? and how she might not be into a guy like him?'
peter's ticked every single box; your eyebrows furrow, a supercut of every moment you've had with your study partner runs through your mind. you see where you've been dumb on hints, and how you very much are... the girl you know.
'and that might be because she...' you fill in the blanks with shame, 'has a boyfriend.' it's muttered in a deep tone, pitch mocking peter's next words.
a brew of frustration, not on peter, but on men in general. you can't even study without being hunted? and why the fuck does peter know the game so well?
'this is bullshit! what the fuck is your problem?' you stand and glare down at peter, demanding him to answer on behalf of the world's male population. peter holds a hand on his chest, 'what the fuck is my problem? i don't know, what did i do?'
'you!' you point at him, again, a placeholder for all feminine rage. 'you fucking- you're a... you're a man and you suck and why am i constantly fucking sexualized? all i wanted-' you suck in for air, you don't know why you feel a lump in your throat, is this something really worth crying over? yes.
'all i wanted was a friend.' no tears, you're full of anger again. who does that to a person? 'and the whole time i'm being baited? i just wanted to pass my fucking class, peter! i wanted to do it without your help and the second i don't have a fucking man tied to my hip, i'm being plotted against?'
'trouble,' peter's heart hurts and you can hear it.
'no! it's so unfair, and it's unfair that you'll never understand it. it's unfair that i have to live my entire life afraid of what's behind my shoulder. it's unfair that i can't be left alone. even when i make it clear i already have the person i want. it's just-'
you sink next to peter, he sits up to hug you. 'unfair. it's really, really unfair and i'm sorry i can't relate or understand. i'm sorry you thought you had a friend, i'm sorry you feel like you can't relax, and i'm sorry i rubbed it in your face.'
he did rub it in your face.
'you have plenty of guy friends with good intentions that would do anything to keep you out of harm's way. that includes calling out other guys that may not have them, but i could've been nicer. i'm sorry i'm just a man sometimes. i'll work on it, i promise.'
you melt into his touch, peter is very much just a man sometimes. but he's your man and always good at calling himself out when he needs it. 'is that why you thought i cheated on you?'
'the next time you say cheat, you owe me twenty bucks.' you ignore the quip, 'is it?'
peter scoffs as he rubs your back. 'i didn't think you were cheating, trouble. i was upset that my girlfriend was lying about who she was hanging out with.' a slew of kisses to your hairline follow.
'and maybe a little jealous.' you laugh, there's nothing for him to be jealous over, but he's super serious and pulls away to cup your face so you're looking right at him.
'because you're my baby, and i need it to stay that way.'
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hihi ! can i req txt reaction when u fall asleep on another member ? :0
you fall asleep on another member’s shoulder ♡
a/n. i had so much fun writing that!! thank you for requesting and i hope you enjoy <3
┆彡 YEONJUN [ 연준 ]
at first he would be shocked. flabbergasted. betrayed.
like he’s been looking for you for over twenty minutes now and you DARE be sleeping
on kai’s shoulder?
baby duck is pouty, ready to throw hands
but he’s a softie :”)
“yah, what do you think you’re doing with my girlfriend?!” yeonjun tsks dramatically, standing in front of the youngest.
kai looks up at him slowly, clearly disturbed that yeonjun stopped him from playing on his nintendo.
“she’s literally asleep. you can wake her up if you want…” kai shrugged gently, careful not to disturb you. however he noticed the way yeonjun’s features softened upon looking at you.
“whatever. just call me next time, she should be sleeping on me” he murmured and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, then pulled a blanket over you.
“it’s not like i volunteered…” hyuka rolled his eyes, earning a scoff from yeonjun. he took a couple of pics (of course he did) of you two and then sat at the couch, waiting for you to wake up.
won’t be mad, maybe a little jealous
but he knows how it is, the tiredness just hitting and being unable to resist it
he’s laughing at you if you later have neck cramps tho >:(
┆彡 SOOBIN [ 수빈 ]
yeah well…
absolute meanie. gremlin. literally wtf…
he makes the most disguised face upon walking on you, napping cutely on beomgyu’s shoulder
stands there and stares at him
(beomgyu didn’t notice)
then soobin straight up walks up and yanks your hand, pulling you towards him
you feel a sudden pull, almost making you fall down from the couch. beomgyu yelped loudly and you sleepily bump into someone because of the force.
“soobin, what the fuck” you grumble, aware that it was him who woke you up “i was so comfortable…”
“i don’t care! you shouldn’t even fall asleep on bricks if you’re sleepy! you should’ve told me! i feel so betrayed right now… by both of you!” soobin swung his finger in a threatening gesture but stopped once he realised your head is resting against his chest
“you’re such an awful boyfriend. she was peacefully sleeping” beomgyu sighed. soobin just frowned and dragged you somewhere else, allowing you to continue your nap. on his lap this time, with his hoodie over you.
he’s just so jealous it’s making everyone sick
but those leader instincts are also activating
(to be real, there are two wolves inside soobin: one wants to kick your ass for even thinking of sleeping on someone else, the other wants to pamper you to sleep and caress your hair)
in the end he also ends up asleep with you 🥹
┆彡 BEOMGYU [ 범규 ]
i’m so soft for him it’s not funny anymore
at first dramatic, almost yelling
even taehyun was like “you’re gonna wake her up 😐”
swooshes his hands millimetres from your face to check if you’re really asleep
“tsk. i guess she really is sleeping” beomgyu rolled his eyes and leaned away. taehyun smiled wildly upon seeing his friend’s lovestruck expression “aish, y/n… you’re so gonna have neck cramps. and that only happens if you sleep on anyone else other than me-!”
beomgyu gently tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear since it stuck to the corner of your mouth.
“she’s working so hard lately” he murmured and smiled gently, nodding his head “i’ll leave her alone, i guess”
“what about me? i need to piss…” taehyun grumbled, causing gyu to laugh quietly.
“welp, that’s not my problem” he sing-sung, sticking his tongue out in a teasing manner.
he sat next to you, chatting with taehyun; his eyes checking up on you every time you moved even a bit.
actually he won’t let you live once you’re awake
like please just for your own good shut him up (the choice how you do it is up to you though 🤭🤭)
but at the end of the day will give you a lecture that if you’re tired you should nap on a bed or couch… or at least if you’re going for a shoulder, pick his :(
┆彡 TAEHYUN [ 태현 ]
he’s shocked and kind of… in a pickle
yes, it bugs him you’re sleeping on soobin but also he won’t let it show
soobin though, he’s almost pissing himself because taehyun’s stare is frightening
but terry has a smart idea to work his way through it
“what?” taehyun asked soobin, standing in front of you two, who was looking at him with wide eyes
“i promise i didn’t do this on purpose she just seemed sleepy” the leader spat out words at the speed of light
“soobin, that’s fine but just…” taehyun sighed dramatically and sat down, knee touching yours “…don’t mind if i do…”
he gently snuck his hand between your head and soobin’s arm, lightly pulling you the other way so your head plopped down onto him. he placed the other hand at the back of your head, adjusting the position into the crook of his neck. you didn’t budge a bit and your peaceful breath hit his skin.
“much better, hm?” taehyun hummed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as well.
you’re so confused once you’re awake but his smug smirk tells it all
will massage your neck if you have cramps… only if you ask him prettily and he’s satisfied enough >:T
doesn’t give you a lecture because ''you do you'', you can’t control your sleepiness but he did say something between lines of
“if you’re tired then i can lend you a shoulder… and maybe scratch your head a bit. soobin won’t do that though”
safe to say that you understood the hidden meaning teehee
┆彡 HUENING KAI [ 휴닝카이 ]
oh hyuka:(
he’d feel a bit sad upon seeing you snoozing on yeonjun’s shoulder
but he won’t say a thing
he’ll just smile at yeonjun and sit next to you, hand hesitantly shifting - should he grab your hand or not? he doesn’t want you to wake up…
and yeonjun feels so bad about this whole situation like 😭😭
“kai?” yeonjun asked quietly, looking at his friend. the younger’s eyes sparkled with curiosity “can you move closer? i need to call someone and i don’t want to wake her up…”
“sure sure” kai hummed, trying to hide his grin. he shuffled closer and yeonjun stood up slowly, your head plopping down. they both snorted at it. you opened your eyes lazily, looking at kai confused; he just cooed softly “hi there”
you sighed and leaned into kai, mumbling something quietly.
“go back to sleep” hyuka whispered, caressing your hair.
yeonjun almost had to bite his fist to prevent himself from screaming at the cuteness. he left the room, clueless to the fact that he left the phone on the couch.
he quietly sings you to sleep but only if the boys aren’t around
would rather you used his fav plushie as a pillow than someone else’s arm :(
please cover him in kisses once you’re awake just to prevent him from overthinking
but i do feel like if you looked funny or your head slid down… or you snored OR JUST whatever…
he’d laugh and woke you up and then laugh even more at your grumpy face 😾
[ masterlist <3 ]
taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinhobi ,, @jung0ne ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @moonacholy ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddenoudepression ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @gyudiarys
#txt imagines#txt boyfriend#txt fluff#txt headcanons#txt huening kai#txt beomgyu#txt yeonjun#txt soobin#txt taehyun#txt soft hours#txt x y/n#txt x you#txt x reader#txt scenarios#blue jisungs's requests#txt requests#txt reactions#taehyun fluff#soobin fluff#yeonjun fluff#huening kai fluff#beomgyu fluff
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hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.
im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!
bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)
you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.
that explains a lot.
and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)
"evenin', duckie."
"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."
john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.
"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.
"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.
"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...
"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."
"anythin' for you, duckie."
list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner
shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.
"all ok, john?"
"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.
"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.
"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.
"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."
"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.
"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.
30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?
john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.
that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.
john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.
"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.
you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.
"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.
"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."
--
ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.
#john price#price#cod price#captain john price#captain price x reader#price x reader#john price x reader#captain price#price imagine#price headcanons#price one shot#john price x you#captain johnathan price#john price x y/n#tornadothoughts
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just saw an asks where you are talking about mean eddie mocking you and it did something to me lmao. could you elaborate on that with a little blurb. maybe ur riding eddie and it just feels so good that your legs give up on u and he is being mean and sarcastic about it till he takes the lead
author’s note: i couldn’t remember what i said about that so just enjoy really playful/mean eddie, this would’ve been longer but i’ve been struggling a bit lately, still i hope you enjoy!
cw: 18+ (minors dni) mean!eddie & mean!reader (but it’s all playful, slight dom!eddie (if you squint), protected sex, multiple orgasms, aftercare, if i missed anything lmk!
word count: 1.8k
Eddie was an antagonizer in its purest form, never malicious but always with an endgame in mind. It would start as subtle teasing, off-handed comments that would have you retorting back in such a manner that Eddie couldn’t help but smile, knowing he’d get you back for it later.
He’d crowd behind you at your locker, hand clasped over yours where it’s gripping the metal and whisper against your ear, “Keep wearing stuff like that and I’m not gonna be able to handle myself.”
You could wear anything and Eddie would have the same response, but that was beside the point. His free hand slips into the open hole of your ripped jeans against your upper thigh and squeezes, forcing a surprised laugh out of you, muffling it with your hand as you ducked your head into your locker, elbowing him gently with your other arm.
It was an everyday occurrence now and you’ve learned the only way to shut him up is to react, even if you’d regret it later.
“What? So you can fuck me in the bathroom again?” You tease lightly, “A whole three minutes? I know you can do better.”
Eddie shrugs, “Can you blame me?”
His attraction toward you was never-ending and intense, something you’ve never experienced before him. Eddie was the kind of suffocating love you always wanted, soaking up every moment of it.
“Part of me thinks you like the idea of getting caught,” You smirk half heartedly, “kinda fucked up if you ask me.”
“You’re one to talk.” Eddie replies, ignoring your obvious jab.
You laugh softly, leaning forward until your lips are barely touching, eyes glaring into Eddie’s, “Is that what you want?”
Eddie makes a small noise of confusion, still playing into your act.
“You wanna fuck me, right here?” Eddie wouldn’t dare, he’s not that asinine, but he enjoys the back and forth, the deep fire in your eyes as you speak to him. Your hand tugs at the hem of his shirt, hand resting just above the belt of his jeans, twisting the shirt in your hands slightly before pulling him toward you abruptly, pressing a bruising kiss against his lips.
“Too bad,” You answer for him, “I need to focus on this English test,” Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes—you were perfectly fine, up to aces with all of your work and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you wouldn’t pass, “and Principal Higgins is watching us—so you should probably get to class.”
Eddie chances a glance to his left, realizing just how right you were. He looks back quickly, familiar smirk on your face as you pull away, reaching behind you to close your locker.
“Stay out of trouble?” You ask, tone soft and warm toward him.
“No promises,” He replies wearily, scratching at the side of his jaw, mindful of the eyes still watching you both, “everyone’s out to get me, remember?”
“You’ll stay out of trouble,” You assure him again, eyeing him briefly, eyes dragging from head to toe, “right?”
And he can see it in the look you give him, the salacious grin on your face. There would be consequences—or metaphorical consequences, not that he didn’t have a way to counter them, but he nods.
“Mhmm,” He agrees, nodding slightly. “Promise.”
But, promises didn’t always hold up and we’re bound to break at some point.
And it’s no surprise when you find Eddie in after school detention with an even more shameful look on his face than earlier in the day, dragging his feet up to you in a leisurely manner as he wraps his arms over your shoulder, slung around you loosely.
“You never listen to me,” You complain with amusement, letting him press a light kiss into your hair, the smirk evident in his face even if you couldn’t see him. “Do you?”
Eddie thinks for a moment, briefly, “No.”
So, by later that night, it’s almost a constant back and forth, neither of you daring to break until Eddie gets his hands around your thighs, pulling you tight against him, burying himself even deeper.
“What was that?” He asks, a patronizing lilt in his voice, breath coming out in pants. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I can’t—“ You breath out, shoving his hands away weakly, “no more, Eddie, please.”
He’d already managed to make you come twice, quickly working his way into a third, his hips moving gingerly as he listened to you, though he was obviously enjoying your torture, his eyes lighting up at the feeling of your muscles twitching involuntarily under his touch, too weak to even raise yourself up onto your knees.
“Fuck—you really got a fuckin’ mouth on you when you like to think you’re in charge,” Eddie laughs slightly, “baby, that’s never the case.”
And even if that was true, you don’t really mind.
“Eddie,” You plead, hands shoved against his chest in an effort to push away slightly, “come on.”
“Do you really wanna stop?” Eddie teases, fingers slipping into the dip where your hips meet your pelvis and rocking your hips slowly, eyebrows knitting together in pleasure as your mouth drops open, a broken gasp leaving your lips.
Your eyes are barely open, riddled with exhaustion and hanging on by a thread.
“Didn’t think so.” He comments off handedly, “Look at me.”
You shake your head petulantly, lids falling shut as you breathe deeply, savoring the deep penetrating feeling of Eddie inside of you, hitting the spot that made your entire body ache, skin feeling white hot.
Eddie slaps your thigh lightly, a gentle warning.
“Hey,” Eddie chides, “you can handle it, right?”
It’s the same tone you used on him early, only countered toward you. He knew exactly how to get under your skin.
“Shut up.” You pout, blunt nails digging into his chest.
Eddie grunts softly, tutting his tongue against his teeth.
“S’not as sweet when you’re on the receiving end, is it?”
Eddie drives his point even further with a sharp thrust of his hips, hands squeezing impossibly tight against your skin.
Your mouth falls open further, which Eddie mimics in a way that drives you mad, face contorting into a mix of frustration and yearning, begging him to give it up—whatever act he was playing or devious plan he had in the back of his mind.
But, Eddie was stubborn.
“I know you wanna say it,” Eddie tells you, “Say it—say my name, sweetheart.”
You sigh heavily, head tipping back, “Fuck—Eddie,” Eddie makes a quiet noise of approval, “Eddie—“
“See how perfect you sound when all you can think about is me,” Eddie seethes, grunting as the rate of thrusts grew faster, forcing you to fall forward, hands digging into the soft fabric of the pillow, “so drunk on my dick you can’t think of anything else.”
“I’ve got plenty of thoughts in my head.” You retort.
Eddie huffs a laugh, daring you to challenge him.
His hands grip your own, clasped between his warm palms, his hips suddenly unmoving.
“Do it yourself then,” He instructs, “yeah?”
But, your body was entirely too weak, hips aching from the stretch and muscles screaming protest—you just wanted to rest, have Eddie wrap his body around you and lull you to sleep, but instead you were here, reaping the consequences of getting under Eddie’s skin all day.
Your movements are slow, without any real rhythm, just a desperate grind of your hips, seeking the friction.
And it’s frustrating, face again furrowing in annoyance as you rocked your hips jerkily, eventually giving up, slight frown on your face.
“Say you’re sorry,” Eddie says, “for teasing me, making fun of me—“
“God, you’re unbelievable—“
Eddie makes a pointed face, eyebrow quirking in amusement.
The smug bastard. He didn’t care for an apology, he just wanted the satisfaction of seeing your crumble under his will.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” You say in exasperation, “but Eddie, I can’t—I really can’t take anymore—“
Eddie nods, pulling you down toward his chest and flipping you in one slow, fluid motion, bodies never disconnecting.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” He smiles, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, hurried kiss, hips moving quickly against you, his fingers finding your clit almost instantly and it’s all too overwhelming, body pliant to his touch but aching for release, “you still with me?”
You nod slightly, forcing your head deeper against the pillow, eyes shut in exhaustion as Eddie pressed himself against you, mouthing at random parts of your skin, delicate touches to remind you he was still there, his hand still an igniting pressure against your cunt, fingers working quickly over your swollen clit.
“Hey, eyes,” He nudges softly, squeezing at your thigh, “look at me, babe.”
You peek at him slightly, laughing at his righteous grin.
“Just one more,” He promises, his early words seeping back into your thoughts, “that’s it.”
And when it hits you, you don’t even have the energy to make a sound, mouth falling open as you grip at Eddie’s shoulder, bound to leave bruises from the tightness of it. He makes sure to carry you through until it’s all over, snapping his hips a few more times until it’s over for himself, having held out for longer than he’s used to—it’s guttural, the groan that escapes him, hands fisting in to the pillow beside your head to avoid squeezing you too hard.
“So, about those three minutes—“ You start lightly, attempting to wean Eddie back into consciousness.
“Had to prove a point,” Eddie explains through staggered huffs, “how’d I do?”
“Do I really need to answer that?” You ask profoundly, hair matted to your face from the sweat, chests touching with every breath you took.
“Just checking,” He chuckles, pressing a messy, closed mouth kiss over the tip of your nose, “gotta piss me off more often, sweetheart—this is pretty fun.”
“Fuck you.” You reply playfully, kicking him off weakly until he’s falling to his back on the mattress, “I can’t even feel my legs.”
Eddie disposes of the condom discreetly while you slowly slip your underwear back on, crawling back up the bed lazilyy until he’s flat on his stomach, hands reaching for the tender flesh of your thigh.
“Let me take care of you then,” Eddie smiles slightly, those his words are laced with dangerous undertone—it’s all teasing, but it earns a familiar look of warning his way, “I meant like, a massage or something. You know, not everything I say is dirty minded—“
You offer a pointed glance his way, seeing right through his bullshit.
“Okay, most of it is—but come on, let me.”
You sigh quietly, nodding in response.
His touches are just as gentle, if not more.
It’s a reminder of how well Eddie balanced all of it, the hard intensity of his exterior alongside the delicate personality woven on the inside—it’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced before, but it was everything you needed.
Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡
#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson headcanons#my writing#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn x y/n
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could i get a carlos imagine where you have commitment issues and he calms you down? as a girlie with commitment/trust issues i just wanna b repped in one of ur fics/drabbles :/// it's tuff out here brotha
bring you home — cs55
Moving in together gets difficult. Carlos is there to ease you along. title from this
genre: fluff
auds here... i hope you enjoy this!!! i too am a commitment-afflicted girl ..... it truly is tough lol. but i hope u find the right person who helps u put ur anxieties to rest <3 insp by a scene from satc i saw on tiktok
It started with a duck. But the duck started with the box. And the box started with a toothbrush joke. And the toothbrush joke started with your old lady neighbor moving out. So really, it started with Mrs. McDonnell and her massive moving van rolling down the street and leaving the flat next door empty. Somehow that old hag had managed to irritate you long after she left, albeit through means not her own.
In terms of time, it started a month ago. In terms of people (sans the old bitch), it started with Carlos, as so many of your stories do. “Mrs. McDonald finally moved out today,” he’d said, hip against your stove, watching bits of garlic turn from pale to brown. From the living room you hummed affirmation and then laughed: “McDonnell.”
“Donald, Donnell, Dinero,” he rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s moving in and out. Charles bought a new place in Monaco.”
“Well,” you shrugged, fixing the ridden-up hem of your tank top, “you could have an extra toothbrush in here, if that gets y’there.”
He laughed, pointing at you with the oil-hot rubber tip of the spatula. You two had been dating for over a year at that point, yet any suggestions of moving in together remained vague, cloudish ideas in both of your heads. For him it was impractical; for you it was a little scary.
But a toothbrush, which he always had at your flat and you at his, wasn’t moving in together. Neither was a drawer of clothes and knick-knacks. It was a symbol of your busy lives and the intermittent intersections far and few between.
Except they’d been becoming less intermittent and a lot more constant. He was almost always at your flat, the wide two-bedroom you’d decided was a good place to live with your income and the area. You had two parking spaces, a good rep with the board, and a coffee shop across the street—a place all your own.
A little plus was you had Carlos on some free days, like that day—that fateful day he turned back to the pan and said, with a smile: “I should move in.”
You froze. “You’re asking—you’re telling me or the garlic?” In fits of nerves, you could only blurt out bad jokes.
He laughed but it was a small exhale of breath. “I’m serious.” He turned to you, brown eyes big.
Your heart swelled with something between apprehension and absolute excitement, that finally you were going to take a step you felt like you’d been waiting to take forever. “You are?” You asked, so giddily you could hear your own smile.
The truth was, you had moved in with a boyfriend before, offered him a key and suggested the entire affair, bought fresh flowers and cooked eggs and made coffee and lived the bliss you only read about in romance novels. Months later you caught him fucking somebody else in your bedroom, and years later the memory fails to purge itself from your mind or your habits, plaguing every inner thought you have.
But this, you assure yourself, is Carlos.
“Dead seriou—uuooof!” Carlos barely got to the end of his sentence, with the way you barrelled into him, smiling into the blocky build of his chest and muttering a repetitive yes yes yes into the cotton of his tee. He held you there, pressing a kiss to your hair and promising he’d be in with his boxes as soon as time made way.
—
“Make way,” you yell into the tiny gap between your door and its frame.
“Hey, hi, hello,” your boyfriend sing-songs. “How are you?”
In the month you’d spent watching your boyfriend move into your flat, you’d also been subjected to your complete lack of personal space. Every time you entered, he’d be there talking his head off. Every time you came home at night, he’d be there. You felt suffocated. Scared, even if you couldn’t sleep at night without some part of you touching him. You’re simply a human with needs, and you needed space. You needed silence. Needed it. Absolutely needed it. You knew this because every time you opened your own door, it collided with a—
“Box.” You shove yourself through the gap and wedge the door closed, pointing an accusatory finger at the cardboard. “Another box by the door. Don’t make me burn those,” you mutter, fussing with your hair and toeing off your Blahniks. Across the foyer, Carlos is nailing something into the wall, noisy and incessant and you want to shrink into the floor.
“Sorry, sorry. Lo siento. I have so many stuff.”
“Yeah! You do. My flat’s only nay fucking big,” you respond, raising your pointer finger and thumb to exaggerate the size of your (in actuality, wide) living space. “Carlos, couldn’t you unpack some of these? Just some. It’s—you know, it’s piling up. And you know I hate mess.”
“I know, baby. I will as soon as I finish this up. I promise.”
You nod once, sighing and moving into the study to gather your laptop for work. You’re halfway into the room, eyes scanning your desk’s surface and finding your Mac laying flat atop it, unassuming next to a figurine of a wooden duck. You pause and blink. The wooden duck does not, its eyes painted wide and smooth and you definitely did not purchase this duck.
Somehow, this is the straw that breaks your back.
“What is this duck doing here?!” You yell, voice loud even from the study into the foyer. Carlos pulls off the goggles he’d been wearing to drill shit into your wall and smiles. A gift from me.
“A gif—I, I, I don’t like ducks.” You flail your arms around. “I just… hearing you talk or drill as soon as I come into my own home feels weird. For so long I’ve been alone and… and I’m supposed to hear silence and I—I’m scared that you’re going to figure out how scared I am and you’re going to leave me.”
He just stares, eyebrows knitted. You smother a hand over your face. You pause and breathe for a minute, then two.
“It’s just—I’ve only lived with someone three months, and that was ages ago, and before that it was my parents, so. I’m going to be really frank with you and I’m sorry if this sounds… but I’m gonna close the bedroom door and I don’t want you to talk to me for thirty minutes. I need space. And keep the duck first. I’m sorry. Is that selfish? Is that okay?” When he shakes his head and then nods, you deposit it into his arms and back up into your room.
His face, torn between concerned and endeared, softens into an understanding, patient smile. Okay, he mouths. I love you, you mouth back, and then you’re shutting it softly, leaning your forehead against the white wood and letting a long exhale leave your lips. You half-expected him to fight you back, to raise his voice, but it’s your own worst expectations weighing down on you all over again, born out of memories of your ex.
You stay like that for a while, and slowly with the quiet you realize—you find the duck cute.
You like the boxes because they remind you this is becoming a home. You like hearing him talk because it means you know he’s there. (The drilling will always be irritating, but he makes it better.) You don’t dislike anything he does, but you’re not totally lying either: you are scared. Scared of the commitment it’d take to make this a sure thing. The commitment you’d given before and the commitment that’d been betrayed.
But this is Carlos. This is Carlos, who’s understood every part of you, who’s given you time and patience even when you didn’t know how much you needed it. The Carlos who knows how you like your toast, who eats the yolk off your sunny-side eggs and gives you the white of his hard-boiled ones. The Carlos who said I love you first, surprising you into shock, and then took it back in embarrassment before you cut him off with a kiss. The Carlos who stays.
The air clears and you breathe easier. You open the door after five minutes. “You okay?”
He’s unpacking a box. He turns and smiles wryly, mimicking a zip motion across his lips. He shakes his head. No talking, remember?
You pout, smiling. “Sorry if I’m neurotic.”
You pad softly toward him and it’s easy, too easy for him to pick you up into his arms, wrap your legs around his waist, stay standing and hugging you. He’s quiet still, patient, warm. “I like hearing you talk. I like your boxes. I like that you’re mine and we’re here.” You inhale. “‘M just scared. And I don’t… want to be, but I am, and… it’s just me. I’m crazy.”
“Hey, Crazy. So am I. Take your time.” He hugs you tighter. “I’m not gonna leave you, even if you hated the duck.” I didn’t, you say quietly. It was cute. “I know it’s hard, baby. I know. You have to let me take care of you. You have me, okay? You have me.”
“And when you’re not here?” Fear slithers up and tries to tug at you but his arms are around you, secure and holding you there, so you don’t let it.
The thing with needs, really, is when they’re met—met in the best, most understanding way, especially…
He kisses your neck. “I’ll always be.”
…You find you no longer need them at all.
#f1#carlos sainz#carlos sainz imagines#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz drabble#carlos sainz x reader#f1 x reader
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𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭
request by @nikipedia07 <3 I think I may hav gone a lil off track w this one but hope u love it sweetie
✧warnings: violent descriptions, yandere/toxic themes
✧synopsis: Jay is a fairly well known mafia boss around Korea. However, there is a small area where he's never been seen. An area where his enemy is hiding in, and were his beloved lives. When he first set his eyes on y/n, he didn't think about anything else but making her his, and so he decided to even put through the worst, just to make her love him the way he loves her.
✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧◇✧
It all started when he was on a mission. Of course she didn't see him but he saw her. how she hugged some kids, shielding them from the suited men gunning down some other tatted men. God he loved the look of fear in her eyes, and how adorable she was shielding the small kids. Jay nodded at the men, and they walked off, not even bothering to glance in y/n's direction. Since the day he set eyes on the angel princess, he knew she was meant to be his,
That's how Jay found himself in high school, in uniform, despite being in his twenties. He threatened the head to make sure he was in every single one of y/n's class. which meant dealing with some crazy students. "Oh my god bitch could you like shut da fuck up?" Lia said glaring at Sungchan who was just eating his Cheetos "you talking to me?" Sungchan asked as the girl rolled eyes.
"Nah bitch I was talking to the girl stroking the wall- YES YOU YOU WANKER!" Lia yelled as Y/n turned around frowning "Is this a classroom or your bedroom?! Lia language. Sungchan, put those snacks away and focus." Y/n warned as she took more notes "Damn lady you gotta chill-" Sungchan mumbled as he put his Cheetos away.
Jay glanced at Sungchan, not liking his bullshit one bit. However he bit his tongue, he didn't snap at the male and instead, stared at y/n. God when he saw his darling focus solely on teaching the students, being so patient and sweet no matter how bitchy they were, he feels so calm.
"Kay class... I'll see you after break-" y/n said with a smile as she left the room. "She has got to be one of the hottest teachers in the school" Jinyoung said as he turned to the group of boys "She's like 2 or 3 years older than us- how is she teaching?" Lia asked as the boys shrug "I mean I don't care, at least I get a nice view everytime she walks in-" Yuta says with a smirk, stretching his arms out.
Jay groaned as he stayed put in his seat. sleeping on his desk, trying to remain calm. Only 3 more minutes of this. Then his darling will come back. "Ok break ended 5 minutes ago. phones away, everyone back in your seats please," Y/n called out as the students rolled their eyes, getting back into their seat.
As y/n continued to teach, she noticed that the class weren't even trying to pay attention, all of them messing about, sleeping around, eating snacks. It was as if she wasn't even there. They didn't hear her, they didn't bother listening to her, it was like she was talking to a brick wall. Except one student, who was actively listening and taking notes. Jay.
However, the noise only got worse all of a sudden. Not the students being even more annoying, but instead they were screaming. Many ducked down and hid under their tables. "Ah fuck you have got to be fucking kidding me." Jay mumbled, getting up as he pulled a gun out, shooting the 4 enemies that had broken in to kill him. His uniform was now stained with blood as his men walked in.
"Clean the bodies I'm done with this act." Jay said as he walked up to y/n pulling her up, his arm around her waist, as her body hit his, his eyes met her panicked pair. "So fucking beautiful... and all mine. You think I sat in school again for fun? I graduated I don't even have to be here." Jay said as he carried her, out of the classroom, ignoring her kicks and screams. "OH MY GOD HE'S PARK FUCKIN JONGSEONG-" Lia screamed as she showed the search results on her phone.
"why did you even come then?..." y/n mumbled to herself, unaware that Jay heard "I needed to get close to my princess before I take her to my palace... see y/n from now you will be living the life you deserve, a husband with expensive black suits who can give you many black cards... sweetheart you need a sweetheart. Me." Jay simply said as the girl frowned.
(OK SO IM NOT HAPPY WITH THIS, I THINK I WENT OFF TRACK BUT I'LL DO A PART 2 FOR THIS IF UW)
#yandere enhypen#yandere kpop#kpop yandere#enha x reader#lee heeseung#park jongseong#park sunghoon#sim jaeyun#yang jungwon#kim sunoo#nishimura riki#yandere au#yandere drabble#yandere jay#yandere enha#enha imagines#enhypen scenarios#jay enhypen
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no comment !!!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they finally reveal their shared life.
or
for when you got really lucky with your love. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
social media au // carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader
warnings - language
author's note - hello!! i can't stop making these lmfao but fr these are so fun to write, i love them!! i really hope u like this, thank you for reading <3 i think, emphasis on think, that i will be able to post a pierre gasly social media au tonight along with part i of a max verstappen one so yeah, keep an eye out. i love you, hope you're okay <3
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
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yourusername people ask how long have i loved u, no comment
tagged carlossainz55
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username SHUT UO SHIT UP SHIT UP SHUT UP OMG
username OH MY GOD?????? WHAT??????
username her using her own song to hard launch her man is so iconic of her
username THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR AGAHSJKAKSNAKA
landonorris fucking finally
-> yourusername props to carlos for convincing me 🙏
username "no comment" MA'AM WE NEED ANSWERS
username im vrying omg whag yje fjxk
lewishamilton the best couple ❤️
*liked by yourusername*
username what the duck i lo e them so mucj omh
username he's so pretty omg
carlossainz55 te amo ❤️
-> yourusername te amo mi amor ❤️
carlossainz55 loved you for a thousand lifetimes probably
-> yourusername carlos i will cry i love you :/
username they're so parents whatcthefucj
username RUE WHEN WAS THIS
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
liked by yourusername, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 964,528 others
carlossainz55 how i got you honey, even i don't understand
tagged yourusername
9,146 comments
username THE WAY "the party" BY Y/N IS LITERALLY THEIR SONG OMG
username HIM QUOTING HIS GIRL'S SONG I COULD CRY
username gone deceased six feet under decomposed decaying
charles_leclerc will you finally stop calling me at 3am ranting about how much you love y/n???
-> carlossainz55 no x
username MOTHER
username she eats everytime
username can carlos fight question mark
danielricciardo chihuahua energy in the second pic
-> yourusername WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN
-> carlossainz55 no no i get what you're saying
username THE WAY I SCREAMED
lilymhe the only thing i like abt u is ur gf
-> yourusername my love ❤️
-> carlossainz55 can't believe you because same
username he's down BAD bad
username this acc will turn into a y/n fanpage and i will eat up every second of it
≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱
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yourusername i know how lucky i am
tagged carlossainz55
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username GOODBYE.
username LITERAL PARENTS NOW OMG
username STOP THEY'RE GONNA BE SUCH GOOD PARENTS
danielricciardo normal y/n is such a gem to deal with, can't wait for the pregnant version!! good luck mate!!
-> carlossainz55 thank you brother, i will be needing it 🙏
-> yourusername these comments are public and you're on the couch tonight.
username CARLOS AS A DAD I CANNOT
username im so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
username THIS IS INSANEEEE LIKE WE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THEY WERE DATING BEFORE YESTERDAY AND NOW THEY'RE GONNA BE PARENTS LIKEEE
landonorris best godfather is here ❤️
-> charles_leclerc no
-> pierregasly no
-> lewishamilton no
-> maxverstappen1 no
-> danielricciardo no
username that baby is gonna be so blessed and loved
username stop im so happy for them sm
carlossainz55 i'm the one who got lucky, thank you for everything ❤️
-> yourusername gonna cry brb x
carlossainz55 i love you so much
-> yourusername my love for you grows everyday it's insane
username OH MY GOD SHJAKABDJAKANS
#f1 x female reader#f1 x reader#fake instagram imagines#social media au#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x you#f1 imagines#carlos sainz drabble#carlos sainz imagine
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