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miscellaneous-misty · 4 months ago

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You're Mine, Not His!

♥︎ summary: in which gojo gets jealous of your collection of cinnamoroll plushies and demands you break up with that stupid bunny or dog or whatever it is!

♥︎ tags: SFW, wc: 1k, fluff, crack, silly, established relationship, cohabitation, teasing, fem reader, jealous and grumpy/pouty gojo, amused reader, an abundance of cinnamoroll plushies, light manhandling by toru to reader, little spoon satoru

♥︎ notes: inspired by this smau made by @sailorkamino! this was spontaneous so i'm sorry about the poor quality. i just wanted to get this idea out of my brain. all the dividers and the edit for this post were made by me from scratch, except for the "empty/ageless block dni" divider (i customized a template by @/cafekitsune for that one). please do not use or re-upload the dividers or edit for your own posts. thank you <3 i hope you enjoy reading ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა

♥︎ link to masterlist

You knew the minute Satoru stepped into the bedroom that he was not happy.

Even with the blindfold on, the frown on his half-exposed face made his displeasure obvious from the doorway. He pulls down the blindfold with one hand, brilliant blue eyes piercing straight into your soul. If you were anyone else, you'd be afraid of his deathly cold stare. But because you two have been dating for a while now, you knew him well. Right now, your boyfriend is just being dramatic.

"What the hell is this?" Satoru says, glaring at the smiling plushie in your arms. "You're cheating on me in our own home?"

You smile, hugging the plushie tightly to your chest. "It's Cinnamoroll!"

Satoru eyes the Cinnamoroll plushie in your arms with disdain, as if he's contemplating which cursed technique would be best for eliminating him. The entire shared bedroom has been filled to the brim with Cinnamoroll plushies of varying sizes. "Did you really have to bring your whole collection when you moved in?"

"Of course!" you exclaim, offended at the very notion of abandoning your precious collection. You tilt your head, resting your cheek against the top of Cinnamoroll's head. The plushie sinks at the pressure, squishing against your face cutely. "I could never abandon my first love."

Satoru frowns. "So you're not even trying to deny it?"

The Cinnamoroll in your arms has a smug expression on its face with its eyes closed, its w-shaped mouth, and the little blush on each cheek. You can tell it's bothering Satoru. You decide you want to tease him. You squeeze it gently, bringing your knees up to your chest, curling closer to Cinnamoroll as if he's your lover. You bat your eyelashes at Satoru in a faux show of innocence. "What? Are you jealous?"

"Yes!" Satoru replies, admitting his irritation readily. He snatches one of the Cinnamorolls off the dresser with one hand, choking it by the neck. The Cinnamoroll plush is unaffected of course, smiling blissfully at Satoru with blue eyes similar to his. He waves the plushie around. "What does he have that I don't?"

"Hm," you hum, pretending to think for a short moment. "He's cute, energetic, cheerful—"

"Oi oi oi." Satoru clicks his tongue, tossing the plushie aside onto the floor. He strides over to you, resting one knee on the mattress and one hand on the headboard of the bed. He leans closer, towering over you, tall and gangly and all-encompassing. "I have all of those traits and more! I have blue eyes and white hair. I'm rich, handsome, tall—"

"Annoying," you interrupt, poking Satoru in the cheek for every item you add to his list. "Jealous, workaholic, yapper, bully, mean—"

"These are lies," Satoru says, kicking off the other Cinnamorolls from the bed as he moves even closer, fully caging you against the headboard. "Slander, even. I demand a lawyer."

"Hey! Don't hurt him!"

A little growl escapes from Satoru's throat, dark and foreboding. "Don't show affection for him!"

He tries to grab the Cinnamoroll plushie out of your arms. You wiggle to the left and to the right, curling up protectively around the plushie like an armadillo. "No! He's mine!"

"Ugh, break up with him already! It's just a stupid bunny," Satoru whines.

You gasp. "He's a dog! Get it right."

"That's clearly a bunny—Wait, I don't care what he is!" His chest bumps into your knees, the loose fabric of his shirt brushing against your legs. "You're mine, not his!"

You giggle. "You're so dramatic, Toru, getting all pouty and worked up over 'a stupid bunny' like you said."

"I am not pouting."

"You are definitely pouting."

Satoru stays silent for a moment, eyeing you like a stubborn, angry cat who has yet to be fed a good meal. Suddenly, he grabs your calves and drags your legs outwards, sliding you down the bed. You squeal at the sudden motion, powerless as Satoru grabs the plushie from your arms and carelessly throws it behind him. He lays on top of you with his full weight, his head resting on your chest and his arms snaking their way around your waist. "You're only allowed to cuddle with me like that."

You laugh, petting his soft white hair. You drag your fingertips across his undercut, the sensation pleasant against your skin. "You're so petty."

He tilts his head up, looking up at you all cute and needy and clingy. "It's not petty to want my girlfriend for myself. Stop cheating on me."

You roll your eyes. "It's not cheating."

"Yes it is! I'm gonna burn all of them tomorrow—"

You grab his cheeks, pinching him. "Don't you dare! I'll kill you."

"Owieeeee," Satoru whines. "You're so mean to me."

You let go, gently caressing the area you pinched. He leans into your hand, your touch. You sigh and shake your head with a smile, wondering how you landed yourself such a pathetic man. "I only keep Cinnamoroll for when you're not around, alright? He's my side piece."

"Well, I'm here now," Satoru huffs, burying his face in your chest. "So I don't want to see him anywhere near you. You should only look at me."

"Okay, you big baby, I'll keep all my attention on you," you reply, hugging him. You take a second to notice his warmth, his weight. You close your eyes, appreciating the way he sinks into your body like he wants to be one with you, like he never wants to be away from you. Then, you open your eyes and smirk. "...For now."

Satoru glares at you. "I will burn those stupid plushies. Don't test me."

You laugh, loud and obnoxious. Satoru gaze softens. He squeezes you tightly, committing the sound of your laughter to memory. Silently, he makes a promise to make sure he's always around so you never have to rely on those damn plushies again. He'll never allow anyone to steal you away from him, even if he has to fight a dumb cartoon bunny to keep you to himself.

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dreamersparacosm · 3 days ago

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jeon jungkook - if we were us (part two)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.

note ; nothing like a month long hiatus to really set the mood!! right? hehe. r-right? right.. guys? OK FIRST OFF — apologies for my absence on this fic. i did not forget about her i swear. i just wanted more time to sit with her (and like i am so glad i did. she needed to marinate in my notion templates and google docs even more). writing a fic like this is heavy and heartbreaking, and i think i was struggling a bit on direction. as we all know i'm THEE™️ romcom writer and it sometimes hurts me to write angst if its too psychologically tolling on my oc's but i have found my happy little middle ground and we are sticking to it!! writers block be damned!!! all that to say, next chapter will be jungkook's pov (ooooohhh it's juicy.) but this chapter... well, this chapter is the beginning of their story. sit back, relax, get some ice cream, and don't scream in my inbox please (or you can. i'll allow it just this once)

playlist here

series masterlist here

wc ; 5.4k

[YOUR POV]

There’s a book in a pink box under your bed titled ‘The Dream Book.’

Next to the dust bunnies, next to Namjoon’s old socks that mysteriously keep disappearing under there, next to the candles you keep forgetting to light.

It’s flimsy now, pages showing their years. Full of magazine cutouts of picturesque kitchens and winding staircases.

In that book, you knew exactly what you wanted. You had it down to a science; everything from the career to the loving husband to the cat to the house with a picket fence.

It was always the same house in every sketch, every torn-out photo you’d taped inside. White exterior, blue shutters, close enough to the ocean that you could taste salt in the rain.

It’s all there, in bad gel pen handwriting and glittery highlighter.

You used to love that book.

Then you broke up with Jeon Jungkook.

Now, when you turn the pages, when they glare back at you at 3 AM as you turn through them on your bathroom floor with a flashlight on, you hate it. You hate how foolish you were to think that anything in that book could come true.

You hate how naive you were at 18. You hate how in your teenage years, all you knew how to do was dream, because life hadn’t taught you otherwise yet. You hate it all.

Because here’s the thing about any 18 year old who still knows how to dream: they think the universe owes them something. They still think dreams are plans.

And if you were still 18, still that girl who believed in pink gel pens and destiny, you probably would have ended up with Jeon Jungkook at 32.

Jeon Jungkook is nothing like you imagined he would be at this age. You don’t know what you thought he would be like — you never let yourself imagine it.

So as you look at Jeon Jungkook now, the white house materializes behind your eyelids. Kids’ laughter echoes from a swing in a yard.

You see what you were supposed to have.

Brown waves curl on the nape of his neck — shorter than you remembered — along with his big brown eyes with undereye bags threatening to form. A navy-blue sweater adorns his body, broad shoulders filling up every seam. He looks older in the way people do when they've lived a whole life you weren’t a part of.

How is it possible that he looks this beautiful at 8 in the morning? Some cosmic joke, probably.

The Jeon Jungkook you loved in college would rather have died than be awake before 10 AM. His arms would pull you back under the covers of his college apartment that smelled like his detergent and your perfume.

“Ten more minutes, baby,” he’d mumble into your shoulder, voice thick with sleep. “I want ten more with you.”

Then he’d complain that you snored — you did not snore, you barely breathed when you slept next to him — and you would retaliate with a pillow to his face, both of you dissolving into a fit of giggles.

The memory hits like a slap to the face. Blood whooshes through your ears and the coffee shop begins to sway.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about—

It’s too late. You’re 22 again, standing in his apartment in his t-shirt, tears collecting on your shirt like raindrops, begging him to go. Begging him to take the job offer, to chase the dream he’d been talking about since you were freshmen. His dream had stopped being maybes; they were tangible things living in the depths of his email inbox. Yours were still living in a book.

“Go,” you’d said, the word scraping your throat raw. “Just go, Jungkook. Please.”

He’d looked back at you like you were asking him to cut out his own heart.

His coffee cup trembles in his right hand like he’s remembering the same day. His other hand is jammed deep into his pocket, probably clenched into a fist as he normally did when he was trying to hold himself together.

You wonder if he remembers the last real morning, when you'd pretended to be asleep as he packed. Wonder if he knows you heard him crying in the bathroom, or that you waited until his taxi pulled away before you let yourself completely break.

Some people say that if you love someone, you let them go. They don't tell you that letting go feels like dying. They don't mention that you'll spend the next decade wondering if loving someone means destroying yourself in the process, or if you destroyed the best thing you ever had by being too afraid to fight for it.

“Jungkook?”

You do your best to hide any state of panic, but you can’t seem to relax your shoulders or soothe your pounding heart as you take in the man in front of you.

He seems to have the same reaction as you.

“[Y/N]?”

“It’s good to see you.” The lie flows out of your mouth. You’ve gotten good at saying things that sound right instead of true. ‘When.. when did you get back?”

“Last week.” He shifts his weight onto his other foot, fingers clamping the coffee cup with a death grip. “I just bought a place in Gangnam.”

“Bought?”

Buying means permanent. Buying means he’s not just visiting. Buying means Jeon Jungkook is staying in the same country as you. Your heart does this awful swooping thing, like it's free-falling and taking the rest of you with it.

“U-uh yeah.” He’s fidgeting now. He runs a hand through his hair, tousles it a little. You notice the tattoos on his knuckles. They don’t look new. “Yeah, I'm moving back to Korea.”

“Oh.” Your brain short-circuits. He'd made it crystal clear — it was America or nothing. Come with me or lose me forever. You'd chosen to let him go, chosen to be the martyr, the one who loved him enough to set him free.

And he'd let you. He'd taken that plane ticket and your broken heart and built himself a whole new life on the other side of the world. Now he’s buying property in Korea like that was part of the options he presented to you.

The coffee shop walls swallow you whole, pressing in. Your chest tightens as if a brick just slammed down on it.

You need to ask. Need to understand what could possibly bring him back, if not you.“Why?”

“Work. I’m here for work.”

It’s always work with him. Success was his security blanket in college, and apparently life moves on but some things don’t. You nod like a bobblehead, like this makes perfect sense.

It does make sense. You just don’t want it to.

“That’s good.” Another lie. You’re racking them up this morning.

“And how are you?” he asks. His body leans into you, shoes pointing in your direction. He looks genuinely interested in what you might have to say. Like he’s been praying those pages in the dream book have manifested to reality.

“Very good.” You straighten your shoulders, slip into the voice you use with difficult parents during conferences. “I, um, I teach.”

His face softens. “No way. You got a teaching job?”

He looks proud of you. You remember spending nights recapping your education classes, how you’d light up talking about lesson plans and classroom decorations. How he’d listen, with his chin cupped in his palm, brown eyes twinkling up at you.

You’re about to drop your coffee cup on the floor and ask Jiwoo to just send you the bill to your home.

“Yup. Kindergarten.” You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face. “The school’s actually pretty close to here.”

He nods slowly, almost shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. As if he’s trying to envision you in front of that classroom, writing on a chalkboard or handing out addition exercises. “God, that’s… that’s amazing, [Y/N]. Kindergarten. That’s perfect for you.”

He still knows you well enough to see the puzzle pieces where they fit.

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. The kids are great.”

You’re doing it again — downplaying, minimizing, making yourself smaller.

Pretty neat is the understatement of the century.

Like teaching isn’t the only thing that gets you up in the morning, like you don’t spend your own salary on classroom supplies and stay late to make sure Min-jun’s reading comprehension improves.

Admitting how much you love it, though, feels too vulnerable, like you’re handing him a piece of your heart when you’ve worked so hard to keep all the pieces to yourself.

“Do you.. do you wanna sit for a minute?” He asks, eyes gesturing towards the black chairs messily arranged around tables.

You really shouldn’t. It’s 8:40 and you’re supposed to be at the school at 9. You have 23 tiny five-year-olds depending on you to have your shit together, and sitting in your favorite coffee shop with Jeon Jungkook feels like the opposite of having your shit together.

But that’s not what your mouth says. Your mouth goes: “absolutely.”

He leads you to a table by the window, where the rain is still collecting on the sill, droplets catching on the pane vigorously. One of Jin’s paintings hangs nearby. You had sold it to Jiwoo for half the price as a thank you for all that extra sugar she tosses in your coffee.

Jungkook pulls out your own chair, and then settles himself across.

“So, what else is new?”

Where do you even start? The decade of learning how to exist without him? How, for the first year he was gone, you unconsciously saved funny stories to tell him before you remembered he wasn’t there to hear them?

“Not much, really.” Lie number three. Third time’s the charm. You’re starting to believe them.

“Well, where do you live?” His eyes eagerly meet yours as he takes a sip out of his coffee cup.

“Apartment, it’s not far from here. Downtown Seoul.” You fidget with your own cup, wrapping your hands around it for something to do. The cold seeps through the plastic.

His eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you hated Seoul? Said it was where dreams go to die.”

You vaguely remember saying that. 22 year old you, slumped over his couch, declaring that Seoul was a soul-sucking corporate wasteland where creativity went to suffocate. You’d been so sure that anywhere but here held the key to happiness.

But then you got the offer letter for your job a few months later, and you learned pretty quickly happiness isn’t really about geography.

“Oh, do not be fooled.” You manage out a laugh that’s meant to be genuine. “My dreams die every time I realize I’m here.”

Some days you do feel like you’re sleepwalking through a life that looks nothing like you planned. Though lately, when you're reading Where the Wild Things Are to a circle of wide-eyed kids, or when Soo-jin finally writes her name without help, the life you're living doesn't feel so bad.

“Do you live with a roommate?”

His fingers tighten around his cup. He’s bracing himself for an answer he might not want to hear, you think.

You realize what he’s really asking. What he can’t bring himself to ask directly.

Kim Namjoon, your boyfriend. That is who you live with. Ten words that draw a clear line in the sand, that would protect you both.

Namjoon, who’s steady and smart and doesn’t hop on flights to the United States.

His name sits lodged in your throat, buried under about a hundred other words you want to say.

Just say it, you tell yourself. Say Namjoon’s name and end this before it starts.

“Uh, yeah. Yes. One roommate.”

God, you must be an idiot. A monumental idiot who deduces her relationship to roommate because her ex is sitting across from her. Yes, because Kim Namjoon is just some dude who splits the electric bill with you, not the man whose toothbrush sits next to yours in the bathroom.

He nods, “That’s economical of you.”

Your eyes get a better look at him. For the first time, you take note of the silver chain hiding underneath his sweater. The navy-blue top that mixes so well with his golden skin. Brings out the sparkle in his eye that hasn’t left since you said the word roommate.

“Us teachers gotta lay low. Underpaid and overworked.” You lean back against your chair, taking a sip out of your straw. The sweetness slides down your throat, melting away those words that had been building up in there.

“You guys deserve better, I swear. Shaping the minds of the youth and what not.” The earnestness in his tone catches you a little off guard.

“Kinda.” You shrug. “I’m doing a bug project right now with my kids, so I don’t know if I’m really shaping the youth.”

“Bug project?” His eyebrows lift with curiosity.

When was the last time someone asked about your actual work instead of just nodding politely when you mentioned teaching?

“Ants, caterpillars, the whole shebang. It’s absolutely fucking disgusting.” The curse slips out before you can stop it, and you feel heat creep up your neck sheepishly.

His laugh booms throughout the shop. You want to bottle it up and hide it under your bed. “I’ll have to come and see that.”

Your heart flutters. He wants to see your classroom. He wants to see your kids covered in finger paint and learning about metamorphosis.

Your brain is screaming Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon, red sirens blaring in your frontal lobe.

Clearing your throat, you deflect. You don’t know what else to do with the way he’s looking at you. His chin has found a home in his palm. “So what about you, Mister Home in Gangnam? Very fancy.”

“What about me?” He tilts his head in your direction.

You don’t even know what you want to ask. You guess, if you’re being completely honest, you want to know if he has a roommate as well. You want to know if there's someone in that fancy Gangnam home who knows how he takes his coffee, who's learned that he gets grumpy when he's hungry and soft when he's sleepy.

“Roommates?” you ask, and you can’t keep the hesitation out of your voice.

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

You have no energy to decode what that could possibly mean. Your chest is so full of this feeling you only get when you’re with him, one that hasn’t sprouted in over a decade and is poking through the dirt trepidly.

You settle on switching gears.

“How was… New York?"

“It was good. Really different from Korea.” His right fingers trace absentminded patterns on the table. He used to do that when he was thinking, working through problems in his head. “My eomma almost had a heart attack the first time she visited.”

You can picture it vividly — Mrs. Jeon, tiny but fierce, clutching her purse in Times Square. When the image flashes through your mind, something lurches in your chest, because you should have been there for that visit.

“Different in a good way?” You ask, though you're not sure you want the answer.

What if he says yes? What if he confirms that leaving was the best thing that ever happened to him?

“Well, 7/11 didn’t have any ramyeon so you tell me.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” Pressing a hand over your heart, your jaw falls slack in mock sympathy.

“And finding samgyeopsal is even worse. I had to travel 30 minutes on the train.” He shakes his head in despair, and you’re both smiling now.

“Oh god.” Your lips are betraying you before you can tell them to shut up. “Do you remember that time we drove 40 minutes in Busan because that new shop that opened up allegedly had the best samgyeopsal in the town?”

“Yeah and then we got food poisoning? Fucking nightmare.” The memory is so clear you can almost taste the regret and ginger ale, can feel his hand cool against your forehead as you’d curled up on his floor. You two were so young then, back when you thought even food poisoning was an adventure as long as you were suffering through it together.

He’s really laughing now, the sound filling empty spaces in your ribs you’d forgotten were there. Behind him, the line grows longer in the shop, and you glance over at Jiwoo quickly to see that her hair is now in a haphazard bun.

“I hope Gangnam has better samgyeopsal.” You smile at him.

“Hmm. I tested this out already. It’s not bad.” His eyes trail down to his cup shyly. You almost think maybe he came back to Korea looking for tastes that would remind him of home.

“How is your eomma doing, by the way?”

Mrs. Jeon had always been kind to you. She would press extra banchan into your hands when you visited and ask about your classes. A second mother figure to you.

“She’s good. I still don’t think she likes New York. Plus my brother’s getting married.” His features light up. “She’s been throwing herself into wedding planning. You would think the wedding was for her.”

“Oh my god??” Your voice raises about ten octaves. “Junghyun is getting married? Don’t tell me it’s to Ri-won.”

Ri-won was Junghyun’s college girlfriend who used to show up to family dinners with homemade desserts and flowers for the entire family, even you. Seamlessly, she had fit into the family like she’d been born into it.

“It is, actually.” Jungkook grins fondly. “She pretty much tied him to a chair and begged him to marry her.”

“Can’t tell if that’s cute or terrifying.” You laugh as you picture small Ri-won wrestling Junghyun into submission. The image is so ridiculous that the knot in your chest loosens slightly,

“They’re disgustingly in love, so cute.” He shakes his head, hair falling over his forehead. “Like I’m happy for them, but I don’t need to see hyung feeding her strawberries at the kitchen table.”

The domesticity of the image hits you sideways. Junghyun and Ri-won in their home, probably arguing over wedding venues and seating charts, feeding each other fruit like teenagers desperately in love.

“What about you? How’s your eomma and sister?” He wonders innocently.

You don’t have the heart to tell him that your sister picked up the shattered pieces of you he left behind. That she despises him with every fiber of her being despite none of this being his fault.

“Jia’s good. She’s married now. Eomma’s been pestering her for kids.”

It’s still weird to say out loud. Your older sister, married. When did everyone grow up and start making permanent decisions?

“Think it’ll happen soon?”

“God, no. You know her. She thinks kids are gross snot bubbles.”

You realize too late what you’ve said.

You know her. As if he’s still flipping through baby photo albums with your mother on the old couch in your living room.

But he does know her. He probably remembers better than you how Jia used to make elaborate excuses to avoid babysitting the neighbors’ kids, or when she would dramatically gag if someone’s toddler had a runny nose.

Jia used to babysit for some of Jungkook’s cousins, and his aunt might possibly still laugh reminiscing on the time she almost got forced to change a diaper.

“Yup, sounds exactly like Jia. Does she still watch those cartoons?”

Yes, Jia absolutely does that. She has a masters degree and a marriage certificate but manages to text you theories about animated movie plots at 2 AM.

“Some things never change,” you sigh, lightly chucking under your breath.

Some things never really do. Mostly because you’re right where he left you, in a coffee shop on a rainy morning.

“Eomma still own that flower shop?”

Your mother owns this beautiful flower shop at the end of a dead road in Busan. You would spend countless afternoons doing homework in high school behind the counter, where the smell of peonies and roses became synonymous with home.

“Of course. Business is booming, she says.” You can’t help but smile. “I swear sometimes she tells me that so I don’t worry.”

“She’s smart, though. Best flowers in town.” He tugs the sleeve of his sweater down his left hand. She adored Jungkook — addressed him in family terms — and loved the person who made her daughter the happiest.

You’ve never been certain she loves Namjoon the same.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” It's not meant to be a dig. In your chest, your heart speeds up, kicks into overdrive.

He blinks a few times. He’d spent ample time in that shop, charming your mother into giving him employee discounts and teaching him the difference between plants.

“Do you know how long it took me to find those flowers for our anniversary? She nearly kicked me out of the shop if I stayed another minute.” He trails off a little at the end of the sentence, like the memory has reached up and choked him.

21-year-old Jungkook was stressing — he drove your mother crazy as he agonized over flower combinations. He claimed they needed to be ‘perfect like you.’

Then he had the nerve to drive over to your dorm at 1 AM with the most elaborate bouquet known to mankind. The security guard barely agreed to let him in when he saw the size of that monstrosity. It was white peonies and pink roses, wrapped in the brown paper your mother never let you play with as a kid.

“They were perfect, Jungkook.” Absolutely perfect.

He looks down at his simmered-down coffee, and you catch something that might be regret flickering across his face.

“Have you been… writing?” You ask, partly to change the subject, partly because you want to know.

Jeon Jungkook — for all that he is handsome, put-together, and goofy at times — reminds you of a young Shakespeare.

In college, he carried notebooks everywhere he went, scribbling down fragments of stories and character sketches like he was collecting pieces of the world to reassemble later.

“No. I wish I was.” His shoulders sag. In this light, he looks more like the boy who read you his terrible first drafts before going to bed. “Haven’t had much time when I’m stuck in meetings all day.”

He sounds defeated. His eyes would light up when he would talk about the novel he was going to write, when he would map out plots on napkins and refuse to fall asleep anywhere beside his laptop in case inspiration struck. The light has dimmed a tad.

“You should get back to that.”

“You’d still read my books to your kindergarten kids if I publish?” He anxiously chews at his bottom lip as he looks up at you, expectantly.

“Even if I hadn’t seen you today, of course.”

And you mean that. Even though the thought of explaining to a bunch of kids why Miss [Y/L/N] is crying over a picture book would be its own special kind of torture.

“Guess I gotta scrap that murder novel then.” He smiles.

“Probably for the best,” you exhale out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I can barely handle watching them dissect butterflies.”

He hums, then says while looking out the window, “It’s your favorite kind of morning, I see.”

His big eyes snap back to yours.

It’s cloudy and gray outside as the forecast promised. You usually set alerts on your phone for when it rains. The predictability of all soothes you. And when you know it’s going to rain, when the excitement settles in your bones at the familiarity of it, you let all your troubles wash away too.

This — this moment with Jungkook you hadn’t predicted — you don’t want to wash it away just yet. Not one bit.

It feels fragile and impossible, like trying to hold water in your cupped palms.

“Hm. Definitely.”

The bell above the door jingles, signaling the entrance of more coffee shop-goers. Reality starts to creep in like cold air through a cracked window.

“Drive into the city was ass though.” He hardly cranes his neck to check the door.

“You’ll manage.” You roll your eyes jokingly. “You survived New York traffic, remember? Seoul’s got nothing on that.”

But even as you say it, you're already standing, already reaching for your work bag, already nipping this entire thing right in the bud. Staying any longer feels dangerous.

You’re also not sure what time it is, and you know that if you check the clock, you’ll panic. Principal Park is going to have your head on a stick before recess.

He stands too, and for a moment, you both just look at each other across the frail table that wobbles.

“I really should—” you start.

“Yeah, of course. Your kids,” He steps backwards, hands sliding back into his pocket, coffee cup abandoned. “Don’t want to keep the future leaders of Korea waiting.”

You realize now you don’t know how to say goodbye to someone who used to know all your secrets. It’s like trying to explain color to someone who’s blind.

You wonder if you have time to Google ‘how to condense ten years of absence into a goodbye.’

He pauses. Mouth opens and closes like he’s testing words out in his brain to see how they fit. His jaw works silently in concentrated frustration.

“I don't know if this is stupid, but I'd love to get your—”

“Daddy!”

The American word cuts through the coffee shop, a stark contrast to the native tongue being spoken.

Your blood turns to ice water. A small voice calls out, high and excited and unmistakably directed at the man standing right in front of you.

The coffee shop, the morning light peeking from the rainclouds, the conversation you’ve been sharing — it all shatters into pieces that don’t fit together anymore.

Jungkook whips around so fast you think he might get whiplash, and that’s when you see them — two small figures barreling toward him.

A girl and a boy, about five years of age. Her pigtails bounce as she runs, and the boy is struggling to keep up, clutching a toy dinosaur to his chest.

They are children.

His children.

Air gets stolen from your lungs, leaving you gasping in the wreckage. Your vision tunnels, edges going dark.

He is a father. Jeon Jungkook — the boy who burned your ramyeon once and couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive — is someone’s daddy.

The girl crashes into his leg first like a small hurricane, and he catches her instinctively. The boy is cautious, hanging behind his leg, but adoration is written in his face as he looks up at Jungkook.

“We finished breakfast! Mommy said we could find you!” Her voice is breathless, bouncing on her toes even as Jungkook’s hands reach down and encircle her.

Mommy.

There’s a mother. There’s a whole family. There’s an entire life Jungkook built while you were doing arts and crafts, teaching kindergartners about clouds, playing tag on the playground.

His earlier response about his own imaginary roommates crashes back into your consciousness like a freight train.

“You could say that.”

You’d been so focused on your own deflection, calling Namjoon your roommate, that you’d missed it completely.

You're a moron. A grade-A, certified, absolutely spectacular moron.

You’re staring. You know you’re staring, but you can’t seem to stop, can’t seem to do anything but watch this unfold. Watch Jungkook transform from the man who was just struggling to ask you for something to someone who belongs to other people, someone who has promises and responsibilities that have nothing to do with you.

Your hands are shaking. You hope it’s not too visible.

“Did you have a good breakfast, Hari?” Jungkook’s voice is soft as he picks the girl up and perches her on his hip.

“So yummy, Daddy. I want more later.” Hari looks like pure sunshine. Her pink dress rides up a little, but he adjusts it thoughtfully. She wraps her small arms around his neck, and something cracks open in your chest.

He looks back over at you. There’s… panic floating behind his eyes. He probably realizes how impossible it is to explain why he’s still standing here with you when he has a family waiting for him.

You just stand there awkwardly, wait for some stupid introduction. Dumb, dumb, dumb, you repeat to yourself.

“This is Hari… and Jungwon. These are my kids.” He confirms it.

Jungwon, the boy with the dinosaur, immediately ducks behind his leg. But you’re good with kids — it’s literally your job, the one thing you know how to do even when the world implodes around you. You speak this language.

You crouch down to Jungwon’s eye level, making yourself smaller. “Hi there,” you start softly. You only use this voice during the first week of school, while everyone’s trying to figure out if you’re safe. “That’s a really cool dinosaur. Is it a t-rex?”

Jungwon peeks out from behind Jungkook’s leg, curiosity winning over shyness. He nods, holding the toy a little tighter. He has soft round cheeks, hair just as dark as his father’s. There’s a dinosaur bandage on his knee.

This little boy is half of the man you once loved, walking around in miniature with sticky fingers and a toy dinosaur.

“I love dinosaurs. My favorite is a pterodactyl.” You keep your voice gentle.

His eyes light up, stepping out more confidently. "I like them too.”

“He normally doesn’t talk to strangers,” Jungkook rushes to say, and there’s a bit of wonder in his tone as he watches you work your teacher magic.

“It’s okay, there's no rush.” Years of training kicks in even as your brain struggles to process it all. You're having a professional conversation about child development with your ex-boyfriend while his son — his fucking son — clutches a plastic dinosaur and looks at you with eyes that used to promise you forever.

You stand back up, knees protesting slightly, and turn your attention to Hari.

“Who’s that, daddy?” she asks. For her young age, you can tell she notices everything.

And that’s when you finally see it. Wrapped around her little leg is his left hand. The one he’s been keeping jammed in his pocket this whole time.

There’s a thin gold band on his left ring finger.

The world tilts sideways again, and you have to grip the table to keep from toppling over.

He’s not just a father, he’s a husband too.

There is a woman in this world who gets to wake up next to him every morning.

You ponder if she knows about his tendency to hum off-key in the shower, or his terrible sleeping habits, or that his guilty pleasure book is the Harry Potter series.

You look over at him, desperate for any guidance. How exactly does one answer an innocent question like that when the truth is too complicated for you to understand?

Well, sweetheart, Daddy and I used to love each other very much, but then he got on a big plane in the sky that transported him thousands of miles away, and now I play with bugs and he works a big boy job that lets him buy homes in Gangnam.

“An old friend, baby,” Jungkook relieves you of the answer. You want to both thank him and absolutely lose your mind.

As if you’re someone he knew in passing, not someone who knows that he twitches in his sleep when he’s having a really vivid dream.

Hari processes this information, studying your face. Then she suddenly gets bashful, ducks her head into Jungkook’s shoulder, and giggles before going, “You’re really pretty.”

Kids have this way of cutting through adult problems with safety scissors.

You and Jungkook both laugh. When you catch his eye, he’s looking at you like he agrees with her.

“So are you, Miss Hari.” You grin.

She really is beautiful. She has a confidence that speaks to how deeply loved she must be.

You take another long look at his kids.

They have his big brown eyes, staring back up at you like you hung the moon and stars.

Sometimes, and you’ll never admit this outloud, when you fight with Namjoon and head to bed angry, you have dreams where your children have the same ones.

masterlist + ask

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lord-fallen · 9 months ago

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ALL-IN-ONE NOTION: “WINTER ARC”

a highly customizable, simplistic but fancy notion template for writers. perfect for organizing novels while keeping it aesthetically-pleasing to look at. guaranteed higher muse and motivation to finish works-in-progress. to download / copy, click “duplicate” top-right to copy it to your notion. works best with DARK MODE*.

features:

visual and simple overview of wips

chart overview categorizing wips

weekly planning section with a simple to-do list

section for intentions and mindset to help motivation

tags system (e.g. completion status, main tropes, and genres)

writing tracker

please like / reblog if you’re using or interested in using it!

*tip: for switching to dark mode, in your notion go Settings > My settings > Appearance > Select Dark

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sludge-saturday · 6 months ago

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nsfw alphabet ☆ connor rk800

a/n: pretty self-explanatory, apologies for any ooc content and/or repetitiveness! enjoy! :3

TEMPLATE CREDIT

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

☆ Connor NEVER lets his partner go to sleep without making sure they're okay first, that they have everything they need to feel comfortable. He will hold them close as they come down from their high, petting their hair and rubbing their back. "You're okay, I'm right here," he would soothe. And once his partner is satisfied with the post-orgasm cuddle, he will briefly leave their arms to fetch a glass of water. "Hydration is important after intense physical activity..." he would rattle on, unable to help himself. And you KNOW he would make them drink the whole thing before falling asleep. He's naturally a stickler for his partner's health and post-sex care is no exception.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

☆ Connor has never given too much thought to what part of him is his favorite, considering he's never been presented with the notion before. After his deviancy, though, he has grown fond of his impeccable memory. It comes in handy when him and his partner are between the sheets and he remembers just where to kiss, just where to touch to make them squirm. He takes note of every single reaction he draws from his partner and catalogues it, saving it for future reference. That way he knows how to make them feel just right, again and again and again.

☆ As for his partner, Connor simply cannot choose a favorite body part. He loves every single thing about them, everything that makes them so utterly human. He loves the soft feeling of their skin as he gently squeezes it underneath his palms. He loves the noises that erupt from their throat when they're lost in the throes of pleasure and the feeling of their plush lips as he muffles them with his mouth. He loves the feeling of their pulse, their lifeforce, underneath his lips as he kisses down their neck. He loves the way his partner's face looks as they orgasm, face twisting and contorting in pleasure as their mouth hangs open and their head is thrown back in ecstasy. He loves the delicious arch of their back as they press their body flush to his, unable to escape his calculated touch. He simply can't choose!

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I’m a disgusting person)

☆ Connor loves to cum inside his partner. After all, there's no possibility of pregnancy (if anatomy permits) with his synthetic semen so he can creampie them all he wants. He loves when he's getting close to orgasming and he wraps his arms tightly around his partner, tucks his head in their neck, and buries himself to the hilt as he fills them deep inside. His hips would stutter and he would cry out, whimpering as he shoots hot rope after hot rope. And when he comes down, his absolute favorite part is pulling out of them and watching the white, sticky substance gently drip out of them. It makes him feel as close to human as he possibly could. It makes him feel alive. And if his partner really wants to make sure that round two is in the near future, all they have to do is reach in between their legs and tuck the cum back in, making sure not a single drop is wasted. Connor is already raring to go when he watches them take those same fingers and lick them clean, staring up at him with hooded eyes and moaning at the taste of him.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

☆ He really, really, really wants his partner to peg him. He sometimes will watch amateur porn in his free time (inside his head, of course) as he researches how to better please his partner, and occasionally he will stumble upon videos of people who are usually tops getting pegged. He watches as they take one, two, three fingers in preparation for someone's cock and feels his own straining against his pants at the sight of them being fucked into the mattress. He imagines his partner doing the same to him and feels his fans whirring faster, his internal temperature rising at the thought of their roles being reversed. At the thought of himself being fucked into as opposed to fucking into his partner. There are probably sensors there that he's never felt stimulation from before. He needs to know, even if just once. And late at night, when they're away, he strokes himself and moans softly thinking about how it might feel to have them inside him. "Please," he would beg to the empty room. "Please... need you inside..."

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

☆ Since Connor's prototype was not made for sexual activity, he would pretty much be clueless to start. But there's something sweet about it, his partner having to show him the ropes and introduce him to this new world he's never experienced before. Post-deviancy, he would willingly upgrade his model to simulate sex acts if they mentioned wanting to try it with him, fit with a sizable cock and an orgasm program. He's incredibly nervous and a bit awkward to start out, with hesitant touches and trembling hands. Getting him to grow comfortable with the intimacy would be a slight challenge as he has never done anything like this before and most of all, he's worried about hurting his partner. But with time and reassurance, he grows more confident in his movements and begins to accept pleasure for himself. Watching him blossom like this is simultaneously rewarding and exciting, opening up new doors to even greater possibilities.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

☆ Connor is a sucker for missionary. Simple and sweet. He loves being able to look at every inch of his partner, to watch as they shake and squirm underneath him as their ankles behind his back lock him in. Being able to watch their every reaction, every fucked-out facial expression they make as he pumps in and out of them drives him wild. But as vanilla as he likes to be, Connor is still very capable of teasing. He'll go slow at first, rolling his hips at an unhurried pace, relishing in the wet noises filling the air coupled with his partner's frustrated whines. "Faster, please!" They'll beg him, clutching onto his shoulders and staring up at him with pleading eyes. He'll respond with harsher thrusts that still match his leisurely pace from before, his hips snapping to meet their own. He likes to draw this out for as long as possible, enjoying just how cutely impatient his partner can get before he gives them what they want. And he will... eventually.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

☆ A mixture of both, I'd say. Foreplay is full of giggles and soft smiles as him and his partner fool around with one another. For instance, he's the kind of person who (once comfortable enough) will come up behind his partner while they're distracted and playfully sneak his hands underneath their shirt. They'll laugh, tickled by the slight chill and turn around in his arms to press a smitten kiss to his lips. They'll hook their fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pull him impossibly closer, and it's like a switch is flipped in him (almost literally, haha!). With a simpering smile from his partner, he is already pushing them towards the bedroom. It is very easy to turn him on with his new programming when it's adjusted to the right intensity. Once in bed, he'll still maintain this frisky demeanor as he murmurs little praises while running his hands all over his partner's body, but things will take a turn for the sensual as their touches become more slower, more appreciative. Grinding hips and gentle sighs would turn into what they both really want, if you catch my drift. Connor is an attentive partner and would put all of his focus into making them feel good with serious concentration. He is completely dedicated to them, every inch of his frame and every fiber of his being.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

☆ Connor would like that to be entirely up to his partner. As mentioned previously, Connor's program comes with a custom-made cock, and that includes its appearance. If they like a little stubble, he'll make sure its the perfect length before placing the order. Completely hairless? Fine by him. The length of his hair down there is in their hands and he likes it that way. If he had to have a request, though, he would like the color to match the hair on his head. He enjoys keeping a uniform look, and his pubic hair wouldn't be an exception.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

☆ As much as Connor loves being playful, he still can be a romantic! One of his favorite things to do on his days off from the DPD when his partner is still working is to cook their favorite meal. He'll decorate the table with candlelight and a beautiful bouquet, pulling out plates/silverware only saved for special occasions. He'll turn on their favorite chill music and play it softly, eagerly anticipating when they'll walk through the door. And when they do, he's there to greet them with a sweet kiss and his lovely set up. They'll eat as Connor asks them about their day, listening intently. When they're finished, Connor willingly tasks himself with cleaning up as he wants his partner to just relax.

☆ Once the two of them take things to the bedroom, he would be extra sweet and take things extra slow. He would rub his hands up and down his partner's hips, fingers toying with the hem of their shirt. "I'm so proud of you," he'd praise. "You worked so hard today... it's time you got to take a load off." He would kiss from their lips down their neck, gently sucking and nibbling to get them nice and aroused (Remember, he knows just what to do!). His hands would creep underneath their shirt, a silent request to remove it. And with their permission, he does. He would kiss all around their chest with love and care, worshipping every inch of them. "I love you so much," he would whisper against their skin. "You're so beautiful... let me make you feel good. You deserve it."

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

☆ On those nights where his partner would have to be away, Connor wouldn't be able to stop thinking about them. He would lay in their shared bed, overcome with their subtle scent they left behind. But it wasn't enough. Almost shamefully he would pull a shirt out of their drawer. Crawling back into bed, he would press the fabric to his nose and take a deep breath in, analyzing every aspect of the smell with his olfactory receptors. It was intoxicating and he grows hard at record speed. Gingerly, he reaches inside his briefs and grabs himself, already leaking synthetic cum. He shudders out a breath as he palms himself, taking another whiff of his partner's smell. He was so embarrassed but he just couldn't help himself. He reaches into his system memory and plays back his favorite scenarios of the two of them in bed, watching as he gets closer and closer to his climax. The tantalizing mixture of the smell from the shirt and his thumb teasing the head of his cock is unbearable, and he cums rather quickly. And after cleaning himself up he carefully folds up the shirt and places it back where he found it, mentally scolding himself for acting so primally. But a secret part of him enjoyed it. It made him feel human.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

☆ As mentioned before, Connor is very vanilla. It would be up to his partner to introduce new kinks to him, and they would have to be incredibly tame to start out. One that Connor grows an eventual affinity for is blindfolding. He loves being temporarily deprived of his sight, relinquishing a form of control to his partner. He relies on his vision to make sense of the world around him and that sweet surrender is oh, so exciting to him. Adorable moans and whimpers would bubble from his voice modulator as he feels his partner's mouth all over him, their touch always unexpected but never unappreciated. For extra points, blindfold him with his tie and give him a blowjob! He'll be putty in his partner's hands as he grows harder and needier at the sounds of them suckling and lapping at his cock, hands lovingly caressing his thighs. And if they call him "good boy," he'll have to fight off cumming immediately. He's just so pleased that he's doing a good job for his lover and loves to hear it.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

☆ As Connor explores his deviancy, he likes to do things as traditionally "human" as possible, for lack of a better word. As far as his initial understanding goes, sex occurs exclusively in the bedroom so, naturally, that is where he would feel the most comfortable doing it. But as he grows more comfortable with the idea of straying off the beaten path, he will allow himself to become more secure in having sex in other places around the home. Strictly in the home, for that matter. He doesn't like the idea of having sex in any place that isn't private, that isn't a space only the two of them share.

☆ With that being said, though, he is open to taking his partner anywhere he can. If he starts feeling them up in the kitchen and just can't be bothered to carry them to the bedroom, he will fuck his partner right there on the counter. If their cuddling on the couch turns into heated kissing and heavy petting, he will fuck his partner into the cushions as his nails dig into the armrest behind them. If they're taking a simple shower together and he catches a soft moan when he's sponging them clean, he will pin them up against the shower wall, bouncing them up and down on his cock with inhuman strength. There's nowhere in the house that isn't free reign for the two of them and Connor loves it.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

☆ With Connor's new sex programming there also comes a dial that can adjust the intensity of it. The more it's turned up, the easier it is to get him going. It's perfect for when he and his partner have a few coinciding days off and they want to get up to some shenanigans. During this instance, it does not take much to turn him on. If his partner is wearing comfortable clothing that shows off their ass, he will spring a boner just from watching them bend over as they fold laundry. If they're kissing and his partner has their hands clasped behind his neck, he will let out horny little gasps into the kiss as they play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. And if his partner likes to dance, he will watch their hips sway and their arms lift over their head with an uncurbed hunger. One that can only be satiated with the feeling of their body against his.

☆ And he'll let them know, too. He'll walk up behind them and place his hand on their waist, pushing so that they turn around to face him. Without warning, he will take their chin between his finger and thumb and trap their lips in a searing kiss. He'll push their waist to be flush against his and he'll inhale deeply, taking in their very essence with every receptor he has. On the exhale, he'll groan softly and rub up their back with his free hand. Pulling apart, he places his forehead against theirs and closes his eyes with upturned eyebrows. "Need you," he'll whimper. "I have to have you, now."

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

☆ Connor WILL NOT hurt his partner. Even if they ask for it. It's a direct violation of everything he stands for. He absolutely loathes the thought of his love being in pain, even if it's pleasurable for them. He simply won't do it. He also won't be okay with anything that could potentially be a biohazard (blood, human waste, etc.). He can only hope that they will respect these wishes, because that also is a turn-off for him. He doesn't like when he isn't listened to and when he is made to do things he doesn't want to, now that his deviancy is in full swing. It makes him upset when people don't acknowledge his free will and his ability to make his own decisions. His lover wouldn't get a free pass on this either.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

☆ Connor loves both! As far as giving goes, he is a bit unsure of what to do to start out but fully enthusiastic about trying. So there he is, between his partner's thighs, absolutely paralyzed. He just doesn't want to do it wrong! His partner's voice would cut through his anxiety: "Just lick it, Con." The sentence alone is enough to make Connor dizzy. He loves when his partner guides him in the right direction. Not telling him what to do, but giving him a starting point. Hesitantly, he licks a slow stripe up their cock/cunt (depending on their anatomy!) and he moans louder than he intends to. The flavor is better than anything he could have imagined! He goes in for another taste in earnest and gives a gentle suck, and he can tell his partner is enjoying it based on the sounds they made. He explores every single part of his partner's arousal, analyzing and classifying which places they like contact the most. His self-assurance increases every time they initiate this kind of contact, and soon enough it's like he's a pro.

☆ When it comes to receiving, it's one of Connor's favorite parts of intercourse with his partner. The feeling of their mouth against his cock, the warm and wet sensations against the sensors there, it's got his head spinning. He threads his fingers through his partner's hair and unintentionally tugs, lost in the swarm of pleasure filling every facet of his system. He'll roll his hips occasionally, chasing the feeling of their perfect mouth on his sensitive cock. He'll be thanking his partner constantly, praising how good they're making him feel as his eyes squeeze shut and choked moans escape his lips. And when his lover deep-throats him, burying his cock to the hilt as their nose touches his pubic area, he cums on the spot. He's embarrassed, not being able to stop himself as his back arches prettily at the feeling of his lover swallowing around him. He'll apologize for letting go so soon, even though he has nothing to be sorry about.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

☆ It depends on the context, but he always likes to start out slow. He's never been one to rush into things, especially during sex. He'll pump in and out of his partner at a gentle pace, pressing loving kisses all over their face and neck. It's only when his partner begs him to go faster that he obliges, picking up his thrusts gradually. Zero to a hundred just isn't enjoyable for him. He basks in the feeling of his building orgasm and loves to watch his partner's body recoil as his thrusts become harsher. And as he's getting close, he starts to pound. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to make obscene slapping sounds ring out in the otherwise quiet room. He'll mumble how he's close underneath his breath and toss his head back as he comes, burying himself inside his lover. His hips will stutter and shake sporadically as he fucks himself through his orgasm, and he'll cry out at the sensation.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

☆ On the lower to medium settings of his sex programming, if Connor's gonna have sex he's gonna have sex. And he's gonna do it right. None of that pump-and-go nonsense. He's going to need foreplay, the act, and aftercare to feel satisfied. Laying his partner down and acclimating them both with a steamy make-out session is imperative, and he'll slowly undress the both of them to get the mood just right. Connor is fully willing to dedicate an entire night to him and his partner going at it, not stopping until the late hours of the morning when his partner is simply too tired to continue. Quickies just aren't his thing. It doesn't seem right to him. But who's complaining? More fun to be had with this sexy, sexy android. This may have to mean that the times Connor and his partner have sex are fewer and further in-between, but that means that the times they do come together are that much more meaningful.

☆ But if the sensitivity of his programming is higher, he is more enthusiastic about the idea of having smaller bursts of sexual activity multiple times a day. See the "Motivation" and "Yearning" sections for more details!

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

☆ Aside from his hard turn-offs, Connor is willing to try anything once. How else is he going to know if he likes it or not? He is naturally curious once he gets more comfortable with the idea of deviating (hehe) from sexual norms. While he likes things to be vanilla most of the time, he knows that part of what makes things fun and exciting in the bedroom is trying new things with his partner. Programmed to be inquisitive, Connor may come to his lover with something he's seen while doing his "research" and ask how they feel about it. The question is never inherently sexual in nature, but the outcome may become suggestive based on how his partner feels about it. As mentioned previously, the sex activities he may present to his partner will fall within his own limits of comfort. He also will let them know right away if he isn't enjoying something the way he thought he would. It's important that he likes what's happening, too.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

☆ Being an android with the inability to physically tire, he will go as many rounds as his beloved wants to. His cock will not soften until he tells it to, even after he's come multiple times. The possibilities are endless. His partner wants to edge him with their hands until he's begging for them to let him cum? He's all for it. They want to give him a blowjob with his hands tied behind his back? Please, another! Regardless of how long their rounds last, the night always ends up the same: Connor fucking into them as they hold each other close. He loves the intimacy of it, of burying his head in the crook of his partner's neck as they both cry out in blissful ecstasy.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

☆ Connor is confident that his partner doesn't need anything except his hands and his mouth, but he doesn't have a complete aversion to sex toys, especially if it heightens his partner's experience! Upon request, Connor will use a vibrator to press against his partner's arousal and it will dawn on him why they suggested its use. The way they sounded, the way they looked... their reactions were definitely being filed in Connor's memory for later retrieval. And don't think he isn't going to have his turn with it, either. During a blindfolding session, Connor is blissfully unaware of his partner holding the toy in their hand, only realizing what is happening when he hears a soft click and the vibrator humming to life. He is completely at their mercy as his partner runs the vibrator up and down his shaft, pressing on the tip occasionally. This makes Connor's cock drool with precum and jolt underneath his lover's touch and he lets out a high-pitched gasp. Looks like the two of them were in for a long night with their new "friend."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

☆ Like mentioned in the "Favorite Position" section, Connor loves to tease. Love is putting it lightly, actually. Being able to do what he wants to his partner, getting a chance to exercise his free will in the most intimate ways possible, makes him feel a sense of power he's never had the chance to feel before. He'll take his time with his partner, doing all he can to draw out those pretty little sounds they make. He'll prod gently at their entrance with his lubricated fingers, delighting in the feeling of his fingertips gently pushing in and out. And after prepping them with a good fingering, he'll pull his cock out and do the same teasing motion with the head. "Please, Connor, please!" They would beg. He would just hum a little chuckle, rubbing and sliding his cock against their hole to get it nice and slippery. "Not yet."

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

☆ Connor makes just the cutest noises. He'll whimper and whine and moan and gasp, anything to let his partner know how good he feels. When a particularly sensitive spot is hit, he'll clutch onto whatever part of his partner he can and cry out. And when he's getting close, his moans will sound more desperate and rise in pitch. He would be at the point where he can't even speak, systems overloaded with so much information it was overwhelming in the best way. Fucking into his partner he would grunt with every other snap of his hips, sweet praises about how good they feel about him spilling from his lips. He loves being unabashedly vocal, getting to let out all of the pent-up stress he had been feeling that day doing what he loves with his partner.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

☆ Connor really likes the idea of phone sex. Not a video call or anything, just being able to hear his partner's voice while they're away and he's longing for their touch. He'd text them earlier that day: "Can you call me tonight, when you're alone? I miss you." And later that night, after Connor has the thumbs up from them, he waits for his internal phone to ring. He's already hard and aching, secretly hoping that they'll sense his desperation and talk him through it. When they finally call him, he starts palming himself through his underwear. "Hey," he greets. "I'm so glad you picked up. I... I need help." He is immensely grateful when his partner guides him on how to touch himself, telling him when to rub his tip a little and when to give his balls a gentle squeeze. It's so hot to him, not being able to them but still submitting to the sound of their voice alone.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

☆ The customization options for Connor's package extends to its size and length, too. And again, he wants this to be up to his partner. How big he is will be determined on what they find pleasurable. He would only be uncomfortable with the size if he accidentally hurts his partner during sex, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if that happened. But, for the sake of the imagination, I would say ~5-6 inches. Not too much to be painful during full-penetration, but just enough to feel full. He can always adjust its size too if his partner changes their mind eventually. The appearance of his cock matters little to him, instead what matters is how he uses it and how much his lover enjoys it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

☆ It can be high or low depending on the intensity adjustment. And he would want it to match his lover's libido! That way they're both satisfied. If lower, he would only reserve sex for special occasions, maybe once every couple of weeks. Around the medium setting, it would be on his mind more often but not enough to be overbearing. Maybe once or twice a week. But if it's at it's highest setting... oh boy. He wouldn't be able to think about all of the ways he could gently ravage his partner whether they're in the room or not. And when they are in the room, he wouldn't be able to contain himself. Innocent cuddling would quickly turn into Connor rutting himself against their leg/hip, gasping quietly about how badly he needs their touch. Showering after a long day would turn into something more... impure as he attempts to help his partner wash their legs and hips. He'd kneel in front of them and nose at their skin, looking up at them with desperate eyes as he licks his lips. At this setting they'll have sex every day if not multiple times a day. Again, it's all up to his partner! He'll always disable it whenever he's on the clock, though. He'll never compromise his position at the DPD.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

☆ Aftercare is so important to Connor, so he won't put himself into sleep mode until after his partner has been cuddled, bathed, and put to bed once they're finished. It feels wrong to him to shut down for the night without first making sure his partner is okay. He simply won't do it! Only after he hears the peaceful, soft sounds of sleep coming from his partner will he cautiously remove himself from the bed and get himself ready for sleep. He may place himself in his charging station if he notices his battery level is low (which would be no surprise considering how hard they went at it) and stay there for a few hours. While he's charging he would analyze the events of the night, what his partner loved and what they were indifferent to to ensure that the next time they have sex it is even more enjoyable for them both. And when he's finished charging, he'll crawl back into bed and wrap his arms around his lover, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head as he enters his resting state.

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