#so he's very awkward about comfort and accepting it

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[kennahjune]

Having thoughts of The Party being touchy as all fuck after everything.

Like you cannot enter nor leave any kind of hang out without a hug, high-five, pat, or anything from everyone you were hanging out with.

And then, suddenly, you aren’t able to leave without a kiss or hug of some kind from Steve.

It started after the bullshit that was the Starcourt Mall. The kids were leaving Steve’s house from a DnD session maybe 2 months before the Byers left for Cali.

Dustin was taking forever to pull his shoes on and get out the house to his moms car and everyone was complaining. It was one of those rare times where Steve wasn’t the one carting them all around— they all had their own rides.

Dustin got his shoes on and Steve handed him his bag and— without thinking— pressed a kiss to the top of his hat before waving him out the door.

The rest of the kids are silent until Mike speaks up bitchily “what about us, asshole?”

Steve has no idea what they mean until El points to her head with a grin. Steve deals out head and forehead kisses for everyone and waves them off to their respective rides.

And then it just— sticks. At first it’s with just the kids whenever he sees them. He’ll usually greet them with a hug or an exasperated sigh and then say goodbye with a kiss to their foreheads.

Not even Mike complains. This is the kind of shit he never got while growing up— might as well make the best of it.

And then it migrates to Robin as well, and the Nancy is joining in on the hugs (they’re still too awkward for the kisses but the hugs are enough for now).

And Steve never holds back, not even in public. Again, no one complains.

And that’s how Hellfire finds out about the kissing arrangement (that might be the title of this if I make it an actual fic). They watch as Steve presses a forehead kiss to Mike, Lucas, and Dustin before waving them off and then presses a kiss to Max’s head and giving her a tight hug.

The guys try to make fun of the kids for it but none of them are embarrassed.

“It’s Steve, dude. He’s like a mom.”

“The kisses are actually really comforting.”

“It’s a Party thing.”

And then the fuckery of 1986 and Vecna happens and suddenly Eddie’s in on the hugs and pats and high-fives.

And then.

And then.

He’s in on the kisses.

Steve doles out the kisses like usual one night after Hellfire and gives one to everyone— including Eddie.

And Eddie panics and gives Steve one right back.

And then the kids are going feral about wanting to give Steve a kiss too.

And Eddie leaves during the chaos.

And then they don’t talk about it.

Until Steve and Eddie do it again.

And the kids accept is as the new normal; you have to give Steve a kiss back.

And then Steve and Eddie have an excuse to kiss each other on the foreheads and cheeks and noses.

One night they’re hanging out, just the two of them at the trailer after Wayne left for work.

Steve had greeted Eddie with a tight hug the moment he’d gotten in the trailer. Eddie had squeezed back just as tight if not tighter.

Steve was getting ready to leave, and on instinct leant in to kiss Eddie, but Eddie was also leaning in to kiss Steve. So they meet in the middle and accidentally kiss on the lips.

And then the new normal for Steve and Eddie is kissing on the lips goodbye.

Idk, just Steve being a very touchy feely person makes me so happy

[luveline]

could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence. 

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign. 

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it. 

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup. 

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed. 

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no. 

What if you're forcing yourself on him? 

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it. 

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks. 

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside. 

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap. 

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said. 

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks. 

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?" 

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done." 

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should." 

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else. 

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder. 

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it. 

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down. 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea." 

"What's not a good idea?" 

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth. 

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield. 

"I don't want to torture you," you say. 

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection. 

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist." 

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask. 

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes. 

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone. 

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty. 

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things. 

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?" 

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

[primofate]

3 am brainrot

Soulmate, but Genshin Impact Style

Warning: angst (lots of potential to be fluff and comfort ending tho)

Vision "resonates" with each other and a thin red line connects your vision to their vision

Thin red line disappears, frays, or splits off when something is wrong with the connection or the other person

You can use their element and they can use yours. If you are the same element it provides an elemental increase.

Element exchange also stops or weakens when there's something wrong with the connection or the other person

There's a kind of "sixth sense" activated wherein you can kind of feel each other's psyche

Imagining what it would be like for power hungry Scaramouche to find out he has access to another element. Meets a complete stranger and suddenly he's stronger. Starts to keep you close only for that reason, doesn't care much about your well being in general. Then finding out that he can STILL use your element even if the two of you are far apart. You part ways rather abruptly, and he's not sure how long it had been when the red line starts to fray and his access to your element starts to dwindle. He doesn't think much of it, but day by day it gets weaker and day by day the red line disappears a little more. A sudden sense of "If that line disappears I won't ever be able to follow it back to y/n" so he starts following it. He doesn't really notice there's a sense of urgency in him, he tells himself its only because he wants the power back, but when he rouses from a short rest to find that the red line is gone... why does it suddenly feel like he's all alone again?

Imagining characters like Xiao, Cyno and Alhaitham who completely rejects using your element. They don't need yours. They are just fine and all is well using only their own. In a sense they take pride in what they have, and doesn't really care for what power you can give. They aren't interested in maintaining a relationship with a stranger either, because, what for? However, you're slightly persistent in at least getting to know a little about them. Just a tiny bit. But that tiny bit is enough to push them to tell you he's not interested in any kind of chit chat, that he's busy and needs to focus on other things. So you turn away. Out of curiosity one day he tries to use your element. It strangely gives him the feeling of warmth. Like someone's protecting and watching over them (and for someone who always does the protecting, this is a big deal). One day, the line breaks off, there's a clear split and he wonders if all is well. He follows the line back to you, and finds out that you've been spending a good amount of time with someone else. Someone who you smile at very brightly, and someone who is interested in getting to know you. What's he to do? This was his doing. So why does he feel like coming over and snatching you away?

Imagining characters like Diluc, Neuvillette and Wriothesley, astounded but somewhat pleasantly surprised by the discovery. He neither rejects you nor accepts you, but feels a sense of responsibility over you just because of the connection made. But because they have their own things to be busy with, they don't exactly actively seek you out or have the time to check in frequently. Perhaps it's a monthly thing, following the line and looking for you. There's a relationship that looks like the beginnings of friendship. A little awkward, asking questions and fumbling for more questions to ask. Still, something builds, and just when the ice is about to break between the two of you, he follows the line...and somehow ends up out in the wild. Your vision is buried next to a tree, for a moment he's struck with panic that he would find your body buried, but judging from how the red line was still intact, you were most likely safe somewhere... however, he would never see you anymore, nor know the reason why you decided to hide. All of a sudden he wished that he had more time. He doesn't know whether this situation was comforting or concerning. He has you in the palm of his hand, but never close enough to fill the empty gap.

Imagining characters like Zhongli, Dainsleif and Tartaglia, who, despite their appearances is instantly intrigued by the connection. They don't need the additional power, but they keep the connection anyway because they partly feel that destiny is something you can't change. The closeness between you two easily grows and here is when you first approach him with a favor.

"Can you help me with something?"

"Of course. Would tomorrow be a good time?"

There's a bit of a pause on your side. "Tomorrow..." and its as if you look up at him with more sparkle in your eyes than usual. "...Yeah. That'll work. Thank you," the way you say thank you is so sincere and loving it almost brings him to a joy he hadn't felt in a long time.

He woke the next day. The connecting red line was nowhere to be found.

[lemonlover1110]

Hi! For your requests could you do clingy reader in her early 20s and Toji in his mid 30s finding out she's pregnant and interacting with her strict parents? Please?

Whenever you get the chance, lysm!

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: You break the news to your parents that you're expecting.

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Age Gap (Reader early 20s, Toji mid thirties), Toji being a nervous wreck, Strict Parents

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Finding out that your girlfriend should be great news; however, this news takes Toji by surprise and leaves him unsure of how to feel. It definitely wasn’t planned, though he shouldn’t be shocked since you two weren’t all that careful. Toji wants to get really excited for this but there’s something that holds him back– Your parents.

Your parents haven’t been very accepting of Toji, mostly because of your age gap. Of course, there are some other factors that lead to your parents not liking Toji, but your age gap is the main one. Your parents aren’t easy human beings to win over, and for some reason Toji is freaking out about it. Truthfully, Toji has never been more worried in his life.

“Can’t you just call them? Tell them the great news?” He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s freaking out when you’re standing at their doorstep. You’re holding his hand, trying to get him to calm down, but it’s not working and you’re just feeling his sweaty palm. Great.

“C’mon, they’re not going to eat you alive. You are the reason they’re getting a cute grandbaby.” You tell him, hoping it’ll calm down his nerves, but he just side eyes you.

“Like that makes it any better.” He mutters, and you roll your eyes. Toji’s acting as if your dad is going to grab a shotgun and shoot him– Even if that were to happen, you’re almost sure that Toji will somehow deflect a bullet. “Baby, can you have an ambulance on standby?”

“Toji, for the love of–” You’re cut off by the door that opens. Your mother greets you both sweetly. She figured that she can’t change your mind, she might as well welcome Toji into the family. Your father is a whole different story though.

Your father is less welcoming to Toji, but he tries to make some conversation with the man. It’s dry since your father doesn’t want to talk to Toji, and Toji is losing his fucking mind.

Dinner begins, and your mother is the one that carries the conversation. Toji feels as if your father glares at him every once in a while, and you notice how his breathing gets heavier. He’s freaking out, and you don’t know how to calm him down. 

Your hand goes under the table, going to Toji’s thigh and lightly squeezing it, hoping it’ll bring him comfort. Toji gives you an awkward smile before sighing.

“So why did you two want to join us for dinner?” Your father asks, knowing this isn’t just a bonding dinner. You’re here for a reason. You clear your throat before speaking,

“We have an announcement.” You sound awkward, and your father furrows his eyebrows while your mother smiles, thinking she knows what the announcement is. You and Toji exchange a look, and you can tell he just wants to sprint out of the house. It’s hilarious to think about since Toji is the biggest person in the room, and not to even mention that you two are grown adults.

“You’re engaged! Let us see the ring!” Your mother exclaims, and Toji’s face suddenly gets hot. If he wasn’t dead before, he certainly is going to die now. The fact that you aren’t married is surely going to cause an issue.

“I don’t think that’s it…” Your father figures that out, but he can’t figure out the announcement. You take a deep breath, and you shut your eyes. You can’t even look at them, Toji’s nerves transferring over to you.

“I’m pregnant.” You share, and you know that their eyes are wide. You know Toji is about to faint.

“We don’t know how it happened– Well, we know how it happened but… We weren’t planning it so soon, I had a wedding and everything planned but this just came out of nowhere.” Toji is rambling. Your Toji, a man of few words, is trying to explain everything to your dad because he doesn’t want to die tonight. He’s sure he’s still going to, though. 

Your parents are oddly quiet, making you open your eyes and see what’s up with them. Your dad ends up sighing before speaking up, “You two are adults, you know what you’re doing.”

Your mother nods in agreement, and you furrow your brows at the lack of reaction. Toji shares the same reaction as you do. 

“Is that all?” Toji is about to let out a sigh of relief.

“Yup. Can’t hold you for too long since you two have to start planning a wedding soon.” Is your father’s response, and Toji chuckles. That’s more like it.

At least he isn’t dead, which was Toji’s expected outcome.

[preeningpisces]

Nanami NSFW Headcanons

Lemme know if you want me to elaborate/write something about any of these

18+ content below the cut, mdni, implied chubby fem!reader

Enjoy! 💙

☆ Starting controversial agaaaain, but like I said with Toji, I just don’t see him being a hard dom either. This man will never call you a whore, would be offended if you requested he call you a bitch or cumdump—I think he’d be okay with slut, but he wouldn’t say that unless you ask

☆ Very firm about his boundaries, he won’t do anything he doesn’t feel comfortable doing & you won’t be able to change his mind. Very respectful of yours & will never push them

☆ Lowkey loves to be praised & doted on. His ears turn very pink when you tell him how good he’s making you feel, or how big his cock is, or if you tell him his voice is sexy

☆ The fact you find his voice sexy confuses him—he thinks it’s too monotone, and he isn’t exactly the smoothest guy out there with his words. He’s not very talkative in general, and that extends to sex as well. Once you express how much it turns you on, however, he will dirty talk more, and more often as he builds confidence doing it (dirty talk is hard you guys, be patient with him!!!)

☆ Nanami is stiff, and awkward when your sexual relationship begins. He doesn’t have a ton of experience, and his stoic nature can make moments of passion challenging for him. If you’re more experienced, you’ll probably take the lead, and it’s something he’s very thankful for.

☆ If you’re less or equally experienced, he’ll take the lead. He’ll be honest about his own lack of experience, and the two of you will explore uncharted territory together—so sweet

☆ Even during the early stages when he’s awkward his intensity, observant nature, generosity, and thoroughness have an allure of their own

☆ He definitely warms up with time though, so don’t fret. Sex has never been at the forefront of his mind, so he discovers his kinks/preferences through your relationship

☆ As I said before, Nanami is a very generous lover; making you feel good makes him feel good. He’s the type that can come from eating you out, which is especially hot if he’s dressed in those formal clothes of his

☆ He loves toys, uses a vibrator on you almost everytime you have sex. Nanami is a very practical person; the vibrator makes you feel so good, and allows him to put more focus on other ways of pleasing you—why wouldn’t he use it? The notion that some men hate them bc they threaten their egos bewilders him

☆ Your vibrators are basically never dead because Nanami is on TOP of those things; he’s gotta make sure it’s ready for whenever the mood strikes you guys. The days you’re home and he’s at work you’ll occasionally get a ‘is the vibrator on the charger?’ text, reminding you like a parent would their kid about the chicken they’re supposed to thaw LMFAO

☆ Not a tease at all. If you say please he’s gonna do it!! If you tell him you want to be teased in the bedroom he’ll try his best but it doesn’t take much before he relents :/

☆ Breeding kink yes, but I just KNOW he’s a vasectomy man (unless yall decide to pop some kiddos out). He’s just too responsible to be risky, & doesn't want his partner to feel obliged to take on the responsibility of birth control all alone. Perfect man, truly

☆ Nanami loves some good ol’ fashioned missionary—who doesn’t? But he also really enjoys positions where he can just hold you close, and focus on the intimacy of the moment and the physical sensations rather than the visuals. Prone bone, and cuddlefucking are prime examples; when he rests his head in your neck, his free hand squeezing all your softness, he’s in heaven

☆ Nylons, pantyhose, stockings: wear them if you want to get destroyed. If you got thigh-highs that pinch your leg? Hoooooo boy. He’s not typically a biter, but the squishy parts hanging over the stocking will be gnawed on. Just accept they’ll be bruised, you’ll be ok

☆Nanami is very appreciative of lingerie, and does not tear it off, he’ll have you keep them on the whole time

☆ Huuuuge sucker for scents. Perfume, soap, laundry detergent—he appreciates good smells, and once he starts associating certain smells with you they get him going

[everparanoid]

how genshin men hug you

various genshin men x gn! reader

characters: Alhaitham, Diluc, Itto, Neuvillette, Wriothesley

Alhaitham isn’t one for hugs, but he’s not against you snuggling into him as he reads, seated between his legs. You might have to ask him several times for a hug, and more often than not, you’ll be met with a ‘no’. However, on those rare occasions when he’s feeling tired and lazy, he might just pull you into a hug as he lounges around. If you try to talk while he’s resting his head on yours, he’ll shush you, not wanting his break to be disturbed. So, with Alhaitham, it’s less about the hugs and more about quiet, shared moments.

Diluc is a man of few words, but his hugs speak volumes. He may be reserved, even in private, but he won’t hesitate to give you a hug if you ask. He might not initiate them often, but he does enjoy these moments of closeness with you. His hugs are warm and comforting, making you feel safe and cherished. They might not last long, but they’re always memorable. If you were to hug him when he returns from defending Mondstadt in the middle of the night, he would welcome you into his side. He’d wrap an arm around you gently, allowing you to listen to his steady heartbeat, a reassuring reminder that he’s returned safely.

Itto is a true enthusiast when it comes to hugs. He’s the kind of person who will envelop you in a warm, enthusiastic embrace, regardless of where you are. Public or private, it doesn’t matter to him. His hugs are playful and full of energy. He’ll lift you off the ground, spinning you around in a whirl of joy. Especially after a rare victory in a Beetle Brawl, you can expect a celebratory hug from him. His hugs are innocent and endearing, often accompanied by a wide grin and exuberant cheers of happiness. It’s clear that Itto enjoys these moments of shared joy just as much as you do. His hugs are not just an expression of affection, but a testament to his vibrant and joyful spirit.

Neuvillette is a man who is reserved and formal, and he’s not familiar with the concept of a hug, even though he’s seen them during his time in Fontaine. The first time you hug him, it might be a bit awkward until he gets used to the close contact. Every time Neuvillette hugs you, it’s gentle and cautious, as if he’s still trying to figure out the correct way to do it. He doesn’t often ask for hugs, but when it starts to rain, that’s your sign that he could use one. His hugs can be unusually long because he doesn’t understand the socially acceptable duration for a hug, and you don’t want to correct him. Alternatively, they can be short but meaningful. If he’s feeling down, he might hold on a bit longer, and of course, you’re perfectly fine with that.

Wriothesley is a man who cherishes private moments of closeness. He’s the type to give you a full-body hug, much like the comforting embrace of a teddy bear. If he happens to retire to bed before you, he might fall asleep on top of you, his arms wrapped around your waist. More often than not, you’ll already be asleep when he comes to bed. In these instances, he’ll spoon you into his arms, providing a sense of security and warmth. While he may not be one for overt public displays of affection, when it’s just the two of you, he’s all about the hugs. You might often find yourself sitting in his lap as he reads the newspaper, one arm casually draped over your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder. It seems that Wriothesley has a particular fondness for your body heat, especially in the chilly depths of Meropide.

masterlist

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[gi4hao]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ ˎˊ- comforting their s/o that’s scared of talking too much

ot13 x gn!reader — no warnings i think

veeeery self-indulgent post i’m ngl :) if you relate to the prompt then hopefully this will provide you with some comfort! <3

— seungcheol

he will insist on knowing who put such nonsense in your mind, because how dare they make you feel self-conscious about one of the things he loves the most about you? he absolutely adores that you passionately ramble about the most random things; it always lifts his mood even after a long and exhausting day. and that’s what he’s here to remind you: that you should never be ashamed of talking if it’s something that makes you happy.

— jeonghan

any kind of negative thoughts on your part becomes his #1 priority so he takes time to discuss it with you and give you enough reassurance. he reminds you that talking a lot is not a bad thing at all, and that you’re also an amazing listener, which he’s very grateful for. “people are just jealous because you’re interesting enough not to run out of conversation!” he tells you, wiping your tears away. it truly breaks his heart to see you so self-conscious so he’ll definitely be extra careful regarding this topic in the future <3

— joshua

no matter where that insecurity comes from, he comforts you with immense patience and lots of cuddles, reminding you of how much your words matter. on a more personal note, he absolutely adores the sound of your voice, it’s one of his favorite things about you. “i’d fall asleep to your voice every night if i could,” he tells you, looking into your teary eyes with a smile, and you just know he’s being 100% honest, “and you should never ever feel bad about wanting to share things with the people you love.”

— jun

it really pains him to hear that’s how you feel because he can only imagine how long you’ve been thinking about it before even telling him. but jun is here to tell you that you always make people feel comfortable, which is something he finds absolutely wonderful about you. he knows it can be hard to overthink about your social skills so he will always make sure to encourage you to speak your mind (whether it’s through a gentle squeeze of the hand or a smile from across the room). and he also showers you with kisses because he knows it’s one of the best remedies for overthinking :]

— hoshi

what? you? talking too much? oh he’s not gonna let that slide. he proceeds to go off on a tangent about your countless qualities (some that aren’t even related to the topic, he just gets carried away), because he will not let you struggle alone with your insecurities, that’s for sure. as often, he wishes he could lend you his eyes to make you understand how perfect you are to him. “and so what if you talk a lot? i do too! it’s who i am, it’s who you are and that’s why we’re a match made in heaven.”

— wonwoo

it feels weird for him to hear that you’re self-conscious about something he really admires you for. according to him, it’s the ease with which you talk that made your first dates not feel awkward. he loves how good you are with words of affirmation, and he also insists on how it inspires him to be more vocal about his own thoughts and feelings. “i don’t think you realize how entertaining you are. but i sure realize how lucky i am to have you,” he tells you in a more lighthearted tone, pressing a kiss against your temple.

— woozi

he insists on the fact that he’s one of the people that spends the most time with you, so you can truly believe him when he tells you that it’s not true. “that’s just because you love me,” you tell him, comfortably snuggled up against his side. “it is,” he replies, “but that goes for everyone around you; the people who love you will accept you for who you are. and if they don’t… screw them”. because woozi may be an absolute sweetheart but he has very low tolerance for the people who mess with his partner’s head.

— dokyeom

first and foremost, he offers to hug the sadness away, which kind of works because he’s a professional when it comes to comfort hugs. he knows it’s normal to have insecurities but he hates seeing you so self-conscious, so he’ll definitely try his best to cheer you up. also, words cannot describe how much he loves talking with you, so he’d really hate it if these bad thoughts ended up changing your personality. most of the time he’s the bubbly one, but he also likes to be fueled by his very own sunshine from time to time.

— mingyu

as a professional yapper, he understands where that insecurity might be coming from, which means he knows exactly how to comfort you. he’s here to remind you of all the times you’ve been a great listener to either him or your friends, and the great pieces of advice that followed. mingyu thinks your inputs are always important, no matter the conversation, and he’s so freaking happy to be sharing his life with someone that can keep up with his own pace! as long as he’s here, you know you’ll always have someone to listen to your every word.

— minghao

he’s scared he might have accidentally made you feel that way while teasing you (lovingly ofc), so he apologizes profusely until you tell him that he has nothing to do with it. “you enjoy sharing your perspective on things and that’s beautiful,” he reassures you, “and you know me, i’d tell you if you were too overbearing… but you’re not. so don’t worry your pretty head, ok?”. and it’s moments like these that truly make you feel grateful for minghao’s wise and comforting words, always carefully chosen to make your worries disappear in a second.

— seungkwan

kind of like cheol, he wants names. because - and he’s saying that with all due respect - they should know they’re just stupid people spreading stupid lies. seungkwan knows you by heart, he knows you’re a selfless person that’s always here to help their loved ones, and he thinks you’re not giving yourself enough credit for that! “you’re absolutely perfect in every way, and i thi- stop. i can see you’re about to argue but i’m not letting you win this one. no way.”

— vernon

he has a really sensitive approach to this issue, knowing how hard it is when you get in your own head. hugs and cuddles are definitely a part of him comforting you, but he also makes you promise something (and you can see from the look in his eyes that he’s very serious). “if you ever start overthinking after any kind of social interaction, private or public, with or without me, please come and talk to me. i’ll try my best to help you get rid of these thoughts, alright?”. because at the end of the day, he wants to be someone you can be fully transparent with, just like he is with you.

— dino

according to him, you shouldn’t even be thinking about how much you talk in a day. instead, he worries that you might be surrounding yourself with people that simply do not appreciate this aspect of your personality. “if you have something to say, go ahead! being yourself should make you happy, and life’s already too complicated to worry about speaking too many words!” he tells you, and you can tell he genuinely wants you to let go of these hurtful thoughts. but he also knows how hard it is, and luckily chan is great at making long-term efforts (especially for your wellbeing), so expect lots and lots of carefulness and support on a daily basis.

rbs and feedback are always appreciated <3

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream as when you fangirl over other kpop groups.

Mark Lee

He'll be glad to have his seniors sign your albums. It's fun to see that you fangirl over EXO and sometimes he would even join you too. But sometimes it concerns him because you're in the member's solo concerts, you constantly talk about them 24/7, and you even have a photocard collection of your bias. "I'm still your number one right?" Mark asked one day, and you have to assure him that you have boundaries as a fangirl. 

Huang Renjun

Renjun doesn't question why you like Seventeen. I mean, they're an all-rounder group. He often joins you in watching Going Seventeen, and it's fun to see your reaction when you discovered that he's close with some of the members. Renjun's very supportive of your fangirling and even gifted you an album with all the SVT members signed it. "Of course, anything for you love." he said, giving you a kiss. 

Lee Jeno

Jeno will wonder what's the hype about Riize when he caught you watching their music videos. Listen, their his juniors but he's a bit protective of you, even to his members. You assure him that you just like their music but when he caught you squealing over a photo of a Riize member, oh he'll be very clingy to you. "I should warn them that they should stay away from my girlfriend." You have to lecture your boyfriend to not scare his juniors. 

Lee Donghyuck

It'll confuse the hell out of him when you randomly asked if he can ask Ateez to sign your album. He's not even close with any Ateez members, and why! are! you! fangirling! over! other! kpop! groups!? but because you're practically giving him a puppy eye, he doesn't have the conscience to say no to you. "You're glad that I can't say no to you," he said. Don't worry, the moment he gave you the signed album, you showered him with love and kisses. 

Na Jaemin

Jaemin was a bit hesitant. Sure they're his seniors, but Jaemin just doesn't know how to approach Red Velvet without looking like a weirdo. But for his girlfriend, he will do anything! You've been a fan of Red Velvet since their debut, so it's meaningful for you to receive a signed album from them. The Velvet members squealed at how a sweet boyfriend Jaemin was, gladly accepting his request. "Anything to make her happy," Jaemin replies with a smile. 

Zhong Chenle

"You want to what?" Your boyfriend asked, confused. You've been a fan of Stray Kids lately, and then you remembered that Chenle is close with them. You ask your boyfriend if they can sign a merchandise that you bought. "Okay, do you want to meet one of the members too?" he asked, fishing out his phone. Of course, he'll be supportive and will be happy to see his close friends meet the love of his life. 

Park Jisung

He'll be in RELIEF that you're a fangirl of Aespa but he'll start sweating when you asked him if he can have the members signed an album you bought. He's awkward around girls and the only girl he feels comfortable around is you, so this is a huge challenge for him. But because he can't say no to you, he has to muster up the courage to approach Aespa even with a blushing ears. "It's for my girlfriend by the way..." he mumbled, looking away embarrassed. 

[eumppattv]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ only for you

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing: riize x reader! fluff and slight angst ₊⊹

ᥫ᭡。 sides riize only show to you, their love ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

𓍯𓂃 shotaro- his serious side

although shotaro can be pretty hard on the guys during practice, he usually reverts back to his smiley self almost instantly. his seriousness with you is a different kind, one that lingers. you’ll be at home, and find him working at his desk. he will talk to you about what he’s working on, what needs to be improved and so on. you love see him serious about his work, and also see him be serious when it comes to your relationship.

𓍯𓂃 eunseok- his jealous side

let’s be honest, eunseok is unpredictable. you never know which version of him you’re getting. still, he’s usually pretty calm and collected. that’s why him getting jealous is always a shock to you. his usual calm demeanor is replaced by his need to keep you to himself. you’ll be talking to a member, and all is well until you’re alone. that’s when he will confess he was jealous, a pout adorning his face.

𓍯𓂃 sungchan- his anxious side

sungchan is playful, carefree and relaxed. you often find yourself flustered by his words and actions, with his confidence being his best trait. although teasing you is his favorite pastime, sungchan also finds comfort in knowing he can share his fears with you, without judgement. with you he can let the mask he puts on go, even if it’s just for a couple minutes.

𓍯𓂃 wonbin- his romantic side

wonbin can be very shy at times. to others it seems that you aren’t even close, and they wonder how you make your relationship work. but really he is just private, and behind closed doors he is as romantic as they come. he will often buy you flowers, and organize date nights. he will write you letters, songs, and send you romantic messages every day. that’s how he shows his love for you.

𓍯𓂃 seunghan- his insecure side

it’s true that seunghan never misses an opportunity to tease you. plenty of “you like me so much huh” and “you think i’m so hot” have been exchanged. but what he doesn’t let others see is the moments where he doubts if you really do love him. when he doubts if he’s the right fit for you. really he is just scared that one day you won’t be around, so he will put so much pressure on himself to be perfect. in the end, he knows you accept his confidence and his moments of doubt.

𓍯𓂃 sohee- his quiet side

if there’s anyone who can brighten your mood, it’s sohee. his loud energetic personality can make anyone’s day. but with you he can relax, and not have to worry about being the mood maker. afternoons are spent laying down on your phones, not thinking about what to say or what to do. with you, sohee can bask in silence- no expectations, just peace. and although he can be shy with others, the silence he shares with you isn’t one of awkwardness, but of love.

𓍯𓂃 anton- his loud side

everyone knows anton as the soft speaker, always teasing him about it. while he always shows that side of him, with you it’s different. he’ll let himself get loud when he’s teasing you, or when you’re competing against each other- mario kart gets intense with him. he’ll also be loud when he’s calling out to you, whether it be at home or at an outing. he truly lets loose with you, showing you how much love he has for you.

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[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Marry you

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: During an interview, someone asks you to marry them and your girlfriend isn't happy about it

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

MASTERLIST | READ PART TWO | READ PART THREE

“My next question is for Y\N.”

Hearing your name being said from somewhere in the crowd in front of the stage, you looked up and quickly finished drinking your water to put the bottle back on the small stool they placed between your and Evan’s chairs. That was the first question directed at you since everyone else who got a chance to ask a question to the Marvel actors seemed more interested in asking things to the people who had been a part of that universe for longer. You couldn’t blame them because that was your second year being a part of that large cast and that was your first ComicCon, not to mention that your colleagues and friends were very entertaining to watch answering the fans' questions.

Now, however, someone was about to ask you something and you got excited very fast. You had prepared to be asked a number of questions about your character, who had featured in two different movies in the MCU and was about to get a movie with her very own name after making success among the fans. You took the microphone that Scarlett elegantly gave to you from where she was sitting in front of you and waited to hear the question. Your eyes scanned the large crowd to find who was about to talk to you, finding someone standing with the microphone in hand after a few seconds.

“Yes?” You prompted the man to talk and also to let him know you were paying attention to what he was about to say.

“Will you marry me?”

There was a beat of stunned silence before the theater erupted in laughs. You were so surprised by his words - and fairly disappointed for having to hear that type of question when all the men got asked very deep questions before - that it took you a moment to go back to the present. You pressed your lips in a thin line and looked around while you thought about your answer. You didn’t want to be rude, but you also didn’t want to let this guy think he was so amazing for asking that type of thing.

Most of your cast mates were laughing around you, but you saw the way Scarlett turned around to throw you a sympathetic smile, which certainly brought you some comfort at least. Brie was also one of the few who didn’t think it was funny, and you thought you may have seen Holland grimacing a bit. There was another roll of chairs behind you and you couldn’t see the reaction of anyone sitting there. You couldn’t see if your girlfriend, Elizabeth Olsen, was sharing an awkward laugh with everybody or if she was as stunned as you.

You had been dating for quite some time now and, although you didn’t make any effort to keep it a secret, the public hadn’t connected the dots yet - which was a first. You liked to think you knew Elizabeth enough to know she didn’t find that question to be funny, though. Not because she would go jealous or anything, but because she could see it was a sexist joke to make every man in the room laugh. The guy himself was accepting the catcalls his friends were throwing his way like he was the most amazing man on Earth, and that’s what made you decide to shoot back instead of going for a simple answer.

“Really?” You asked on the microphone. “You have the right to make one question, and that’s the question you’re going to make?” You added incredulity in your voice and more laughs filled the room, then you shifted to sarcasm - your greatest weapon. “I mean, we’re not going back to you. You know that, right? You have one question, you make it, and that’s it. You can’t make another one.” You could see Scarlett laughing honestly at you, her eyes shining with mirth, and then Elizabeth’s chuckles reached your ears as well. Before the guy could say anything else, you kept talking, dragging him without remorse. “I will give you two seconds to think if that’s what you want to ask.”

For dramatization, you raised your hand, slowly taking two fingers down while everyone else seemed to have fun with your actions. Even the guy who made the question was laughing, although you doubted he realized you were making fun of him.

“Fine, you can ask your question now,” you joked, pointing at him and reclining against your chair. You crossed your legs, placed an arm on the back of the chair, and turned your body to the side a bit to look directly at him.

And then, the question got asked again: “Will you marry me?”

Of course, laughs sounded all around one more time, even louder, and you bit the inside of your cheek while swinging the microphone in front of your mouth for a few seconds. Then, when the laugh died a bit, you crossed your arms. “Give me a reason to do it. Come on.”

“I have money!” The guy shouted since the person mediating the questions had already removed the microphone from his hand to move on to find someone else who wanted to participate.

“So do I, my dude!” You shouted back before remembering you didn’t have to.

However, as you realized everyone else was laughing again, you knew it was a nice reaction to have for the public. Brie, sitting a few chairs from you, had thrown her head back to laugh, and Scarlett placed a hand on your knee as if to show you support. You risked throwing a glance behind you and caught the way Elizabeth was smiling at you and that’s all you needed to keep going on with that crazy conversation.

“Really, I have money. So, unless you’re an Arabian Prince or something, I don’t think I will be too impressed with your bank account,” you provoked and then leaned over to point at him with your free hand. “I mean, if you are an Arabian Prince, you wouldn’t want to marry me to start with because, you know, I’m not a virgin. That ship has sailed, my friend.” More laughs. “Are you a prince of some sort?” You watched as the man shook his head and started sitting down, laughing so hard you were a bit worried he would stop breathing soon. Well, at least he wasn’t offended by your reaction, but you kind of wished he was. “There we go. So you’re not a prince. And I have money, so I’m not interested in that. I’m not saying I’m richer than you, but I would only get impressed if you were a prince, sorry.”

“Someone is going to have nightmares lost in the desert tonight,” Robert joked over his own microphone, causing some more laughs.

“No, really,” you kept talking, looking at him now. “He had one question and that’s the one he chose. I even gave him a chance to make up his case because I totally ignored the biggest reason why I wouldn’t marry him. I’m gay! Everyone knows it.”

Now you were just drawing the moment because you couldn’t help yourself. People were laughing and they were having fun, and you wished to keep it like that. Also, it was a way of letting everyone know you wouldn’t put up with stupid shit like that. It could’ve been much worse, you knew that. You had seen the amount of sexist questions Scarlett got asked through the years, so you should be glad that it was a minor thing. Harmless, even, albeit very annoying. Even so, you wouldn’t let people think it was okay to brush your work to the side to ask those types of things.

“By the way,” you said, looking back to the crowd even if you couldn’t find the guy anymore, “thank you for ruining my first proposal.”

“No one ever asked you to marry them?” Holland asked in his overly excited manner.

“Nope.” You shook your head. “It just got ruined for me now. My first proposal and it happened like that.” Then, you pretended to be sad, pouting and everything.

“Oh, no,” Scarlett joined in the joke after stealing Robert’s microphone. “I hope the second one goes better.”

“Not as special as the first one.” You shrugged and that put an end to the subject, finally.

Everyone shared another laugh and the panel moved on after that. It was filled with more funny moments and you got asked some good questions after that, so, once it was over, everyone was in a good mood. Some of the cast had to attend another panel starting soon, but some of you decided to enjoy the mood to have a little celebration at the hotel bar. Once you all got there and got your drinks, your friends started talking about the things that happened during the panel, obviously addressing one of the most memorable moments.

“You dragged him!” Brie exclaimed with a laugh. “The guy has no idea what hit him!”

“He has no idea because he didn’t even realize he was wrong,” Scarlett pointed out gently, although she reached out to squeeze your shoulder. “But, damn, that was awesome.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “If they don’t fire me now, I think I’m safe for another ten years or so.”

While everyone else chuckled and started talking among themselves, you noticed that Elizabeth was quiet beside you. She was sitting on the chair by your side, nursing a fancy drink that she had only taken a sip from, and looking from face to face without paying attention to what was being said. You couldn’t ignore it, of course, and quietly moved your chair a bit to get closer to her so you could lean over to whisper against her ear, masking your actions by pretending you were only getting closer to kiss her cheek.

“You okay?”

You pulled away a bit, but kept close by leaning your elbow on her armrest. Elizabeth glanced at you with wide eyes and surprise written all over her features, and you watched as she opened and closed her mouth a few times. Her pale cheeks acquired a pinky shade and, even if you worried with her, you also couldn’t help but think she was the cutest person on the planet.

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“You’re very quiet,” you pointed out gently.

“I’m always quiet, sweetie,” Elizabeth declared with a chuckle.

It was an earnest chuckle, not forced or faked, and it made you relax almost immediately. You rolled your eyes fondly now and leaned closer to kiss her cheek again “Not always,” you whispered before pulling away with one eyebrow arched, giving her a very meaningful look.

Elizabeth picked up the meaning behind your words and blushed a deep shade of red, which caused you to laugh loudly, bringing the attention of everyone back to you. Everyone there knew you two were dating and they quickly jumped in to tease both you and Elizabeth, much to your amusement and her distress.

The night was amazing despite that - or maybe because of that - but you all said your goodbyes before you got too excited with the drinks. Everyone needed to get up early the next day to be a part of more panels and other interviews, not to mention that having half of the Marvel cast getting drunk in a hotel bar was a very bad idea, so you all decided to call it a night.

You and Elizabeth kept company to Scarlett, walking her back to her room so she wouldn’t be alone, and then took the elevator again to go to the room you were sharing. As soon as you stepped inside, you kicked off your shoes and started taking off the vest you were wearing on top of a long-sleeved shirt. Elizabeth stepped in behind you, being much more pragmatic in her actions. She took her high heels and placed them neatly beside her empty luggage, then she started taking off her earrings while walking towards the safe deposit box where she had placed everything valuable. Meanwhile, you threw the vest away and lay on the bed with a deep sigh, arms and legs stretched out like a starfish.

“Oh, I wish I could sleep all day tomorrow,” you groaned, feeling the ache in your body make its presence known.

Elizabeth had her back turned at you, but you heard her chuckling softly at your words. “You should go take a shower before you pass out on the bed.”

You whined but you knew she was right. Elizabeth knew you better than anyone and she knew you could fall asleep in a minute without even realizing it. You were a bit sweaty and you also needed to remove the make-up you applied earlier that day, no matter how tired you were. Making loud noises just for drama effect, you got up and made your way to stand behind Elizabeth. She was slightly higher than you, something she liked to tease you about. You kissed Elizabeth’s shoulder gently and hummed when she leaned back against you. Your arms wrapped around her waist and you smiled when she rocked her body from one side to the other with you.

You stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying her presence and the silence in the room after a day filled with attending crowds and making interviews. After a while, Elizabeth turned around in your arms with a loving smile that made your heart a bit warmer. She pecked your lips before her hands moved to start undoing the buttons of your shirt, slowly revealing your bra beneath it. It wasn’t a sexual gesture at that moment, just something she decided to do for you to keep you close to her for another minute.

“Go take a shower,” she told you again. “You’re smelling like Evans.”

“He hugged me like a thousand times,” you complained, earning a kiss from her and an amused laugh.

You eventually managed to take the said shower, taking your precious time under the warm water to lose up some of your tense muscles. You would have to wake up extra early to wash your hair to have enough time to get to your first interview, and you wished you could stay in bed with your girlfriend all day. After getting out of the shower, you went through your skincare routine - the one that Scarlett forced on you until you put it in your daily agenda - brushed your teeth, and finally left the bathroom ready to jump in bed and go to sleep.

As soon as you stepped outside, though, you realized something was different. Well, it wouldn’t take a genius to notice that the lights around the room were almost all dim or the soft music playing in the background, but it surprised you enough that you stopped short in your tracks as you looked around. You opened your mouth to call out for Elizabeth when you spotted your girlfriend standing by one of the corners where a champagne bottle was left at some point when you were taking your shower.

You arched your eyebrow at her, but Elizabeth didn’t say anything as she walked towards you holding two glasses and smiling at you. She was still wearing her beautiful black dress, feet bare, and cheeks just a bit red, and you found yourself being rooted on the spot, hypnotized by her. You took one of the glasses when she got close enough and saw your girlfriend reach out to close the bathroom door behind you.

“What’s going on?” You asked when she took your free hand gently to pull you to the middle of the room. Elizabeth didn’t reply and you couldn’t help but keep talking out of nervousness. “I feel underdressed now. I already put my pajamas on, didn’t know we would be celebrating tonight. What are we celebrating, by the way?”

Elizabeth smiled throughout your rambling, eventually stopping you by squeezing your hand once. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.

“Okay,” you mumbled, suddenly much more nervous than before. The mood wasn’t somber, so you didn’t think it would be something bad, but you could never know.

“I had a plan,” Elizabeth started to explain. “I was going to wait for our anniversary, take you to ski or something equally dangerous because you enjoy this type of thing,” she chuckled fondly at that. “I would have more time to prepare a speech and there was going to be roses. I was still debating if I would do it before or after dinner.”

You had no idea what Elizabeth was talking about, so you didn’t try to stop her. Your heart was beating so fast inside your chest that you were afraid she might be hearing that, though she just looked utterly content looking at you.

“I got the champagne, at least, but the hotel couldn’t provide me the roses this late at night with such short notice. And we don’t have snow. It’s actually very, very, hot outside, and our dinner was old peanuts from the bar downstairs,” Elizabeth kept talking, her hand still holding yours and your glasses were dangerously forgotten. “You’re already in your pajamas and I’m not wearing the very cute dress I was thinking about wearing when I did this, but…” She paused, took a deep breath and let her eyes fall to your joined hands for a moment. “But I don’t think all of that would have made it any more special.”

“Lizzie,” you whispered, making her eyes snap back to yours. “I’m lost.”

Elizabeth laughed lowly and nodded. “Right, sorry.” She blinked at you. “I’m sorry someone ruined the first time you got proposed to and I can’t let you go with that lame proposal as your only proposal for longer.”

Okay, now you had a very clear idea where that was going and you felt your eyes widening immediately. Your racing heart started going even faster when Elizabeth let go of your hand to pull out a small blue box from somewhere between the folds of her dress. You had no idea how she hid that there, but you also didn’t care. Not right now. Elizabeth gently opened the box, with the inside turned at her yet, and smiled when she saw what was inside. Then, she held the box with the same hand that was holding her glass and reached out to take your hand again.

And then, because life wasn’t already crazy enough at that moment, Elizabeth got down on one knee in front of you.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

She showed you the ring finally, but you honestly didn’t even mind what it looked like. What mattered was the woman in front of you asking you to spend the rest of your life with her. You loved Elizabeth and had known for a while that she was the one you wanted to share your life with, but you had never imagined she would be proposing to you. It surprised you enough to delay your reply for a couple of seconds, even if you had no doubt what your answer would be.

“Yes! Of course! Yes!”

Your voice was way higher than it had to be, but neither of you cared.

Still ignoring the box between you two, you leaned over to kiss her, bringing your hands to cradle her face. You forgot about the glass in your hand though and your kiss got interrupted by a yelp when Elizabeth felt the cold drink falling down her shoulder and ruining her dress. You parted and shared a look before bursting into a fit of laughter. You helped her go back to her feet, still holding her face - more carefully now - and you shared another kiss before she slid the ring on your finger.

Turns out you were wrong. Second time was even more special.

[anghraine]

It's 11 PM, but one of my favorite little Darcy/Elizabeth moments happens while she still hates him and thinks he's a depraved monster, and I find it really entertaining.

It's during the Kent section, when Darcy calls at the parsonage and finds Elizabeth alone. During a longer, awkward conversation in which they both deeply misunderstand each other, they have this tiny interchange:

[Darcy:] “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr Collins first came to Hunsford.” “I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.” “Mr Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.” “Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding—though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr Collins as the wisest thing she ever did."

So: they are in Mr Collins's house. Darcy tries to re-start the conversation with a polite nothing about the house. Elizabeth agrees about Lady Catherine's micro-managing, but can't resist the chance to make a sly jab at Mr Collins (who is not present) to Darcy (a genuine villain, as far as she believes).

Darcy's reply looks a bit like an attempt to redirect the conversation into safer waters (they can agree that Charlotte is cool!). But although his remark is only somewhat related to what Elizabeth said, I think it's a natural follow-up in his mind because he is also insulting Mr Collins, if more subtly.

He could have praised Mr Collins's judgment in choosing Charlotte or just said something nice about Charlotte; he doesn't. Instead, he suggests that Mr Collins's choice of Charlotte was a matter of good fortune—or chance, as Charlotte herself would say!—on Collins's part. Darcy and Elizabeth both know Collins is a fool and that his choice of a woman like Charlotte says nothing about his judgment, only about his good fortune. (Elizabeth has even better reason than Darcy to know how much Collins ending up with Charlotte was lucky for him, but Darcy can see it anyway.)

Darcy's phrasing gives him some plausible deniability, but I think he's generally quite careful with his wording and the implicit insult to Mr Collins is not accidental.

Elizabeth, I think, takes this exactly as intended. She's not at all confused about where this tangent came from or offended by it or anything. She readily seizes on the new line of conversation as encouragement to keep insulting Mr Collins and his appeal to women with functioning brainpower.

Elizabeth is pretty scrupulously polite in general, so I kind of love that she just starts venting about her absolute contempt for Mr Collins and the Collins/Charlotte marriage to Darcy in the middle of a tense and weird conversation in Mr Collins's house. And I love that Darcy, who is otherwise more or less dog-paddling his way through this conversation, is like "yeah, your friend seems really cool, that dumbass is lucky he accidentally chose someone with a brain."

Elizabeth: "Right? And, let me add-"

(Is it a bit of an asshole move on both their parts in the context of that scene? Yeah, I think a little. I also love it! Please trash-talk obnoxious hosts in their own parlours for the rest of your lives.)

[skzdarlings]

verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)

-

You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again. 

Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years.  You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face.   His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things. 

His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior.  He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light.  He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner. 

Then he turns his head and sees you.  You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind.  You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him. 

He smiles.  Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well.  Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection.  If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter. 

You clear your throat and march ahead.  He saunters up the path to you.  You meet halfway. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is the only person allowed to call you that. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.  You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return.  You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him.  “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.” 

He laughs.  When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.    

“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks.  “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”

You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow. 

“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too.  “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not.  Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.” 

Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it.  You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin.  You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before.  You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week. 

It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.  

He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets. 

“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks. 

Another ringlet whips across your face. 

“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside.  “Of course not!  How could anyone ever get sick of you?”  What a preposterous thought.  Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself.  People adore him.  He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent.   You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers.  As if you could ever grow tired of him.   “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity. 

He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him.  The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him. 

“Are you sure?  I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.

You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth.  You push it away. 

“Yes, well,” you say.  “That much is true too.”  

He looks at you for a moment.  You can’t imagine why.  The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp.  Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape. 

Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you.  It is very unexpected.  You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion.  His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl.  He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear.  A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers. 

Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket. 

“Sweet?” he asks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket. 

“Oh.”  You look at the bag.  “Um.  No.”

“Are you sure?”  He shakes the bag.  “It’s your favourite.” 

“Oh.”  Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy.  “Okay. Thank you.”  You take a few and pop them in your mouth. 

He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar.  You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue.  Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin.  You try to ignore the heat down there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away.  The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly. 

You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up. 

-

You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition.  You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length.  Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much.   He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand.  Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter. 

You return to his home and separate for the evening.  You to your studies, him to his evening work-out. 

You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym.  He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail.  There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom.  It should be gross.  You pride yourself on cleanliness. 

But good grief.  He is gorgeous. 

You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.  You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you.  He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed.  When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile. 

You duck behind your book again.  It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway. 

“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  You can hear his slow approach.  The towel is tossed somewhere. 

“A book,” you say. 

“Funny,” he says.  He is in front of you now.  You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head. 

“Hyunjin!”  You muster all the indignant attitude you can.  “That’s not funny.  We’re not children anymore.  Return my book at once.”

“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout. 

“Out of the question.”  You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel.  “You’re disgusting.  Look at the state of you.”

“Please?”  He blinks his long lashes at you.

You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips.  His smile does not diminish.  He waves the book in the air. 

You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly.  He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug.  He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex.  This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble.  You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor.  Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch. 

His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands.  He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice. 

“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head.  The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern. 

“No,” you say, petulantly.  “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.” 

He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything. 

“Poor baby,” he says.   “That sounds so disgusting.  Will a hug help…?”

“Don’t you dare—hmmf!”  He lowers himself and squishes you.  You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious.   “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”  

He giggles with boyish mirth.  It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes.  You look back at him, at a loss for words.  Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.  

Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll. 

“All right,” you say.  “That’s quite enough now.  There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later.  Go on, get.” 

He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead.  It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should. 

He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch.  Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite.  You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here.  Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out.  She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.

He did apologize for that.  He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately.   Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up. 

You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one.  You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle.  You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact.  Hyunjin really does get away with everything. 

Your nethers are getting ideas again.  The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin.  More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition. 

You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom. 

Oh dear.  You are very wound up.  Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight. 

You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out.  Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them.  Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.  

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest.  His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot.   He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows. 

He looks sinfully good.  You hope you look casual.  Innocently awaiting a quiet evening. 

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll.  Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie.  Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.

Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way.  You feel pretty and ready and wound up.  When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.

The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal.   Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded. 

Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you.  You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless.  It will always be Hyunjin.  Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes.  Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism.  Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him. 

Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything. 

You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you.  You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection.  With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy.  You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax. 

You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed.  You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video.   You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again.  You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts.  Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you. 

When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness.  You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far.  Nothing would have happened.  Nothing has ever happened.  

Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity.  He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.  

It makes you smile.  It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest. 

You text back a heart.  He replies, you never told me what you were reading.   He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question.   He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.

You fall asleep after that.  You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him.  This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way.  You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice. 

You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications.  You open your photo album and find your video from last night.  You click on it just as a message alert swings down.  You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger.  You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere. 

After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message.  The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it.  Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else.  He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you. 

But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply. 

Oh no.

You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash.  You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll. 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  For a long moment, all you can do is stare.  Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery.  Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet. 

You look in the mirror.  You look like someone electrocuted you.  Fitting, because that’s what you feel like. 

Your phone buzzes.  In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket.  You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.  

You pick up the phone.  This is probably what execution feels like. 

Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:

?!     

You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child.  The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply. 

That was an accident, you write.  Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop.  You continue:

Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin, I am so sorry.  I cannot apologize to you enough. 

I assure you that was a complete accident.

I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.

An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply.  It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself.  You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode.  But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom.  Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall. 

Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…

I assure you I am not, you reply.  I keep these videos to myself.  I would never intentionally spring them on you.

There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again.  Maybe you should just explode after all.

I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply.  I cannot apologize enough.  If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately.  You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes.  You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever.  Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin.  He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.

His replies come flying in, one after the other:

Whoa whoa

it’s okay

calm down

pretty girl hey hey hey

I don’t want you going anywhere

You take a breath and calm yourself.  You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident.  You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality. 

I should be apologizing to you, he says.  He continues swiftly: 

I kinda clicked on it…? 

I didn’t know what it was.  But I stopped once I did

I feel really bad

See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3     

You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous.  You smile fondly at your phone.  The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause.  A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously.  Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint.   Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”. 

It made him feel bad.  Goodness.  Talk about an ego blow. 

The least you can do is soothe his conscience.  You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation.   You write, I don’t mind you watching it.  I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place.  I really am sorry.

The ellipses appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears. 

You start to wonder if you should check on him.  He is just one room over, after all.   But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now. 

The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec.  Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room.  Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle.  All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over. 

It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery.  You leave him to his devices.  In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion.  You get up to dress yourself for the day.  Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.  

Everything will be fine.

-

Everything is fine until it is not.   Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity.  Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference. 

Verisimilitude, you tell yourself.   Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine. 

You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern.  Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore.  Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.   

After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away.  You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion.   By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.    

You throw yourself into your academic distraction.   A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found.  No resolutions, no conclusions. 

Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated.  Even your dreams suffer.  You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress.  Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself. 

You wake from yet another nightmare.  Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers.  You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression.  You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens.  You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now. 

You sigh and leave bed.  It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you. 

It seems your friend had the same idea.  Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.   

“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain. 

“Hello,” you duly reply.

You are definitely awake now.  Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt.  His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming.  He is so effortlessly beautiful.  You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane. 

You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips.  He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

It is a thoughtless query, no doubt.  The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter.  Are you okay.  Yes, how are you. 

But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days. 

You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years.  It is not something that comes easily to you.  You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct.  But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough.  You sniff and shake your head. 

“No,” you say.  “I’m not okay.”  

A single tear falls.  From you, that is practically a waterfall. 

Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled.  You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms.  Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady.  You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says.  “What’s this?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically.  You hate being a burden.  Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.  

But it is too late to spare your dignity.  Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours.  You heave a sigh. 

“A lot of things,” you admit.  “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.  It’s just stress.  My research.  You know how it is.” 

He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face.  He swipes his thumb across your cheek again.  Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers.  You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people.  You fall into his arms and all but collapse there. 

Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest.   He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls.  Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.        

“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids. 

You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly.   He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand.  To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom.  The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room.  It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes. 

While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space.  His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers.  The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers.  They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.

That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art.  It must be.  The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable.  But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance.  This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile.  Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you. 

“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me.  It would be embarrassing if he denied it.  It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it. 

“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser.  He is arranging pillows for you.  By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed.  He beckons you over.  “Come on,” he says.  “Like the old days.  It’ll make everything better.  I promise.” 

Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding.  You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized.   Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing?  It should be a compliment.  Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.  

You are not good with attention.  You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood.  Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse.  Attention meant derision.  If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them. 

When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door.  Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized.  At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.  

An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window.  You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog.  Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch. 

You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours.  You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.  

A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed.  A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet.  You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy. 

“Meet me downstairs,” he said.  He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.

You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself. 

The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there.  He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything.  You did not speak for a whole ten minutes. 

“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life.  “What’s yours?” 

You told him.  You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture.  He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.  

Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child.  It never occurred to him that someone might not like him.  He made friends so effortlessly.  His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age. 

His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm.  He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines.  You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.   

Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability.  When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised.  The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that.  It just meant you got good at sneaking around. 

You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this.  You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window. 

There are no interruptions now.  You lay down beside him.  You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him.  You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver.  He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.  

“Your research will be fine,” he says.  “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are.  You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”

You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver.  It really is quite unfair.  How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?

The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect.  “I’m not that smart,” you say.  “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.” 

You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance.  You burrow yourself deeper at his side.

“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him.  He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you.  “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug.  “You know what happens when people do that.” 

You find yourself smiling despite yourself.  Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you.  One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends.  You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands.  You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys.  The boy stumbled then swung back.  Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other. 

When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed.  You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin. 

“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound.  “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him.  “I hope you learned your lesson.  There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”

“There is,” he said, pouting. 

“No.”  You pinched his arm and he yelped.  “There isn’t.” 

“This time there was,” he said.  Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.” 

There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek.  He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes. 

“What was me?” you asked after a beat. 

“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said.  “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t.  So I made him stop.” 

It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you.  You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice.   You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession.  Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod. 

“Well,” you said.  “I am strange.  If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.” 

He smiled.  You smiled back.

You are quite certain you fell in love that day.  Curling up in his arms felt different after that.  You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well.   You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants.  Cliché indeed.  That story never ended well.  You could not abide by it.  It was better to repress and deny those feelings. 

You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest.  You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it.  Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed.  Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other.  He continues stroking your back. 

“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet. 

“Sorry,” you grumble. 

“So many people admire you,” he continues.  “I… I do.  I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best.  You know that, right?” 

“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again.  You sniff.  “And you’re not a dumbass.  Your opinion means a lot.” 

His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck.  You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer.  Your palm is over his heart.  You feel the racing thrum. 

“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well. 

“Yes,” you admit.  “The usual stress dreams.”   

“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck.  “I wish there was something I could do.” 

Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth.  That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances.  You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders.  You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you. 

Your hand leaves his chest.  Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you. 

All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck.  It is barely a caress. 

Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction.  Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you.  Your leg is still thrown over his middle.  You can feel how fast he gets hard.

Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch.  You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck. 

No.  It must be something else. 

Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect.  You force a smile and a weak laugh. 

“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say.  “I am going to look awful.  My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions.  You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight.  Do you promise?” 

He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner. 

He kisses you. 

His hand still cups your nape.  He pulls you close.  His lips are so full and his mouth so warm.  You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open.  It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you.  Unless he is in immediate need of CPR.  Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded. 

That is ridiculous.  It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark.  He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours. 

For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding.  He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth.  He swallows down your gasp. 

It feels like his hands are everywhere.  In your hair one moment then around your waist the next.  You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows.  When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up. 

A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short.   Is this real?  This cannot be real.  Can it? 

That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you.  You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone. 

Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours.  He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips.  Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed.  Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you.  It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties. 

Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you.  You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together.  You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you.  A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity.  It is a lot.  It is so much.  Too much?    

“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking.  “Wait.” 

He stops immediately, holding himself above you. 

He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours.  His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy.  There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline.  His heart is thundering where you touch his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control.  “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”   

It all happened so fast.  One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity.  He would never use and discard someone.  He would certainly never use you.  But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over.  You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on.  You do not work like that. 

You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together.  You cannot find two words to put together right now.  Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him.  Why is it so hard to say?  Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours?  It is always so hard to tell. 

You close your eyes and catch your breath.  He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath.  He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

You look at each other at the same time. 

“I still want to sleep here,” you say.  You hope the words are enough.  You are not upset.  You still want his company. 

He nods.  “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before.  It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs.  You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard.   He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself.  You think he might be counting. 

You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling.  You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind.   You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred. 

You are asleep before fifty.

-

You wake to a predictable mess of hair.  You yawn and stretch and scratch your head. 

Then you remember why your hair is a mess.  Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room.  That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—

You look at his side of the bed.  The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm.  He must have just left.  Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest.  It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day. 

You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified.  How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person?  How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve?  How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands? 

At least the video you sent was an honest accident.  Verisimilitude will do you no good here.  There will be no pretending it did not transpire. 

You should have just exploded when you had the chance. 

You slide out of bed and cross the room.  You poke your head out the door.  The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running.  You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it. 

You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor.  Then you huff and stand.   

Something will need to be done.  Conversations will need to be had.  That is simply the rub of it.  If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue.   If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –

It doesn’t matter.  That will not happen.  You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day.  You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination.  He is very compliant.  If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do. 

You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time.  Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back.  You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt.  You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room.  You hope Hyunjin is still home.  You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed. 

But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day.  He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace.  His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful.  It leaves you slack-jawed.  He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up. 

You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”

A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp

“I’m taking some photos today.”  His gaze is very intense.  Or maybe it is the make-up.  It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you.  You look lovely, pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly.  “I look no different than usual.”

“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation. 

“Be quiet,” you reply.  He is already preposterously off-script. 

It makes him laugh again.  He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee.   He offers you some but you decline.  You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all. 

Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup. 

This should be easy.  You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.

“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it. 

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door.  Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it.  Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you.   He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys. 

“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say.  “Lots of research.  Reading.  You know how it is.  I might lose track of time.  We’ll talk later, yes?  Yes.  Okay.  Goodbye.” 

He reaches you when you open the door.  You can see he wants to talk.  You know you should talk.  No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable.  But you suddenly cannot face him. 

You know you are being cowardly.  You know it is unkind because he might want answers too.  But you are not good and open like him.   You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors. 

You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you.  Your heart is still pounding.  You take a deep breath then turn to leave.  You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag.  Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools. 

You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest.  If only you were as cold-hearted as people said.  But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders. 

You pace in the hallway for a few minutes.  It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag.  You don’t even have your parking pass or library card.  With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment. 

Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in. 

You hurry to your room.  If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all. 

Unfortunately, you are a disaster. 

You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation.  Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying.  In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor.  It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time.  Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again. 

You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver.  You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—

You hear a creak.  You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers.  You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch.  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone. 

You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him.  He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous.  A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes. 

He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered. 

You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him.  He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more.  You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself. 

Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.

He touches his fingers to his chin.  Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation.  He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown.  His contemplation looks almost painful. 

You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something.  But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.

He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands.  He shakes his head.  He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say.  You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again.  He stares down at the screen. 

You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script. 

Then he turns up the volume.  

You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself.  Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it.  Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else.  So that was impossible. 

So why is he watching it now?

Because he is.  Unmistakably.  You know the sound of your own voice.  You know the sounds in that video.  You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him. 

He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside.  You can only blink, stupefied.  This does not feel real, just like that kiss.  Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs.  He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated. 

He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside. 

You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality.  Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.

He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door.   You make eye contact very briefly. 

Then you slam the door shut. 

-

You do the only logical thing.

You do not go to the library.  Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write.  You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship.  You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams.  You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets.  Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.   

The facts fall thusly:

You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself. 

You granted him permission to watch it.

He watched it. 

You caught him in a compromising position with it.

You made a spreadsheet. 

Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial.  But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented.  Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution. 

Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature.  You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin.   That courtship was an amicable affair and little more.  The break-up was cordial and tearless.  You shook hands then walked in opposite directions. 

A memory comes to mind. 

You and Hyunjin.  Starting university together.  Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.

One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away.  He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied.  It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.   

He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair.  It took some cajoling to get the story out of him.  His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase.  Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students.  You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not. 

“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said.   “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks.  That’s the only thing I have.  No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.” 

“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said.  “Plenty of people like you just fine.  They adore you, in fact.  And you are very talented.  It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”

“It’s not just one person,” he said.  He sat up to wipe his tears.    

You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss.  You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it. 

You put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly. 

“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up.  “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.” 

It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment.  Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds.  But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people.   He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces.  It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended.  You wished you knew how to express that. 

“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked.  “I care for you very dearly.”   

“You do?” he asked.  Even his voice sounded wet.  You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him. 

“Of course I do,” you said.  “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable.  You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that.  I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status.  Such is the nature of affection.  Why are you still crying?”

You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.  

Hyunjin has many layers.  You have always known this.  You told him as much.  You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you.  He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths. 

It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive.   It seems conclusive, though.  There is no shortage of sexual content in the world.  He could have watched anything.   So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction.  Possibly. 

You sit on your bed, staring at your phone.  You jump when it buzzes with a text alert.  You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin. 

I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.  

I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay..  Please just tell me

i deleted the video now.  and the message where you sent it.  I should have done that right away

I know you said you didn’t mind but still.  I should have just

just done it all differently

The messages come flying in one right after the other.  You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone.  Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it.  A shaky breath on his lips.

You look up, picturing him across from you.  You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand.  You never want to let go. 

Your phone buzzes again.  You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire.  Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.    

you mean everything to me.

He is still typing.  The ellipses in the corner flashes.  You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon. 

You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone.  You take a breath.  The decent and logical approach would be patience.  To study everything you have compiled.  To see if he concurs.  To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen. 

You are not someone who intentionally takes risks.  You are not wild and spontaneous.  You are not brash or confident.  You are not sexy.

Verisimilitude, you remember.  Act like it is true, maybe it will be. 

You type.  

Hello, Hyunjin.

His ellipses disappears.

It is true.  I sent that video by accident.  But I did grant you permission to watch it.

You open your photo album.  There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen.  It is not your most extravagant nor the longest.  You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything.  You could film it better if you did it again.  But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing. 

Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on.  You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting.  You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself.  He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment. 

You click on the video.  You send it with your next message.

This is for you.

You can keep it.

Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.

There is a long moment with no reply.  Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath.  You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.   

fuck.

are you trying to kill me

You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art.  A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now.  You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.

No, you write.  You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity.  You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations.  To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it.  It is only fair.  I was thinking of you while I made it. 

You wonder if he is still at the photography studio.  You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted. 

so you are trying to kill me, he writes.

and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....

You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones.  You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice.  The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through. 

I’m just teasing you baby. 

He knows you so well.  Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you.  You were so foolish to ever think otherwise.   Of course he can picture you like you can picture him.  You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body.  You feel safest curled against him and you always have.  The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.     

I see, you write.  Well.

Technically that was not wholly unprovoked.  It was very much within the context of our discussion. 

This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.

You send another video.  This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse.  You are wearing a sweater he bought you.  The gift was touching because there was no occasion.  He saw it and thought of you so he got it.  And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style.  He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.    

This video is not modest.  You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else.  You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath.  You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm. 

You send the video and wait.  His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:

fuck.

You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other. 

god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?

jesus we did all this backwards.  i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.

fuck I’m about to have my photo taken

hiding in the bathroom because christ

what are you doing to me

where are you right now??

After all that, you simply answer, In bed.  You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it.  Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation.  You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now.  This is new territory.  It is exhilarating.  You do not remember feeling this way with your ex.  He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you. 

Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory.  You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings.  Maybe he likes your hidden depths.  Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him.  He is romantic that way.  So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions.  Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him. 

Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment. 

Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart.  It melts at his next words. 

Please.   

Show me you want me.  want this.  want us.

Pretty girl.

My girl. 

Please.

Okay, you type.  You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant.  Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do.  This you want to do.  There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap.  You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself. 

Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.

You get an idea.  While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room.  He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does.  You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most.  It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product.  If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning.  You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room. 

You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant. 

You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket.  You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can.  You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality.  You pretend this is a video like any other. 

Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you.  He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably. 

You open your phone to a new message, a video from him.  The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red.  It makes it all the more erotic. 

You have never unwittingly clenched.  You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own.  But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video.  His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly.  He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper. 

Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them.  You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out. 

You turn up the volume to hear his breathing.  You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter. 

Oh Hyunjin, you write.  Your vocabulary otherwise fails.  There is no other word. 

Yes please, he writes.

My pretty girl.   

Say my name. 

Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural.  You are a little glad you were not filming yet. 

You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you.   You start recording.  With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket.  You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera.  The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains.  You skim down your body.  You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise.  Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself. 

It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this.  You have never been so wet in your life.  You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you.  Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this.  It feels so good to say it out loud.

You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends.  You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm.  You need it.  You need him. 

Your phone buzzes and you turn your head.  You open the message.  You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words. 

God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself

baby you are everything

I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things

god..

pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me?  will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.

You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close. 

It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again.  You frame your face and hit record.  You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel.  It is so much yet not enough.  You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue.  You want to taste him.  You want to choke on him.  You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away.  You don’t need to be anyone else.  You don’t want anyone else. 

You say his name again.  Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it.  You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath. 

As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets.  Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however.  As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again.  You need a proper conversation.  You need spreadsheets.  You need to do it his way and your way too. 

But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies.  Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful. 

Nonsense, you finally write. 

I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation. 

Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.

Then you’re all mine. 

You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket.  You take in a breath, the scent of him.  You type. 

I’ve been yours for a long time.  I can wait two more hours. 

Then… can we talk?

Yes, he answers quickly.  Absolutely.  I have so much I want to say to you.

Me too, Hyunjin.  

He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up.  He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again.  You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out.  You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind. 

When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder. 

You have two hours.  That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.

-

You tell yourself you will be resilient.  You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times.  Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem.  You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there. 

Except Hyunjin changed clothes.  It is not anything extravagant by any means.  He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp.  It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.

You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over.  He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back.  He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits.  He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is so atrocious at keeping to your script.  Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. 

You sit there for a long time.  It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station. 

Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance.  He looks so rebellious and you look so meek.  He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt.  Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned.  The wind has never been your friend. 

You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all.  His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up.  You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats.  Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear.  You remember him doing that at the art gallery.  He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now.  You realize you have been such a fool. 

You lean in at the same time.  This kiss does not even pretend at patience.  It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest.  You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.  He makes a noise too, something low and needy.  He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss. 

You remember yourself, vaguely.  You break the kiss with a gasp.  Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair.  Your foreheads touch.  The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing. 

“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected.  “Um.  We should.  Go.” 

He nods.  But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat.  He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver.  He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse.  Then he finally lets go and leans back. 

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home.”

Home.  You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival. 

Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table.  You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss. 

He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet. 

“Is this laminated?” he asks.  “You brought a laminator with you?”

“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly.  “What kind of question is that?”

He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on.  He listens diligently to your proposed contingency.  You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray.  You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance. 

You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult.  You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants.  You might as well have stripped down naked. 

You suppose you already have, halfway.  You swallow hard. 

“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly.  “The bottom line is this.  I desire you greatly.  I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard.  But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable.  I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic.  You are very important to me, Hyunjin.  I want us to succeed.  I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse.  That means no sharing a bed too.  When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us.  What are your thoughts?” 

“When will your place be ready again?” he asks.  He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful.  You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise. 

You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you.  You have known him for years.  You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish.  Present research dictates no. 

“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.   

He smiles.  It soothes your heart.  You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes.   You blink up at him. 

“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says.  “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work.  I’ve waited years for you, baby.  Six weeks is nothing.”

Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man?  He really is the universal exception to every rule.  You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it. 

“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin.  Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them.  Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile.  “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise.  But we will wait for the rest.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while.  You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush. 

-

It occurs to you in bed. 

You have long since said good night and retired for the evening.  You pick up your phone and sigh.  You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist.  The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest. 

And you are wet.  So, so wet, and so, so needy.  Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman.  Then he kissed you like a scoundrel.  He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face.  He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night.  Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him.  If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later. 

But in the moment, it felt so right.  You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one.  He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath.  Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood.  He fiddled with that one undone top button.  You would not have resisted him tearing them all open. 

He did not.  He kissed you slowly.  He kissed you sweetly.  With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl.  Sleep well.” 

You could not find your voice.  You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically.  He smiled.  You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion. 

Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner.  You debate texting him.  It will open a floodgate.  You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.

Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?

Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow.  Why do you ask…?

I was just wondering…

If when I saw you was your first time watching it. 

The ellipses is there for a while.  Your heart is pounding in your chest.  You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days.  Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.

You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through. 

Honestly… I watched it more than once.  I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds.  then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.

You cannot help but laugh a little.  You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more.  Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat. 

I tried to answer.  I tried to flirt with you.  I tried to be funny.  It all sounded stupid.  Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god. 

god..

Baby what was I supposed to do?  if I resisted that they would have made me a saint. 

You laugh again.  You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time. 

Did you masturbate to it?  you ask.  It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query. 

You really don’t pull your punches, he says.  You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.

yeah baby, he writes. I did.  More than once. 

I see, you reply.  Okay, thank you, I was just wondering.  Good night.

The ellipses flickers again.  You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.

This is going to be a long six weeks. 

-

He is not wrong.  It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling. 

You spend the first week stealing kisses.  He is good to you, respecting your boundaries.  He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires.  He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you. 

This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor. 

You are watching a movie one night.  He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand.  You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace.  You are not watching the film, all your focus on him.  He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music.  Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either. 

Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly.  They flutter free with an exhale.  You touch his cheek and turn his face.  He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word. 

His foot thumps onto the ground.  You find yourself in his lap.  You do not know how you lose your head around him.  One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating.  Someone should study this phenomenon.  You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic. 

You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck.  He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow.  It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching. 

It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze.  It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease. 

You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze.  He cups your head with both hands.  He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them.  When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word. 

He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat.  It makes you melt against him.  Your body really has a mind of its own these days.  You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch. 

He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped.  You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free. 

He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you. 

It makes you dizzy.  Your mouth opens and your eyes close.  You slowly rock back.  You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him.  But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice.  The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again. 

“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh.  Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart.  You realize are going to come like this.  “Oh.  Ohh.”

“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms. 

You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder.  You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain.  You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did. 

Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms.  You somehow push yourself upright.  You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites. 

He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it.  Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so.  You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest. 

His heart races under your palm. 

You think you need to see him come too. 

You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour.  You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands.  Literally.  You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced.  It is another reason you cannot rush into things. 

He does not rush you.  You arrive at the moment in your own time.  And in this moment, it stops mattering.  His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter.  You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you. 

You trail your hand down his chest to his belt.  His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face.  His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow.  You nod and he lets you go. 

You get his belt open with a little struggle.  You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.   

He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile.  You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him.  It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours.  He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand. 

The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after. 

-

The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines.  You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done.  You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project.  Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships. 

You go to your favourite café.  You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner. 

Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public.  Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad.  Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend. 

But he is still your Hyunjin. 

He just puts his tongue in your mouth now. 

The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery.  It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement.  It really is for the best.  For now.  You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready. 

Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling. 

You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you.  It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down.  It feels like a lifetime since then.  You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real. 

But it is real.  You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks.  You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply.  His jeans are blue today.  You are in a long skirt.  It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you. 

You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh.  When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back.  A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.

He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh.  “What do you want, baby?” he asks. 

“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame.  His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts.   You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.

He clearly likes what he sees.  He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost.  His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch.  He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his. 

“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing. 

“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder.  “For what?” 

“Just… so… ready…” 

It sounds ridiculous to say out loud.  He must agree because he laughs incredulously.  But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him.  Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin. 

“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady.  “What should we do about that?” 

You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers.  It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once. 

Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out.  He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe.  He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt.  You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you. 

You come so hard your knees buckle.  Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you.  He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms. 

You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied.  He puts you down gently.  And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard. 

“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt.  You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all. 

You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral.  You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair.  You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions.  He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously. 

He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you. 

And that is just week two.

-

By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule.  You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely.  When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day. 

To be fair, sometimes you do just talk. 

Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy.  He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare.  You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back. 

Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it.  You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt. 

“So,” he says.  “About the townhouse?” 

-

When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess.  You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating. 

Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags.  He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion.   He gets you some water and makes you drink.   It helps, marginally. 

“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement. 

You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again.  You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt. 

Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected.  They are the first thing to get a good dusting. 

It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out.  Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside. 

You wake with a start in the middle of the night.  You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves.   It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar.  You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment.  When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are. 

Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap.  Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed.  The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight.  You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company. 

You search around for your phone.  He left it on your bedside table for you.  It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early.  You text him an apology.  You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep. 

You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space.  You miss the comfort of another person just one room over.   No, not just another person, but Hyunjin. 

hey it’s okay, he texts back.  you were tired.  you should go back to sleep it’s late

I am unfortunately wide awake now.

Yeah me too. 

Why are you so awake?

Thinking about you. 

If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way.  You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now.  You type a reply. 

Oh?  What about me? 

You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not.  You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text.   You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious. 

That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep. 

Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous

About sleeping with you

You expect any number of answers, but not that one.  You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind.  When he starts typing again, you decide to wait. 

I know it sounds stupid. 

We spent all this time waiting

And god I want to.  my girl

I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down. 

Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral.  You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary.  Do you not think I would do the same for you? 

The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this.  His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.

Of course I am, you reply.  I always am. 

You hear a laugh.  It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor.  You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room. 

Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.

This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.

You frightened me half to death.  I thought you left. 

Ah sorry baby..

Do you… want me to come upstairs?

That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own.  You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin.  You want him with you, and beside you, now and always. 

Yes please, you write, then wait. 

His footsteps creak on the stairs.  The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal. 

You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light.  It is facing upward, illuminating him.  Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features. 

You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together.  You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things.  You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on.  You think you will do that one day.  You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first.  Maybe you will send him a video. 

You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it.  He gazes back at you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts. 

His face is bare.  Your hair is loose.  There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment.   You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime. 

He tips his head as he looks you.  You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life. 

He turns off his light.  The room is plunged into darkness.  That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly.  You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder.  Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you.  Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you. 

“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says.  “If we were.  Strangers.  If I was seeing you now for the first time.”  He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair.   “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways.  I think I will again.” 

“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves.  “So I will have to speak plainly with you.   I love you too, Hyunjin.  I always have.  If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”

He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing.  You need no other light.  You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip.  You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.   

“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says.  “Because I’d really rather make love to you.”  He swoops down and kisses your forehead.  “My friend.”  He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly.  “Baby.”  Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.” 

“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do. 

And of course he kisses you.

He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down.  You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely.  You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him. 

You gasp when he tugs your hair.  He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name. 

“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist.  “Show me what you want, baby.” 

You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans.  Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body.  He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself.  You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything.  It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head. 

For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves.  You and him, old friends turning into lovers.  You and him, established lovers, finally coming together.  Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again. 

“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body.  He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you.  It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth.   “Say it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head. 

He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you.  You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries.  When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting.  He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt. 

He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees.  You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock.  You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you.  You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back. 

When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.  He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine.  He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him. 

He does know you well.  The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up.  You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly.  He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you.  Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust.  He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control.  It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all.  You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you.  “That good, baby?”

You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there.  He laughs, eventually lifting your head.  Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine. 

He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours.  A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better.  It feels good, it feels free.  You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. 

“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another.  Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.”  And thrusts again.  “Mine.”  And again.  “Always.”  Again. 

You seek his hand blindly.  He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you.  When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once.  You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better.  You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy. 

When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control.  He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck.  He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy. 

You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed.  You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking.   You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you.  You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you.  You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck.  He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that. 

“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words. 

“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy.  “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs.  “Can decide in the morning.”

“Okay,” you say.  And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”

He smiles.   You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all.  Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart.  You are actually excited to learn. 

You give him one more sleepy kiss.  It is early morning now.

You fall asleep together at the start of a new day. 

[shiny-jr]

Get you a guy with thighs bigger than yours.

- Warning: Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: König.

- Summary: Thick thighs do not save lives.

- Note: This came about because I was just talking crazy in the dms with a mutual. I originally wasn't going to ever let this see the light of day, but then I decided, why the hell not? If I get smacked with delayed embarrassment, I'll just delete. Yeah, I know this isn't what I usually write and post, but oh well. Anyways, after this, we will be back to our regular scheduled content shortly. Oh, and sorry for minor mistakes, I wrote this like at midnight.

. . .

You decided to put a movie on. Just for a distraction. After about an hour into the movie, the leather couch got a bit uncomfortable since it stuck to your skin. So you slunk down to the floor, bringing a pillow or two down with you to use in case extra comfort was needed. The movie was beginning to lose your attention, but you still watched the screen attentively as if you were still focused on the film's plot.

What ended up catching your attention, was the slight shifting couch. Well, slight probably wasn't the correct word, as the movement was anything but light. It was safe to assume the shifting was from a guy who was well over 200 Ibs and a few inches short of 7 ft, although you didn't know the exact numbers because you never wanted to ask König outright.

It was easier to hear the movement, as the large figure scoot a few inches over. Instead of sitting beside you like he was a few seconds earlier, he had not so discreetly moved to take your vacant spot and sit directly behind you. He tried to stay quiet, he really did, but it wasn't so easy for him given his size. At the very least, he treaded carefully, not bumping your back once with his legs or accidentally knocking the back of your skull with his kneecaps.

You didn't move, but your eyes slowly glanced downward, where you could see the tip of his boots. Custom made, as most department stores didn't carry anything in his size. Most articles of clothing he had were custom-made or bought in special stores, save for that odd black diy mask he often wore over his head like a hood to hide himself from the world. Too afraid to lean back and accidentally make contact and disturb this fragile peace, you remain still despite the slight ache in your lower back that make you want to lean back and stretch. But you don't. All you could do was try to revert your attention back to the movie and not think any unholy thoughts, that is, until you heard more movement.

To not bump his knees against you, Konig spread his legs a bit and leaned down. The edges of his homemade cloth mask brushed against your back as you stiffened up, and you could make out the shape of his head beside yours as he whispered, "Do you, uh, want some...?"

Yes. "What???"

"Popcorn? Do you want some popcorn...??"

Oh.

After deciding whether or not you'd accept his offer, silence ensued, only fueled by the movie playing on the television. You weren't gonna lie, you have no idea what the hell was going on in the story anymore. A solid minute passed when he spoke again, sounding just as unsure as the first time. He spoke, as if whatever thoughts he had on his mind earlier where left to simmer for long enough.

"Scheiße. Sorry, should I have not moved here...? You can still lean back if you want?"

"Oh, okay... I, um, I'll do that."

Your back was starting to ache a little from sitting up without support, so, feeling just as awkward as he was feeling, you leaned your back against the couch. Instantly, as soon as you did that, your peripheral vision was covered by his knees and part of his legs. The movie was pretty much pointless now, as you were currently wondering whether you should thank whatever gods existed or curse them for the fact that König did not have shorts on. Even without shorts and with specially fitted cargo pants, they could not conceal the insane bulk of his legs. Especially his thighs. Good lord. The two pillows you brought down before from the couch were essentially useless now because on each side of your head were his limbs that rivaled the best of My Pillow.

Think of something else, anything else, is what you tried to tell yourself.

That idea would go out the window as soon as you felt something in your hair. Carefully twisting a few strands, you felt some thick and calloused fingers gently try and feel the texture of your hair. But it lasted only for a brief second, as he immediately pulled his hands away and murmured a tiny bit louder from his whisper earlier, "Ah, sorry, I should've asked first. I should not have done that. I am sorry––"

"It's okay, I... don't mind." You shrugged it off, and much to your surprise and contentment, he continued.

The first few seconds had a bit more hesitancy, but as time ticked by, seconds turned to minutes, his boldness increased. It started with his large hands carefully feeling the texture of your hair, then it became slow brush strokes as his thick fingers ever-so-carefully untangled knots in your stands of hair. Until eventually it escalated, and he gathered the courage to do something so bold as to scratch your skull. He could easily take your entire face in one hand and crush your skull, but he didn't. There was no sign of any such roughness. Instead, his fingers and nails continued to comb through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. At first when he did this, he paused, and waited for any objections or signals of a negative reaction, but after no such thing, he continued and seemed pleased.

It was after about five-minutes and heavy mental debating in your mind that you decided to suck it up and go for it. What's the worst that could happen? Honestly, you didn't even expect to make it this far.

So, after taking in a breath, you let your head fall to the side. It wasn't like those romantic scenes where you watch the character lean their head against a love interest's shoulder. Oh no, you were skipping that part, your ear landed right on his thigh. Which was probably due to the cushion you placed underneath you on the floor that elevated you a few extra inches, or else you might've missed. In that moment, right as the side of your head landed on its intended target, you felt him freeze. His fingers stopping, nails still on your scalp. A second passed, then two, then three, like time froze.

You were almost tempted to pry yourself off and apologize, but you really didn't want to. But you had to ask. "Is this alright...?"

"J-Ja... I mean, yes..."

Your eyes widened, and you were sure you had on some goofy kinda grin but at least you weren't facing him so he couldn't tell. Once you heard his response, your shoulders slumped, relieved of tension you didn't even know you were carrying.

Even with your head against his thigh that wasn't plush but was still definitely comfortable, you realize you were no better than a man as you resisted the urge to just reach out and squeeze his other thigh that had gotten closer without you even realizing it. You had to dig your nails into your knee to prevent yourself from acting on impulse.

It was definitely almost pure muscle from what you could tell with your head on one of them. Firm but somehow still soft. Thick thighs, in fact, do not save lives, because these thighs have ended who knows how many between them in finishing moves on the battlefield. Lucky bastards. Trying your luck agian, you place a shaky hand on his other thigh, but he didn't react. A good sign? Possibly?

Forget goth gfs and thick plush thighs, apparently giant anxious austrian soldiers with thighs as thick as tree trunks and strong enough to obliterate skulls like melons were the new fad.

Movie totally forgotten, your vision was entirely covered when König leaned down a bit from his spot on the couch and you tilted your head to look up and meet his gaze. The masked man stared at you, his blue eyes peering down at you through the two small slits cut into his mask for his eyes to see. His mask partially dangled, but not fully, so not revealing himself to you. When your gaze traveled away, abruptly his thighs got closer, squishing your cheeks and the sides of your face but not enough to hurt. Just a bit of pressure to get you to look up again.

Oh god.

There was literally no space between your face and his legs anymore, and your arms instinctively went to the outer side of his thighs to try and pry them apart a bit. You didn't try much, maybe because you enjoyed it or because you didn't exactly have strength strong enough to rival his, so all you could do was clutch the pockets of his cargo pants that were just above his knees, your nails digging in softly just to get a quick feel.

Once he saw he had your attention again after he applied a bit of pressure, he cocked his head to the side and continued to look down at you through half-lidded eyes darkened by the shadow of his hood. Then he spoke, but this time with no apprehension in his quiet tone.

"You do know I've ruined others that were in a similar position to what you are in right now?"

[ilyrafe]

𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒕 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

A - affection (how do they show affection)

rafe isn’t the most affectionate person in the world, but when he feels comfortable and safe enough, he makes a point of showing you how dear you are by giving you expensive gifts and unique experiences like a weekend on a yacht, away from everything and everyone, or a dinner at an expensive restaurant in new york city, with ward’s private jet. he spares no effort to show you that he can take care of you as he thinks you deserve. he’s also not very good with words, but rafe is an extremely transparent person, so his face says it all. his eyes always soften when he’s looking at you, and that says more than any diamond necklace or any declaration of love.

B - balance (how do they balance you, work/school/life?)

maybe rafe is a bit of a workaholic, money and power are very important things to him, but he goes out of his way to try and fit you into his life. he doesn’t always succeed, but he tries.

C - cuddles (do they enjoy cuddling? what positions?)

he’s not used to being cuddled, so naturally he doesn't do it to anyone. most of the time, you are the one who initiates the gesture, and it takes a long time for him to reciprocate and not feel awkward. whenever rafe is anxious, you cuddle him until you feel him calming down, and your cuddles are healing. they help immensely. he had never felt so loved and safe. you two normally stay quiet, just wanting the comfort of one another after a hard day, but sometimes, he’ll ask you stuff here and there.

D - date (what was your first date?)

after a few weeks of just pretending that neither of you had any serious feelings for the other, rafe invited you to dinner and you accepted. he was relaxed, in a good mood and even made jokes that made you laugh and throw your head back. he didn’t seem to be the same rafe who walked around with kelce and topper with an air of superiority. he was funny, smart, cute and perhaps the most interesting person you’ve met.

E - excited (how excited do they get when they see you/are with you?)

your presence calms him enough for him to organize his thoughts. it doesn’t mean he’s going to vent to you, but your presence makes you feel at ease. he loves seeing you, especially after long periods of time, when he needs to travel for work and you can’t go. he’ll make sure he’ll make up for the time he was away.

F - fighting (what happens when you fight)

your first fight was a big fight, which made rafe understand that you’re not as submissive as he would like, because you’re not afraid of him and you hit him head on with the same tone he uses when he’s angry. in the first fight, rafe just took out all his frustrations on you, which made you mad. this fight almost ended the relationship, because you already had some unpleasant things about him that were stuck in your throat and everything ended up exploding, but after a long conversation, you got it together and now rafe thinks five times before thinking of taking out his problems on you.

G - gorgeous (pet names. what do they like to call you? what do they like to be called?)

rafe is quite simple, he calls you “babe” or “baby”. he rarely calls you by your name.

H - hi (first time meeting)

you met at a party he was throwing at tanny hill, as a friend of his took you. you apologized for crashing the party, but rafe thought you were adorable and obviously gorgeous. you praised the mansion and said you were having fun, and he promptly said you could come over whenever you wanted, but he didn’t say it with a sexual connotation, but rather a friendly one. he offered to show you other parts of the house and that certainly attracted some looks.

I - intimacy (how romantic they are)

rafe hasn’t had many romantic experiences in his life, he was never attracted to the idea of ​​dating until he met you, so he found himself searching the internet for “romantic gestures”, “how to impress a woman” and things like that. he wanted to do everything right, he wanted you to see that he was taking you seriously. he likes to take you to dinners, he gets you flowers and expensive gifts.

J - jealousy (do they get jealous?)

both of you get jealous of each other, actually. he doesn’t like to see you talking to other boys, except kelce and topper, but you don’t stop having male friends because of that, after all, you don’t stop him from having female friends either (if he wants to). you tend to feel jealous when you see him getting along with an ex girlfriend or even a former hookup.

K - kisses (where do they like to kiss you/how often?)

in public, rafe gives you quick kisses here and there, sometimes on your hand, but mostly on your lips. in private, he’s quite passionate and loves to kiss your neck and collarbones. he also kisses your forehead a lot, especially when you’re asleep! when you spend time apart for whatever reason, his kisses are urgent (which you absolutely live for).

L - love (when was the first time they said i love you or realized it?)

rafe realized he was in love with you when you spent a whole night comforting him after a terrible fight with ward and sarah. you did everything. you held him, you let him cry, you let him vent and you never let go of him. he never felt so loved in his life before, no one never really heard him before. you were so caring and understanding, never interrupting him.

M - moving in (when do you decide to move in together)

after a few years of relationship, rafe proposes that you move in together, after all, you are already adults and you know that you will be “together forever”. you don’t think twice. you spend more time with him than in your own home anyways.

N - newborn (their reaction to starting a family)

the thought of being a dad worries him a lot, actually. he doesn’t want his children to turn out like he (or sarah) did, he doesn’t want to repeat ward’s mistakes. he wants to do everything right. when the topic arises, he begins to read about parenthood, how to raise kids and all that stuff, which makes you certain that if you’re gonna have kids, they’re gonna be his.

O - open (how open you are with one another)

at first, he’s not open with you at all, but you can tell it’s a defense mechanism. when you and rafe start getting to know each other more and become more than friends, he begins to feel more comfortable with talking to you about himself and his life. he tends to talk more at night, before falling asleep. you’ve noticed rafe doesn’t like to keep secrets, he needs to let it out so he tells you a lot of things, some stuff being really random. you also feel the same and begin to tell him about yourself and it’s nice to hear that he can relate to you in something.

P - photos (what kind of photos you take of them/they take of you)

rafe likes photography and is quite good at it! he prefers to take the picture rather than being photographed, but you manage to sneak in a picture or two of his when he’s asleep or not looking. he has a lot of polaroids of you, but also on his phone.

Q - quirks (what random habits do you have that they love or hate/vice versa)

rafe is very messy. it seems that he’s physically unable to put an object back to its designated place. his room is always messy and he knows it. there are several plastic water bottles scattered around his bedroom and he doesn’t care to throw them away.

R - recovery (how you help them after an injury/vice versa)

rafe doesn’t like when you see him injured just because he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him, but he always lets you help him with his wounds. he knows you hate when he’s in a fight. he apologizes and says he’ll do better, but every once in a while you’ll get a text alerting you about another fight that he’s involved in.

S - solution (how they resolve fights)

when you are wrong, you apologize. rafe, however, has trouble recognizing when he’s wrong, and tends to blame others for his mistakes, but you never let him get away with it. he just hates when you tell him “rafe, you’re in the wrong, period. apologize and fix it.”, but deep down he does appreciate that you never buy his bullshit and puts him in his place. after everything is said and done, you both have a calm conversation and rafe does apologize more heartfeltly.

T - touch (when they need/want your touch, what will they do? how often?)

normally after a fight with ward, a long day at work or when he’s anxious, rafe wants nothing more than to be with you in his bedroom and hold you till it all goes away and he can breathe again. you don’t even need to touch him, the feel of you in his arms is enough. you play with his hair, you trace his back with your nails or you play with his hand, to let him know you’re there and you’re not going anywhere.

U - up (waking up with them)

waking up with rafe is the best. he has his arms around you every single time. if you’re still asleep, he just kisses your shoulder or forehead, trying to wake up a bit more before getting up and starting the day. if you’re up before him, you play with his hair and stroke his soft skin. he usually has this hard exterior, so sleeping is the rare chance you get to see him be calm.

V - vacation (where they travel with you)

you encourage rafe to visit other countries, discover new cultures and foods, and it’s always fun to travel with him because he values ​​comfort and lets you take control of the trip. while you like to explore the place by foot, he’s offering to call an uber and “get there faster!”.

W - wedding (how they propose/where you get married/honeymoon)

on a random day, rafe asked if you ever thought about getting married, and you said yes. then he asked if you would marry him one day, and you said yes. he took a small black velvet box from his pocket, opened it, showing a beautiful ring. the wedding took place just a few months later, and it was a small ceremony, with just a few family members and closest friends. rafe was radiant, and on your honeymoon, you went to greece.

X - x factor (what about you captivated them?)

your self-confidence. you don’t accept insults from anyone, least of all from him. he feels a little jealous of your confidence, because deep down he doesn’t have any. your greatest strength is your kindness and understanding.

Y - yawning (how they act when they’re tired)

like a child, rafe doesn’t really admit when he’s tired. he fights his sleep until he really can’t anymore. when he’s tired, he gets cranky and stubborn just like a toddler. he knows he’s tired, but for some reason he won’t just go to bed and fall asleep.

Z - zzz (how you fall asleep together)

before you, rafe liked his space, but when you both started sharing a bed, rafe couldn’t sleep by himself anymore. he needed to be holding you, smelling you. having you next to him is the only thing he really wants. he has begged you to stay the night just so he can sleep better and you always say yes.

[st-el-la-luna]

Thinking about @ceilidho 's coworker Soap giving reader a little gift before he dropped the "I named my pocket pussy after you" bomb.

It's a simple little thing. A stuffed bear. A cute little thing. Fluffy synthetic fur, button eyes, a red heart in its hands. He'd seen you staring at it in the weeks leading up to Valentine's Day.

You finally gave in, deciding to buy it on your next shift. Only to find it's been sold out. Oh no! 😞

But fear not, your knight in shining armour is here. Johnny presents you with the bear at the end of your shift, just before you get into your car. He'd been a bit more fidgety than usual when he walked you to it, but you'd chalked it up to the holiday. Figured he'd said yes to one of the pretty ladies or men who had been hitting on him all day, asking about his plans for the night. He'd smiled at each of them, saying he was just going to stay home. Watch some movies.

No way movies would get him so excited. Or, maybe, you think to yourself, he really likes movies. He'd have a lot to catch up on after his years in the military.

So when you turn to wish him goodnight, the last thing you expect is for him to be holding the bear, the one you've been wanting for weeks, out for you.

"it's for you," he says, cheeks flushed, ears tipped pink. He looks up at you, then down again. There's something in his eyes you can't quite place. Hazy, heated. He licks his lips before continuing. "Saw you eyeing 'em up all week... Figured I'd snag you one before we ran out."

You accept it with a grin. Of course you do! I mean, he's your coworker, your friend. He's almost like a brother to you!

"Thank you, Johnny," you smile, taking the bear and resting your nose in its fluff.

"No," he says, his accent a little thicker, his voice a bit lower. "Thank you."

"For what?" You laugh.

He licks his lips and says nothing.

"Well... Happy Valentine's Day, Johnny," you tell him with an awkward smile. You turn the keys in the ignition and drive away.

You get home and set the bear in your room. On your dresser across from your bed. As you get changed out of your work clothes into something more comfortable you can't help but stop and think just how sweet it was for Johnny to do that.

At his house, Soap watches his computer screen with a crooked grin, pants undone, cock in hand, wondering how sweet you'd taste.

Such a kind, unsuspecting lassie... Didn't even notice that the bear's nose wasn't heart shaped like it was supposed to be.

He hadn't lied to those customers. He was very excited to see a movie. He just hopes you'll put on a show.

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