#using same base can u tell..

[tuttifrooti]

Like father, like son

used @kashisun 's nose preset on his dad and was surprised how well it fit like oml

[fizzyghosts]

Hywel is inspired by a mix of my issues with stories with nonhuman protagonist/about nonhumans becoming human AND vet posts ive seen warning people about the dangers of anthropomorphisizing animals. Its fine to joke about your pets doing things out of spite or other human emotions, it does put you at risk of not being able to read their body language correctly. Cats dont cry out of sadness, a cat crying, with actual tears streaming down its face, is a sign of a medical issue. A dog smiling isn't doing it bc its happy, it means its nervous. Not being able to spot these is bad, and sometimes even dangerous, for you and the animal.

If you never get past Hywel's human appearance and treat him like one its like getting a reactive dog, doing zero research or training, and then taking it to a dog park. If Hywel mauls someone in town then its on you.

[starswallowingsea]

having thoughts about what makes an interesting idol rhythm game

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Tbh the whole metal sonic having a hedgehog oc thing is honestly so good. Yes. The murder robot also deserves the joy of dressing up as a character she made. Reminds me of those sonic ocs that edgy kids used to make that were basically just like. emoer amy rose or something. And I mean that with the most love in the world cause i was one of them kids. He is kinda just an edgy kid too. They deseve the freedom

She literally is my emoer Amy Rose from when I was like nine she is just also in universe Metal Sonic's emoer Amy Rose. (her outfit is actually very vaguely meant to resemble classic amy's since like, metal cares about like three or four people enough to remember them by name and amy is one of them bc, y’know, sonic cd, she considers amy one of the few living things that was useful to her bc she used her as bait she is in universe literally designed after amy rose bc metal was trying to exploit sonic's heroism for like literally two minutes until they started bantering.)

[moondustbaby]

Best Friend Rafe Cameron Headcanons

bsf!rafe x bsf!reader headcanons nobody asked for but i’m unwell so here we go 🙃

✿ Reader’s lockscreen is a photo of them when they were kids—Rafe’s got a black eye from a fight he got into for her, and she’s hugging him like he won a medal. He pretends to hate it but uses the same photo as his contact pic for her. It’s the first thing that pops up whenever she calls and he always, always answers.

✿ Rafe won’t admit it, but his entire driving playlist is carefully curated based on her moods. There’s a “she’s sad but won’t say it” playlist, a “we’re not talking about our feelings so here’s some Cigarettes After Sex” mix, and a chaotic “she’s drunk in the passenger seat and singing to me like we’re in a movie” rotation.

✿ They’ve “fake dated” so many times it doesn’t even register as a bit anymore. Rafe will casually wrap his arm around her at a party when a guy stares too long, and she’ll just say, “jealous much?” without realizing he actually is.

✿ Every single one of his passwords is some variation of her name and a number only he understands—she once tried to guess his phone passcode and he looked personally offended like, “You don’t remember the mile marker we broke down at on the way to Bonnaroo? Wow.”

✿ You can always tell when something’s wrong with Rafe by how he touches you—if he’s quiet, he’ll just fiddle with your rings or twist the strings on your hoodie instead of actually saying what’s bothering him. You never call him out on it. You just nudge your hand closer.

✿ Rafe once bought her period products without flinching and included her favorite candy, a heating pad, and a note that just said “u still suck at texting back. feel better tho.” It made her cry so hard she called him sobbing. He thought something was wrong and showed up ten minutes later.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

requests are open, scream in my inbox tell me which one needs a fic 💌 or ask for a part two i have an embarrassing amount of these lmao

♥️ lani

Masterlist

[parfaitblogs]

i NEED a angst fic (with a happy ending ofc) based on tolerate it by taylor swift please 🙏 big chance it’s been done before though and im just the most unoriginal bitch ever

tolerate it ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid gets out of prison, and you baselessly feel like your relationship is growing increasingly one sided.  pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: post prison reid. neglectful bf spencer reid. happy (open) ending. communication yippee. themes of self doubt in reader. mentions of spencer not eating.  word count: 2k a/n: writers block isn't real you just need to watch criminal minds season 12 episode 13 'spencer' and then listen to tolerate it on repeat for three hours straight. iiii know human beings don't talk in long monologued speeches but for the sake of my sanity let us pretend i am shakespeare and spencer reid is my leontes. plzzzz tell me if u liked this or if u didn't yay thank u ily

i sit and watch you. i notice everything you do, or don't do. (lines 3–4)

A fork scrapes against ceramic. It emits a scratching sound that hurts your ears, and you're cringing from your curled up position on the couch as you hear it. Silverware shines beneath the bright, warm glow of his kitchen light, his food barely dented as he pushes it around his plate. 

He's been playing with it since he sat down to eat it. 

You're not too sure what's going through his head as he takes barely there bites of a meal you cooked. You don't think you want to know. But it takes him all of twenty three minutes to come to the same conclusion he made last night, and every other night before that. That he isn't going to eat any more of the food, and just like his fork, his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. 

He wraps the plate in aluminium foil, the crinkling of metal being your only indicator that he has plans to eat it later. At least, that's what you hope. 

When he disappears into the bedroom, you follow him. Like a lovesick puppy, you're trailing after him, and your chest feels hollow with how embarrassing it all is. 

He doesn't know you're watching him, though. 

At least, not to the extent you are. He's field trained enough to know that you're keeping an eye on him, but your silence is only indicative of you giving him the space he so politely asked for three days ago. He's not in his right mind to assume you're silent for any other reason, and you've battled to a loss with the thoughts of letting him into your disaster of a brain. 

He doesn't need to know that.

The ensuite door shuts behind him, and you hear the water turn on minutes later. You take the cue to curl up on your side of the bed, your fingers toying with the paper edges of a book you now had in your lap. The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, for you were rediscovering your love for children's novels amongst this trying time between you and Spencer. 

"Hey, did you buy me more shampoo?"

Your head lifts at the voice, the snowy Narnia world you had built in your brain shattering in an instant, as you're met with the dull colours of Spencer Reid's bedroom, and a showered and dressed Spencer Reid standing only a few feet away. His bedroom hadn't always been dull. Really, nothing had actually changed artistically within it to make it dull. But there's something about no longer laughing in a room once filled with so much love that mutes its vibrance. 

"Yeah," you say, dog-earing the page you were on and slipping it onto the nightstand. "I saw you were running low."

His lips part as he exhales, and you hate that you can tell he's pushing away something snippy. It wasn't that he was actively trying to start fights with you, but his temper has grown short, and he has more anger in his heart than before. 

"You didn't get the right one, that's all."

And though it isn't said rudely, your chest opens up like a black hole regardless, and a thick ball of emotion lodges in your throat.

"I'm sorry," you force past your lips, despising the hollow sound of your sad voice, and the fact that he notices it. His eyebrows frown towards each other at the sound of you, and he takes a step towards the bed.

It's pathetic, right? To be this upset over him letting you know the thing you bought him wasn't correct. In that almost fake sounding soft, kind voice he has when he is trying to keep his unnecessary frustration at bay. 

But it wasn't like this was the first time you'd done something for him in recent, and been told you did it wrong, instead of simply being thanked. Acts of service he was finding problems within no matter what they were, each new critique chipping away at the scales of your self confidence. You don't even think he's meaning to do it.

Every time this happens, memories of the other times flash violently in your head, reminding you that he could not find the beauty of being cared for by you the way he had before this. This, this thing you were barely even able to string the letters of together, because it seemed so foreign and faraway to you. Spencer Reid in prison is not a sentence that makes sense in this — or any other — timeline. You don't think it ever will. And yet.

You'd cooked him meals every single day since he got out. Meals he'd barely ever touch, wrap in foil, then put in the fridge for his work lunch the next day. You don't know if he's even eating them at work, or if he's just taking them there to throw them out. You've been too scared to reach out to any of his team members to ask. Knowledge is power, but knowledge makes his negligence all too real. 

There's a fear in calling it negligence. It isn't fair of you to expect the same man before and after prison, and you know he's dealing with more than you can fathom. You were prepared for distance. 

Just not this much.

The submerged sound of your name tugs you from your thoughts, and suddenly Spencer is closer than he was before, and he's repeating your name over and over in calling. Once you rapidly blink and shake your head, he determines you've returned to Earth, and he's falling silent again. There's concern knitting his eyebrows together, and he's got his hands hovering in the air, as if he's reaching for you, but second guessing himself at the same time. 

"Whats going on in your brain?" he asks you after a few beats of the two of you just staring at each other. 

Like a dam breaking, his question triggers an onslaught of emotions, and every fear and insecurity you've had inside you spills out.

"I feel like you suddenly hate me," your eyes rapidly search the duvet in front of you for your words. "Or—or I annoy you with my presence? Or my care? I mean, I try to do things for you and you barely even spare them a second glance, or thought. You barely talk to me anymore outside of updating me on your schedule. We sleep with miles of distance between us," you gesture to the bed beside you. "I cook you meals you don't eat, I wash your clothes you don't fold. Both of which are things that I'm fine with, because I can't imagine how skewed your appetite is, and I—I know laundry is a trigger now. But there is not even a slight hint of you—you being thankful. You know, appreciative. I feel like I'm following you around like a servant, and I'm doing things with no gratitude in return. I'm doing things I shouldn't have to, because I'm your girlfriend. Not your maid. But they are things that I want to do, because I care for you, and I love you," you pause, a self deprecating smile appearing on your face. "And—and you haven't even told me you love me since the day we got you home. Do you even love me, still? No, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know. I mean, I do. I don't know. God, Spencer, can you say something?"

He doesn't. For a long while, he stares at you, and you train your eyes on the pattern on the bedding you're currently sitting under. His gaze is pulverising, and every second that passes is another limb turning to dust beneath it. His silence should be enough of an answer for you. Yet, you hold onto groundless hope still.

It feels like eternity has passed you by, by the time you hear his voice again.

"I don't mean to make you think I don't love you," he says. "I do love you. Which feels meaningless to confess to you now, knowing how you feel, and I wish my expansive knowledge of words could come up with a confession that does justice to how you feel, but also makes you feel better. I can only hope you take it at face value, and don't assume I'm saying it because it's what you want me to say." 

He finds a seat on the bed in front of you, fingers fidgeting with each other as he fixates on the wooden flooring in front of him. 

"I am grateful for everything you've done for me recently. I'm sorry I haven't expressed that. I'm having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other, let alone stringing together sensical thoughts. I wish I could tell you what my mind sounds like without feeling guilty about it. It isn't nice, and every thought I have is far from positive," he lifts his eyes to you, and you watch in real time as they soften, for the first time since he came home. "I will tell you that there's you. Among every awful thought and feeling I have, there is you. I think I... I think I've been coming across as ungrateful because you are a breath of relief after every bad thought and feeling. Am I making sense?" you nod your head, and he sighs in, namely, relief. "I take a step back from processing my emotions and figuring out how I'm going to talk about them with that bureau therapist when I think about you, because you are the one good thing I have to hold on to. So I just bask in the thought of you, or the sight of you, and focus on nothing else."

You aren't sure when you began to cry, and you only realise it when you have to sniffle before speaking. "You can focus on so many things at once, though." 

"Not anymore," he admits, looking back down. "I don't know what's happened. I've gone from having a brain that works inhumanly — which is objectively an incorrect statement, but I digress — to one that cannot multitask on two separate things at once." 

"Oh," you whisper. "I see."

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as though your efforts go unnoticed, honey," he murmurs. "They don't. This has just been really difficult."

"I know," you say, wiping your tear stained face with the back of your hand. 

There's a part of you that wants this to be the end of it. The end of self doubt, and distance, and instead the beginning of your relationship rebuilding itself alongside Spencer. 

There's a larger, more logical part of you, that knows you cannot just sweep every self conscious doubt under the rug and move on. 

"I just want some time," you tell him, and his shoulders tense as you speak. "Not to—not to break up. Or even for us to have a break. I don't want that. I've just felt very... unloved. Like you're merely tolerating my presence in your life. And now, I know you aren't. But I have to find my confidence in myself in this relationship again before I can move on."

"Okay," his voice is strained as he speaks, and you know he's not exactly content with your request for space.

You try not to focus on that, in order to stand firm in your decision. 

That is where the conversation ends. And just like every other night, he climbs into bed and leaves a considerable amount of distance between your two bodies. You choose not to dwell on it, because this is now him giving you the space you so politely requested. You were catastrophising, and you'd be damned if you let such a thing control your life any longer. 

It maybe wasn't all in your head, but you still had to take the self doubt shaped dagger from your stomach out.

now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. (line 30)

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[st7rnioioss]

࿐ ˚ ⋆ ֹ CHRIS DOESN'T KNOW

— based off the song "scotty doesn't know" by lustra

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... don't like, don't read! chratt fic!!, threesum (no incest shit), dom!matt, softdom!chris, cheating (don't do this in real life), unprotected sex (wrap it), slightly public sex (? in a car), minor angst (mentions of cheating + arguing), protected sex, oral (f + m receiving), praise kink, dumbification kink, slight dacryphilia.

𝒢𝜚 wc: 5.3k

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: wow wow woooww.. first chratt fic i've ever written! i can't tell if i like or absolutely despise this, but here you are. i love u, freaks!!🤍

chris doesn’t know we do it in my van every sunday she tells him she’s in church but she doesn’t go still, she’s on her knees and chris doesn’t know

“o-oh, matt-“ you moaned, head thrown back against the window of matt’s car, one of your hands gripping onto his shoulders as he basically pounded his cock into you, the other one holding onto the hand grip on the door.

“fuuuckk… c-can’t believe chris gets to see this every day, huh? so pretty..” he ducked his head down to leave a trail of kisses down your neck and collarbone, his pace not halting one bit as his fingertips dug into your hips.

this had become sort of a routine.. every sunday you’d tell chris you were going to church when really you were doing something way more sinful. something that definitely didn’t belong in a church—far from it, even.

you had arranged a specific spot where matt would drive by every sunday, and he’d either have you on your knees in his car or, like right now, sprawled out in the backseat.

“matt! d-don’t stop, please!” you wailed, his thumb connecting to your bud making your back arch and eyes squeeze shut.

“oh, i don’t plan on it.. w-we have ‘til ten thirty-“ he groaned, throwing his head back when he felt your sticky walls clamp around him. “th-think you can keep going?”

oh, chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris

you knew all this was very wrong.. cheating on your boyfriend, first of all. but with his brother? there was really no excuse.

restless nights were one way to describe the pit in your stomach. staring at the ceiling, asking yourself what drove you to do such a fucked up thing.

chris was perfect… he treated you like there was no other girl in the world, showering you with gifts, and receiving endless kisses from him, and the praise and sweet words he gave you whenever you had sex were more than enough of what you needed.

it left you wondering. couldn’t matt give you the same? they were so similar, yet different. whenever you were having sex with chris, you couldn’t deny you missed matt’s cruel effort to make you cry, rather than chris’s effort to make you smile. yet chris’s compliments is what kept you so flustered and shy around him.

it was complicated. you used to have this “friends with benefits” situation with matt before you got with chris.. and disturbingly enough, it lasted. but you still loved chris, very much.. you just also happened to have sex with matt?

“hey, um.. i don’t mean to be nosy, but like.. you’ve been kinda off lately. are you okay?” chris whispered from behind you, his arms wrapped securely around you.

you sighed, but not in annoyance, messily turning around under the sheets. you met his eyes that had a somewhat worryingly look to them.

“chris, i’m okay. i promise, i’ve just.. i’ve just been tired,” you whispered back, leaving a kiss on his forehead. “don’t worry about me.” sure, you were lying straight through your teeth, but you couldn’t tell him yet. he wasn’t ready to know.

he smiled back at you, nodding slowly as an answer, not wanting to take this thing further. he returned the kiss but to your lips.

oh, chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris

you were sat in your bed, music playing softly in the background while you scrolled through whatever social media app was interesting at the moment until you were interrupted.

a sigh escaped your lips. you hated keeping this from chris.

even though you saw stars every time you were with matt, it felt so wrong—that pit in your stomach only grew time after time… but yet you craved more from him.

she says she’s out shopping but she’s under me and i’m not stopping

your phone was going off from your nightstand, chris sending messages about letting him see what you had gotten yourself—but that was the last thing you wanted to focus on right now.

chris had called you just earlier, asking if he could come over to hang out with you. but you were.. busy with some other stuff. stuff, as in, matt was over.

“what do i say? i can’t just tell him i’m having sex with his brother,” you groaned, staring down at the confused message from chris.

matt shrugged, taking a sip of his canned soda. “i dunno.. just say you’re out shopping or somethin’, he won’t bat an eye,”

“y-you’re so fucking wet.. listen to that,” matt groaned from on top of you, listening to the wet squelching his dick elicited from your pussy. “y’like it raw that much?”

ecstasy was all you could describe it as. as much as you liked all the positions matt could manhandle you into, this was easily your favorite—along with the raw feeling of his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

you had always kept a promise that no matter what, you’d never let matt fuck you raw. it was intimate to another level, even the thought of him finishing inside of you making your stomach churn weirdly. but this..?

“m-mm..” you babbled, eyes stuck to the back of your skull as he fucked his hips into the back of your thighs, your legs thrown over his shoulders.

he chuckled, reaching a thumb out to wipe the spit off the corner of your mouth. “so dumb.. you like being fucked stupid on my cock, don’t you?”

you weren’t even processing his words, nodding dumbly at the clouded words before you squeezed around him for the second time that evening. a loud moan of his name escaped your puffy lips, your release creating a ring around his cock.

oh, chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris

a few months had passed since you got together with chris while keeping up this thing with matt, and honestly, you were surprised you first of all hadn’t told him yet, and second of all that he still hadn’t noticed. you were being quite risky with this after all.

“do you want anything?” chris whispers from next to you, nuzzling his nose into the side of your face making you chuckle.

“no, i’m okay.” you whispered back.

you, chris, nick, and matt had gotten together to watch a movie, though matt’s eyes were not on the screen in front of him.

the tension was in the air—and it was thick. at least between you and matt. it always left you nervous when both chris and mag were in the same room as you. thinking about what went on behind closed doors.

a sense of jealousy was bottled up inside of matt. he’d never gotten to be intimate with you like that. the secret whispers, cuddling, kissing, all that jazz was only something you’d ever do with chris and not him.

still, he pushed that feeling away, reminding himself to appreciate he even got to be close to you.

and though you’d never like to admit, the thought of both chris and matt being with you, touching you had crossed your mind.. more often than you’d like it to.

it was a simple solution, right? both matt and chris having to share you, rather than you being torn inside from lying to chris and cheating on chris with matt.

chris doesn’t know don’t tell chris

“no, i’m serious. something is up, y-you’re not acting like yourself!” chris raised his voice, reaching out to take your hands in his.

the poor boy was so afraid to lose you, his heart pounding in his chest. he’d do anything for you, anything to keep you as his.

“chris, i said i’m okay! nothing is wrong, i’m just stressed lately, stop being like that!” you yelled back, but you didn’t let go of his hands.

you wanted to cry, you really did. your love for chris was so overwhelming, yet you felt so terrible when thinking of letting him know about you and matt. how would he react? would he leave you for good? did you want.. the both of them?

all those bottled-up emotions only left you to push chris away from you.

“no, i’m not- i’m not accepting that excuse anymore. you’ve been telling me that for weeks now, you have to tell me the truth,” he clung to you, pulling you closer to him while a pleading look made it to his face.

you only stared up at him for a while, momentarily considering telling him about this whole situation.

“but.. but what if i am telling the truth?”

chris nearly couldn’t believe what he was hearing, letting out a scoff while letting go of you, shoving your hands off.

“fine. if you wanna be like that, then go ahead. but i can’t help you.”

the whole situation fucked up chris and matt too. every passing second, matt got more and more possessive over you, leading him to bicker with chris.

chris didn’t understand why he was suddenly being pushed away from the both of you, leaving him on edge at all times as well.

the powder and the fuse—chris and matt. whenever they walked into the same room, you could only bet on how long it’d take before the two were arguing. whether it was pointless stuff that pissed the two guys off, or there was a deeper meaning behind the arguments.

all this caused nick to get upset as well. he couldn’t stand his brothers fighting all the time, leaving him pissy too.

whether it was breaking up the arguments between the two brothers or joining in, there was always a building tension in their relationship.

was there any escape from this? all you knew was that your lies and secrets only tore all of you further apart from each other.

i can’t believe he’s so trusting while i’m right behind you thrusting she’s got him on the phone and she’s trying not to moan it’s a three-way call and he knows nothing

the next time you spoke with chris after your little disagreement was over the phone. you had matt behind you, thrusting his cock into your soaked walls while you tried your best to focus on what chris was saying.

“wha.. yeah. yes, that’s- that’s perfect..” you bit back a whimper, your hand tightening its grip on your phone, your eyes pinched shut while matt drove his dick in and out of you.

it was so nice of chris—after the argument you had just a few days prior, he decided he could at least make it up to you by taking you out for a nice dinner, talking stuff through instead of staying mad at each other, even treat you with some make-up sex. hell, he’d even gotten you a pretty dress to wear.

“are you okay? you sound a little off,” chris’s voice could be hear through the speakers, the confused tone to his voice making you wish you could just hang up already.

with a weak and somewhat faux laugh, you answered him. “no, no i’m good.. s-seven thirty is fine,” you mumbled, a whimper falling from your lips, momentarily making you panic. “sorry, my shoe won’t- won’t come on,”

chris shrugged off your explanation. “uh, okay. i’ll see you at seven-thirty then, baby. goodb-“

“bye! i’ll see you,” you interrupted, hanging up immediately.

finally, you let the moans fall from your parted lips, muffled from the pillow you buried your face into, clutching for the sheets. the phone fell from your grasp, matt’s hand grabbing a good handful of your hair, driving your face further down into the soft pillow.

“he doesn’t have a clue in the fucking world.. his pretty girl getting her brains fucked out, huh? on his brother's cock?” he chuckled dryly, lifting your head up.

he gradually picked up his pace, allowing weak and whiny moans to flow freely from your swollen lips, skin slapping against skin.

“i don’t think he’d be too pleased to see this.. drooling over my fucking dick. is it really that good?” he taunted, referring to the patch of spit soaked into the fabric of your pillow.

chris doesn’t know so don’t tell chris ‘cause chris doesn’t know

you should’ve seen it coming, really. all the sneaking around would eventually come to an end, whether you broke it off with matt, or chris somehow found out…

which he did.

“hey, do you want anything? i could grab some food for us,” chris suggested, gently nudging your side to catch your attention.

chris had invited you to sleep over, as if you didn’t basically live with them by now, deciding to starts a movie-marathon. chris’s idea.

you looked up at him from your position on the bed, your limbs entangled. “yeah, sure. i’ll stay here tho, i’m too tired to move,”

chris laughed lightly at your response, but he eventually got out of your complicated position, leaving a kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll be back in no time,” he smiled, before waving goodbye, not forgetting his keys and wallet.

you blew a kiss his way, and not long after you could hear the car running.

tiredly, you stood up, deciding to why not go talk to matt while chris was gone, since nick was at the movies with a couple friends.

softly, you knocked on his door, hearing a faint ‘come on in’ from behind the door, carefully pushing it open.

“oh. hi there,” matt smiled at you, sitting by his desk.

“hello,” you returned the smile, waving at him from his doorframe, taking a quick glance at his room. though you weren’t exactly here to do anything specific, your stomach started swirling, making you nervous.

the second matt stood up and made his way over to you with a twinkle in his eye, you regretted going upstairs to say hi in the first place.

looking at you, he reached out to tug a couple strands of hair behind your ear, leaving you speechless and flustered, gazing straight into his blue eyes.

“did you want anything?” he asked, cupping the side of your face while tilting his head to the side in a questioning manner, though he definitely knew.

you weren’t here to have sex, it wasn’t the time and situation for that.. but now it seemed much more than tempting with nick and chris out of the house. you were supposed to just chat, and keep you entertained until chris came back.

you met his eyes, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, and that was all matt needed as an answer, quickly getting his hands on you.

matt was sprawled out under you, his head and back resting on the mattress beneath him, while your nails clawed for his chest.

“ff-fuck.. we have t-to hurry..” you whimpered, your legs already aching from being spread out on either side of his hips.

matt was trying his best not to buck his hips up to meet yours, the restraint wearing thinner and thinner while you squeezed and grinded on top of him.

“you gotta pick your pace up then, baby..” he mumbled weakly, giving the side of your thigh a gentle pat, as if that would help you go faster.

you shook your head, feeling matt’s hands rub down your sides, one of them eventually reaching for your breast, brushing his thumb over your bud.

“i-i can’t, matt..” you whined, the ache in your inner thighs too evident to keep moving, only continuing your weak and slow rocking, your pussy drooling around his stretch.

“cone on.. y-you just gotta-“ matt went to say, but immediately cut himself off when he heard a creak from the doorframe.

“oh.”

chris stood there by the door, staring at the two of you. the second you heard a voice that definitely wasn’t matt’s and was a little too familiar, your eyes flickered to meet chris’s.

and just like that, your heart immediately dropped to your stomach, blood running cold.

“i-i’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice quiet and barely coherent, staring back up at chris, before looking away from him.

though chris was more than shocked to see you literally sit on his brother's dick, he didn’t feel sad or betrayed like any other person would. sure, confusion and shock were running through his whole body.. but it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling.

quickly, you reached for a blanket, wrapping it around yourself before getting off matt, leaving him to scramble around with his own blanket.

there was silence. not a single word, except the music playing from matt’s computer, nearly drowned out from the thick tension.

chris felt torn. he wanted to be mad, no, he had to. you cheated, didn’t you? but yet he couldn’t get himself to yell at you, instead feeling a sense of arousal both the sight of you right there, and the thought of.. sharing you.

he kicked the door shut behind him, stepping forward to look down at you sitting on matt’s bed.

“are you mad at me?” you whispered with a hurt expression plastered all across your face, patiently waiting for any chance of explanation.

“no.. i don’t- i don't know why. i’m not,” he mumbled back, taking off his cap to run his hands through his messy hair, before looking at matt.

relief washed through your veins, letting out a sigh of reassurance, yet a perplexed expression made its way to your face.

“can i ask you something..?” chris questioned, his eyes flickering between the both of you.

swiftly, you shot a glance matt’s way, before you both nodded hesitantly, making chris wonder how exactly to word this without being too straightforward.

“could we.. i mean, it’s fine if you think it’s weird, but- i’ve been thinking about us, me and matt, both.. going down on you?”

chris’s words lingered in the air, your earlobes turning pink, as well as your cheeks, staring at him. matt seemed just as shocked, yet neither of the two of you seemed opposed to the idea.

you had no clue that chris would think of such a thing. whenever you had sex, it wasn’t like he initiated more. but from chris’s point of view, he would just get to see more angles of how you’d react to another person's touch, his touch.

matt looked at you, a shrug pulling at his shoulders with an expression that said he definitely didn’t mind.

“i-i don’t.. i don’t mind,” a red hue tinted your cheeks, almost too shy to say the words, to even thinking about what would happen.

and immediately, it was like a switch had been flipped inside chris and matt.

“a-are you guys sure about this?” the words came mumbled from your lips, feeling more exposed than ever, though both brothers had seen you completely vulnerable and naked numerous times.

you weren’t unsure about your own situation, more about theirs. since.. well, they’re brothers?

“shh, don’t worry. it’s okay, we’re okay. just relax f’me, will you?” chris’s breath fans against your inner thighs, making your squirm.

but matt holds you in place, his legs on either side of yours, arms wrapped around your middle from behind you. he rested his chin your shoulder, just to get a clearer look of what was going on, to see how you’d react.

“stop squirmin’..” he husked, feeling your lean further back into his chest, your head thrown back into his shoulder, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’.

chris wastes no time, pressing deliberate kisses to your inner thighs as you whined in desperation, your eyes fluttering shut.

matt’s fingers make their way up your chest, carefully cupping your breasts in each hand, rolling your sensitive buds between his fingers.

“so, so pretty.. and so wet for me?” chris’s breath was hot against your folds, making another whimper tug at your lips.

“for us..” matt broke in, making chris roll his eyes in response.

not another second passes before he attaches his tongue to your folds, causing you to gasp, instinctively allowing your fingers to reach for chris’s hair to tug on.

you can hear matt chuckle faintly behind you, but it was washed out from the buzzing in your head. chris deliberately lapping kitty-licks to your folds, before pressing his tongue to your clit, hooking your thighs up over his shoulders.

at this rate you didn’t care about his fingers leaving marks to your thighs, the only thought going through your head was the absolute pleasure you were receiving from the two.

“oh gosh, chris.. please keep going,” your lips parted, puffy and glistening while your eyes pinched shut, your senses filled with the faint smell of matt’s cologne that still lingered on his skin.

chris continues to lazily lick stripes up your folds before he lets one of your legs rest on the bed to allow his thumb to attach to your clit. the sudden change made your back arch, but matt held you down once more.

moans and whimpers are being ripped from your mouth, only adding to the fuel inside of chris, working his pink tongue in and out of your leaking hole.

“y’taste.. so fuckin’ good, princess..” chris mumbled from between your legs, the soft vibration of his words going straight up your spine.

chris’s hair was already disheveled and messed up from when you played with it earlier, but when you reached and tugged gently on the strands it only messed it up even further. your reaction adds to chris’s desire, knowing he was doing well.

he let his tongue run down your pussy again, before starting to swirl and prod the muscle at your entrance, his only goal in mind being giving you as much pleasure as he could.

shameless moans continued spilling from your lips, leaning further into matt’s body behind you, your legs closing around chris’s head.

“fuck! i’m gonna come, please-“ you whined, accidentally bucking your hips up, but chris didn’t seem to mind.

his thumb circled your bud even tighter, the slight stubble on his face scratching across your inner thighs, surely leaving a faint burn later.

“shh, y’need to quiet down a tad,” matt’s words were whispered from behind you, his lips close to graze your ear.

one of matt’s hands sneaks from your breast to your neck, gently but firmly gripping you to hold your shuddering body back as you lean into him, trying to get you to stay in place as chris worked you through your orgasm, fucking you with his tongue.

you just about lose it when matt’s fingers add a soft pressure to your neck, your skin heating up and breathing getting heavier—all this leads to your mind fogging up completely.

shockwaves gripped your body, dissolving into pleasure when you came, letting out strangled moans of chris’s name.

“ohhh, just like that.. doin’ so good,” matt chuckled, his fingers slipping from your throat, returning to cup your soft skin

chris’s chin and lips were basically covered in a mix of your release and his own spit, before using the back of his hand to wipe it off.

you chuckled breathlessly, letting your hands fall from chris’s hair, your chest heaving with every breath.

“come on.. let us take care of you,” matt said from behind, clearly growing impatient and eager, gently nudging your back to signal for you to move.

chris quickly stole a kiss, leaning forward to connect your lips, before leaving more down the side of your face, causing you to let out a giggle. he laughed along, before getting settled on the bed.

a second later you’re on all fours, feeling chris crawl up behind you, one of his large hands smoothing down the spine of your back.

your look over at matt, a confused look settling on your face. “are you not joining?”

he shrugs, shaking his head for a moment. “i just wanna watch for a minute.. don’t worry.”

a smug smile made its way onto his lips. really, he just wanted to watch you, how you shuddered and reacted while positioned like that. it was like his own, personal third-person view of how you’d look while being fucked by him.

you just nodded it off, before your legs were spread further apart by his thighs, the tip of his cock prodding at your weeping pussy, smearing the precum over your folds. the icky feeling made you whine, digging your nails into the sheets in both desperation and aching need.

“so, so pretty.. i could look at you all day,” chris whispered from behind you, hand hand reaching the ends of your hair to push out of the way, smoothing his palm up your back.

you smiled to yourself at his sweet words, until you felt him press the head of his cock through your opening. a gasp slipped from your parted lips, the stretch leaving a twinge between your legs.

“christ.. you take me so well..” he groaned from behind you, watching his cock disappear inside of you, a whimper ripping from the back of your throat. “do you wish it was matt touching you right now? this isn’t enough, is it?”

your ears perked up at his question, all blood running from your face. matt was already staring at the two of you, carefully wrapping his hand around his aching dick. chris never talked to you like this, making your stomach swirl—it was only something matt ever did.

truthfully, you shook your head. it wasn’t like matt didn’t make you feel good, but this was really all you needed. “n-no..”

a yelp elicited from your lips when he pressed his cock further inside of your drooling walls, echoing with the whimper falling past matt’s.

you turn your head to look at him, met with the sight of him fisting his erection, eyes locked on yours.

“really? i think you’re lying.. too busy running around fucking my brother. come on, matt,” chris waved him over, his fingertips digging into the soft skin of your hips, pulling you back to take more of his cock.

you felt nervous, more vulnerable than ever under both their eyes and chris’s harsh words, though they weren’t linked with malice, more something to get you both going. matt shuffled closer in front of you, and you twisted your neck to look up at him.

“come on.. you know what to do,” chris murmured, his length throbbing inside of you—it was getting hard to hold back from pumping his cock inside of you, watching your puffy walls suck him in.

nervously, you reached out to wrap your hand around matt, watching the sticky substance already smear from his tip, purposely rub your thumb over his slit, earning a groan from him.

carefully, your lips parted to wrap around his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. matt let out a quiet moan, his hand entangling in your hair, guiding you to take more of him. it wasn’t until he hit the back of your throat he stopped, loosening his grip on you but not letting go.

“fuck, you look so hot with my dick down your throat,” his head lolled back, eyes shut while you desperately tried to adjust to the restraint of breathing, your own eyes pinched shut.

suddenly, chris thrusted his hips forward, his hand on your back pressing down to arch your back as much as possible, the sudden shove forward making your gag around matt, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes.

“o-oh my god..” chris groaned, starting to pick up a slow rhythm, keeping it gentle since he didn’t actually want to hurt you.

“shiiitt.. fucking drooling around my cock, sweetheart..”

spit pooled around matt’s girth, hollowing your cheeks in an attempt to bob your head on his hardness, feeling every vein and ridge under your tongue, causing matt to groan.

it didn’t take long for chris’s pace to pick up, as well as your own, moaning and sputtering around his dick. his hand gripped the back of your head, accidentally bucking his hips into your mouth.

“you feel so good, angel.. so, so good, you’re doing so well..” chris cooed from behind you, gently massaging your hips in a way of comforting you, though his pace was a stark contrast to his dreamy words.

chocked whines were let out around matt, trying your best to signal your climax was close, your head going empty as the bliss took over you. the feeling, the pure ecstasy that ran through your veins seemed irreplaceable in the moment. nothing could add up to this.

the vibrations from your pretty noises and attempted words sent a shock of electricity up matt’s spine, guttural groans flowing past his lips.

you were throbbing around chris, your walls fluttering with every erratic pound, heat pooling in your lower tummy. and chris could feel it all, feel how your soaked hole pulsed and squeezed around his cock.

“you’re close, aren’t you? it’s okay.. it’s okay,

you can come,” chris shushed you, his chest heaving while letting out pathetic whimpers between pants.

you were writhing beneath the two, your clit swollen and a sheen of sweat prickling across your forehead and back. you lost composure, seeing stars from how overwhelming the whole situation was, your body going numb and hot.

“come on, she’s doing so good.. why don’t you tell her?” chris spoke between gritted teeth, looking up at matt.

he looked almost puzzled, not used to being so sweet with his words, but that was exactly was chris was going for. you deserved the world, not derogatory praised though he knew you didn’t mind either.

“yeah.. he’s right, you take it so well, hm? y’like being stuffed full like this?” matt complied, feeling your lips loosen around his length, your bobbing turning sloppy and halting.

your gut tightened, knees buckling under you when you came around chris’s dick, waves crashing upon you as your slick smeared over his length, tears escaping your waterline to roll down your cheek.

the repeated shudder around matt’s length was becoming too much, before his grip tightened on your hair, spilling his cum down your throat when he was pushed over the edge, spit seeping from the corner of your mouth.

“fuck! take it all, i know you can,” matt’s words stung when he continued to rut his hips forward, before tears were staining your cheeks, milking him completely dry.

with a pop, he pulled back, allowing you to heave for air, messy moans being ripped from your throat from chris’s unrelenting thrusts.

“ch-chris.. i can’t take it, please. it’s too much,” you whimpered between a quiet sob, sobs of ecstasy, clamping down around him while the tip of his dick kissed your cervix with every roll of his hips.

“y-you really think you could handle the both of us? at the same time?” matt cooed with faux sympathy, leaning down to cup the side of your face, his thumb wiping the mix of his release and saliva off your lips, “of course, you couldn’t,”

he tsked, shaking his head while giving your cheek a pat. chris then broke in, his eyes stuck to where your two bodies connected, your slick release covering his length, “shh.. just a little bit more, m’almost there doll, you’re doing so good..”

another whine slipped from your glistening, swollen lips, dipping forward to bury your face into a pillow, allowing chris to hit way deeper inside your gummy walls.

you were basically clawing at the soft fabric, hot tears falling from your eyes like prior, the soft cries making his pace turn sloppy, indicating he was close.

with a final thrust, his movements stilled, before spurting the hot seed inside of you, the icky substance filling you up.

he groaned, basically collapsing on top of you, his fingertips trailing down your sides while mumbling mindless praise, “so, so pretty.. you did so well, don't cry. my girl,”

you wobbly made it onto your elbows, smiling dreamily to yourself at his words, completely fucked out and weak while his lips made their way down your back, “i love you too,”.

matt’s hand met the top of your head, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, leaving a gentle kiss to the side of your face.

“anyway.. pizza’s in the kitchen. go crazy,”

more of my work here!

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© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[100vern]

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose.  Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[saeun]

ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤ◟ relationship deep-dive: what to expect. ── sukuna ryomen, gojo satoru, inumaki toge ﹕ jjk.

﹙ headcanons galore ﹚ ⊹ what to expect from them in a relationship — scenario & texts.

+ love ‘su: u can skip the mini scenarios n go straight for the smau ☝🏽 its just there for context !!

sukuna ryomen.

sukuna's favourite thing to do is telling you “no,” even when he means “yes.”

he'd openly reject your suggestions and requests, refute your opinions, or just outright say “no,” when in truth, he's making a mental note to get it done before dinner time.

showing affection in its purest form isn't his strong forte, and he's not working on it either. as much as he adores you, he dislikes having his brain wracked with colliding emotions.

to sukuna's fortune, his irritable personality lined up with your peculiar tastes, making him the man you've sought out and only found in dreamland.

strongly contradicting his exterior, sukuna thinks you're the cutest when you're sulking because he pulled out the infamous “no,” even though you were confident he'd agree this time.

you're the least fear-inducing person he's ever laid his eyes on. automatically, your attempts of using anger to persuade him backfires. this might just be his first time experiencing the so-called ‘cuteness aggression.’ he's only ever heard of it from you, but experiencing it first hand made him battle with himself to not crush your face between his palms — in the most romantic way possible.

gojo satoru.

arguments with satoru can vary based on two conditions: what his current mood is, and what the level of fuck up is. usually the arguments are lighthearted, or it doesn't last long. oftentimes he fuels it, too petty to accept defeat.

however, if they do last longer he puts his pride aside and goes (chases) after you. he's addicted to you — giving him permanent silent treatment is the same as taking away his oxygen! he's basically a dead man.

every time satoru owns up to his behaviour, he forgets that the old saying “what goes around, comes around.” once he accepted defeat, you copied his behaviour. this wasn't something he foreseen. getting a taste of his own mecidine did not feel lovely at all.

inumaki toge.

originally, you were just friends with inumaki. close friends at best — there weren't any mixed signals, slick comments, or hinting at something. just a calm friendship between you and him. somewhere down the lines, the friendship took a turn. for the worst? not quite. for the best? maybe.

it's not rare for two friends to gossip about their love life. texting inumaki after a failed attempt became a natural reflex for you. you were skeptical if he grew tired of it, but you also didn't care. as the male friend, he had no choice but to listen!

eventually failure after failure is bound to tire a person out completely, so why not ‘jokingly’ try with him? trial and error never hurts.

[kazumist]

SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him. 

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent. 

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question. 

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries. 

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays. 

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment. 

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks. 

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with. 

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.” 

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?” 

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

-

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

-

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it. 

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant. 

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies. 

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies. 

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?” 

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

-

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

-

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off. 

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.” 

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why. 

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne. 

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place? 

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

-

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.” 

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this? 

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him. 

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago. 

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said. 

-

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to). 

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you. 

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t. 

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that. 

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know. 

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late. 

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you. 

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now. 

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.”  zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

“then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

[augustjoy]

Three’s Company

This is just a lil blurb about Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan and you being in love! Based on the following Request: @satans-bitch Hi! Idk if you would be comfortable writing it, but I love the idea of Aaron hotchner x reader x Derek Morgan just all being so in love with each other. Thank u Xx – I took some creative liberties…I hope you like it!

Hotch x BAU! Fem Reader x Morgan

Word count: 883

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Fem reader, pet names, poly-relationship (I’m not the most familiar with this lifestyle) canon typical violence, mantion of babies and pregnancy, Let me know if I missed any.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

So, neither Derek nor Aaron ever and I mean EVER thought they’d be in a polyamorous relationship. But let me tell you, when you arrived at the BAU, they both knew they had to have you. Aaron had gone to Dave time and time again seeking advice and Derek did the same with Penelope.

They’d both complain that there was no way you were interested, because clearly you like the other guy. Only, that wasn’t quite the issue.

You didn’t just like Aaron or Derek, you liked them both. They were so similar and yet so different and there was no way you could ever choose just one of them.

After many instances of the men fighting for your attention and affection, you pulled them both aside to have a serious conversation.

“I think I should leave the BAU.” You stated.

“What? No!” Derek blurted.

“Why would you think that?” Aaron inquired. “If our behavior has made you uncomfortable, I am so sorry. It was never my intention, and I would hate to see such a talented agent leave because of my idiocy.”

“It’s not your guy’s behavior that’s making me feel this way. It’s my feelings for you.” You said, gesturing to both men.

“Feelings for who?” Derek questioned.

“Both of you.” You blushed.

That evening you’d explained to the men that you had feelings for both of them and had the situation been different you’d have suggested a poly relationship, but you knew that it was too much to ask of two alpha males who’d never been in one before.

What you hadn’t expected to happen was for them to give you a quizzical look and then ask you to give them some time to think about it.

--

It had been nearly a year since then and the three of you had developed something truly beautiful. Aaron had been so stoic at work but at home he was soft, and he always did everything in his power to ensure you and Derek were both cared for.

And well Derek, he was clingy at home. Always wanting his hands on you and he’d come to really enjoy having physical contact with Aaron.

Like when you’d watch a movie, Aaron would have his arm slung over the back of the couch while you cuddled up into his side, and Derek would be sitting as close to you as possible, practically sitting you in his lap. This position would allow for Aaron’s hand to rest around Derek as well and that warmth became a comfort for him.

There had been another shift shortly after that, pet names…they’d been slipping out more frequently. And not just them men using them with you either.

“Sweetheart can you pass me my phone?” Aaron had asked, looking directly at Derek.

“Sure thing sugar.” Derek had replied.

You had been shocked initially, but it ultimately had warmed your heart to see them falling into this relationship more and more. Their comfort in this had been your main priority, you hadn’t cared about anything else.

--

Work had been the toughest part of this newfound dynamic. When any of you got hurt on a case, the other two couldn’t exactly hold it together. And with the team being out of the loop of your lifestyle, well they definitely suspected something.

The most recent had been Aaron, he had been shot while taking down an unsub. Thankfully it had been a flesh wound, but when you heard the shot and saw him go down, you couldn’t help the wail that tore through you. The paramedics had requested you step away, and Derek pulled you into his embrace to get you to comply.

“Baby he’s gonna be okay!” Derek said while holding you close.

“He was shot D! What if he’s not?” You cried.

“I know he’s gonna be okay baby. He has to be.” Derek mumbled the last part.

You looked up to see the tears falling from his misty eyes, and you held him tighter. The team sat by and watched the situation play out, fully convinced now that something was transpiring between the three of you. More than they had initially assumed.

--

The newest development had been the discussion of children. The guys had baby fever, they had seen you interacting with your sister’s newborn and you swear you saw them both drooling over the sight of you.

So…have you ever thought about having kids princess?” Derek posed.

Currently you were lying on the couch, your head in Derek’s lap and him pressed against Aaron. The movie playing, long forgotten as Derek combed his fingers through your hair and Aaron traced shapes on Derek’s bicep.

“Um, yes…I have thought about it. Why do you ask?” You sat up.

“Well, honey, we had a conversation about it the other day.” Aaron clarified.

“You two…had a conversation about me having a baby?” You questioned.

“About us…having a baby.” Derek said, gesturing to the three of you.

Your jaw dropped in shock. What had started as inappropriate flirting in the workplace had developed into a serious relationship between the three of you. One fueled by love, safety, and trust.

“I would love to have a baby with you guys.” You smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

[silversnake888]

Astrology Observations

DISCLAIMER: i cannot guarantee these observations are absolutely correct. this post is based off of sidereal placements (but its awesome if you relate either way!)

if you're curious about your sidereal placements use cosmic insights app and/or prokerala website!

please read to the bottom because i have a bonus question ! (anyone and everyone can answer this question it is not placement specific!)

being an ashlesha rising is not fun. you get extreme reactions out of ppl especially men (which tends to be overtly sexual if you have 8th house placements). its not for the weak.

aquarius rising is the most mysterious ppl i've ever met especially if they have a debilitated moon (scorpio moon and/or jyestha moon) it's hard to figure out their emotions. its okay to talk about your feelings haha.

ever heard that gemini risings are one of the tallest ascendants? i agree! they're the tallest ppl i've met regardless of gender, and this rising reliably creates tall people. even if they're from a culture where the people tend to be short they will somehow defy norms haha. unless there is saturn aspecting their rising then they'll be taller than everyone. (ex. rupaul, margot robbie)

similarly, aquarius risings tend to be very tall but it hasnt been as reliable unlike gemini. however, if they are tall they are insanely tall.

if you want to "glow up" then use famous celebrities with your rising/moon nakshatra for inspiration. rising is best for appearance and moon is best for aura. further explanation:

rising for: makeup, clothes, hair styling etc

moon for: demeanor, how you should interact with others etc

it's even better if u find a celebrity you love with the same rising + moon as you! you'll find it easier to mimic them because this energy is inherent within you. all you need to do is follow their wisdom.

mars in taurus, talk about a temper! they can get angry super fast!

ever heard that sun and mars is best in the 6th house? i agree. these ppl are the ultimate work horses, but also, the best survivors. they will survive anything.

the most reliable house to tell if you'll have a foreign spouse (jupiter for women, venus for men) is 12th house. there is other placements which indicate this but this placement gives you 90%-99% chance you will marry a foreigner (and this will hold for multiple marriages, ex. donald trump, elon musk). The other house is the 9th house.

there is a high possibility you will share at least one placement with your parents. the placements with the highest possibility is: same moon sign with your mom, and/or the same sun sign with your dad. similarly, it's common for you to share the same rising with either parent.

Feel free to tell me if you agree/disagree with my observations!

Bonus question(s): look at your third house. 1) do you have younger siblings? 2) do you have any planets there? if so, which planets are in ur third house?

[ddejavvu]

MEIMEIMEI

skinny little bean pole hiccup (still love u hiccup) with a curvy girl

i’m talking his thigh is the size of her arm. her boobs are the size of his entire face. his head gets quite literally buried between her thighs when he eats her out.

it's not meant to be a cop out when i say that i think he'd really love curvy girls. maybe it's cause i'm one myself, maybe this is just self-serving but i think it's true. first off, it's canon that most of the people on berk are not astrid or hiccup sized, he literally tells his dad that maybe they could afford to starve one winter 😭 but despite his snarkiness i think that it's just not something that's as scrutinized there as it is here. He doesn't look at it as dating a 'plus-sized girl' like you're literally just his girlfriend. if he's dating you he's in love with you and all of you is included, simple as that. but even if it's something that's not emphasized or abnormal on berk, i still think he takes the time to appreciate it.

'his thigh is the size of her arm' YEAH. yeah okay wow i'm sweating a little bit. based on his and astrid's relationship he seems to be the type of guy who definitely falls for girls that could beat him up <3 he definitely looks at the way his scrawny little thigh is about the same size around as just one of your ARMS and he's squirming tbh. it's getting him a little hot and bothered.

'her boobs are the size of his entire face' THIS because he's def taking boob naps. He's definitely taking boob naps and he doesn't think about it when he lays down but then he cracks his eyes open to readjust and BAM. he realizes that he's sort of dwarfed here. he's just so enamored with it. he loves how thick your thighs are, how thick your arms are, how thick your stomach is, how you juxtapose his 'fishbone' frame. he kind of takes pride in it, too. like, the entire village has been mocking him for being skinny and scrawny for his whole life, but he's taken the hand of a thick girl who's got thighs that could suffocate him. he's proud to be seen out around the village with you, he doesn't exactly ascribe to the less-than-healthy implications of showing you off like you're something he owns, instead he'll lead you around to show off that he gets to be with you, that he chose you and you chose him too.

The thigh bit is so real. first of all he loves how warm and soft your thighs are, especially when he's pinned between them. A fire roaring in the fireplace, its warmth licking at his back, and he's kneeling by the bed with his face buried between your thighs. he loves grabbing handfuls of your flesh and working his face into your cunt, he loves hooking his arms around your legs and pushing them inwards so that he's enveloped between them. he loves taking breaks to let himself breathe, to let you prolong your pleasure, he loves panting as he noses his way up your stomach to kiss at your belly fat and run his hands all over it. It's sensual, love-based like everything that he does, and it makes you feel so divine.

he loves laying with you/hugging you/any sort of physical contact and not in a weird, backhanded 'you're like a giant marshmallow 🥺' kind of way, it's just so clearly love to him. no sharp angles, he doesn't feel like he's going to break you if he loves you too hard, he can sink into a hug with you and feel totally, completely secure and loved and warm. it's everything synonymous with love in his mind and he adores just laying there and soaking in it with you. he feels so genuinely happy standing beside you, letting your hand hold his and letting everyone see you enjoying being with him.

he's gonna love putting his hands all over you. grabbing at your thighs, grabbing at your arms, grabbing at your sides, grabbing at your hips, grabbing at your stomach, grabbing at your shoulders, any part of you that he can get his hands on. he'll make grabbing parts of you sexy that you've never considered sexually before. he'll grab your arm and use it to move you during sex. he'll hang on to your stomach briefly while you're on all fours. He'll bury his face in your shoulder, maybe even bite it a little, he'll kiss up your neck and nestle his nose into your chin. he has a way of turning even chaste body parts into something to appreciate during sex.

[sh4nksslvt]

Hello, can I please request a reader x Law? The reader is Law's lover. She was a pirate, but 6 months prior, she disbanded her team. About a month ago, she was captured by the Navy. For almost 40 days, she's been interrogated and tortured. The reason they discovered she's Law's lover. And they want to know all of her weaknesses and her main base. She hasn't said much of anything. Why does the Surgeon of Death have an alliance with the Straw Hats? She just stares at them. Will he come for you? asks the Marine, angry. He won't let his lover die. The young woman laughs. "You're an idiot." "We're pirates. That one or two die doesn't mean anything." She's almost lost consciousness.

hope u like this!

No Weakness to Break

Captured by the Navy and tortured for information about her lover, Trafalgar Law, a defiant pirate refuses to break, clinging to her resolve until rescue comes.

Law X fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: slight angst, sfw, oc, hurt/comfort, torture, interrogation, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The cell was a tomb of cold stone and rusted iron, the air thick with the stench of damp mold and blood. For thirty-nine days, you had counted the cracks in the wall, the only distraction from the pain that wracked your body. Your wrists, bound by seastone cuffs, ached where the metal bit into your skin, leaving raw, red marks. Your once-vibrant hair was matted, clinging to your sweat-soaked forehead. The Navy had taken everything—your crew, your freedom, your strength—but they hadn’t taken your will. Not yet.

You were a pirate, captain of your own crew until six months ago when you disbanded them, seeking a quieter life, or at least one less drenched in blood. You’d been reckless, though, lingering too long in a port town, and the Navy had sniffed you out. They didn’t care about your disbanded crew or your past raids. They cared about one thing: your connection to Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death. They wanted his weaknesses, his plans, his base. They wanted to know why he’d allied with the Straw Hat Pirates, what schemes he was weaving. And they thought you, his lover, would be the key to cracking him open.

The interrogator, a wiry Marine captain with a cruel glint in his eyes, leaned forward, his chair creaking. His name was Varkis, and he’d been your tormentor for weeks. His questions were always the same, delivered with a mix of smugness and frustration. Today, his patience was thinner than ever.

“Where is his main base?” Varkis demanded, slamming a fist on the table between you. The sound echoed in the small cell, but you didn’t flinch. “You’ve been with him for years. You know where the Heart Pirates dock. Tell me, and this ends.”

Your lips curled into a faint, defiant smile. Blood trickled from a cut on your cheek, stinging as it mixed with sweat. “You’re wasting your breath,” you rasped, your voice hoarse from days of screaming. “I don’t know anything.”

“Liar!” Varkis surged to his feet, his face red with fury. He grabbed a metal rod from the corner of the room, its tip blackened from use. “You’re his woman. You know everything. His plans, his alliances, his weaknesses. Why does the Surgeon of Death work with the Straw Hats? What’s he after?”

You stared at him, your eyes heavy-lidded but unyielding. The pain in your body was a constant hum, but you’d learned to push it to the back of your mind. You wouldn’t break. Not for Varkis. Not for anyone. Law had taught you that—strength wasn’t just in a blade or a devil fruit. It was in the mind, in the heart. And your heart belonged to him.

“Answer me!” Varkis roared, swinging the rod. It connected with your shoulder, sending a jolt of agony through your already battered frame. You bit back a cry, your teeth grinding together. The world swam for a moment, but you forced yourself to focus on Varkis’s face, on the desperation in his eyes. He was running out of time. The Navy’s higher-ups were probably breathing down his neck, demanding results.

“Will he come for you?” Varkis asked, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. He leaned close, his breath hot against your face. “The great Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death. Will he risk everything to save his lover? Or will he let you die?”

You laughed. It was a weak, broken sound, but it filled the cell with defiance. “You’re an idiot,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re pirates. One or two dying doesn’t mean anything.”

The words were a lie, and they burned your throat as you spoke them. Law would come. You knew he would. But you’d be damned if you gave Varkis the satisfaction of seeing that hope in your eyes. Let him think you were heartless, that Law was heartless. Let him think you were nothing to each other. It was the only way to protect him.

Varkis’s face twisted with rage. He raised the rod again, but before he could strike, the door to the cell burst open. A subordinate stumbled in, his face pale. “Captain Varkis! There’s a ship approaching—fast. It’s flying the Heart Pirates’ flag!”

Varkis froze, the rod still raised. His eyes darted to you, and for the first time, you saw fear in them. You smiled, blood staining your teeth. “Told you,” you murmured. “You’re an idiot.”

Law stood at the bow of the Polar Tang, his grip on Kikoku so tight his knuckles were white. The Navy base loomed on the horizon, a fortress of gray stone perched on a rocky island. His crew was silent behind him, their usual banter replaced by grim determination. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi stood closest, their faces set. They knew what was at stake. They’d all heard the rumors—your capture, your torture. Law had spent the last month tearing through every lead, every whisper, until he’d pinpointed this base.

“She’s alive,” Bepo said softly, his voice trembling. “She has to be.”

“She is,” Law said, his voice low and certain. He didn’t allow himself to consider the alternative. You were too stubborn to die, too fierce to let the Navy break you. But the thought of what they’d done to you in the last forty days made his blood boil. If they’d hurt you—if they’d dared lay a hand on you—he’d tear this base apart brick by brick.

“Captain,” Shachi called from the helm. “We’re in range. They’ve spotted us.”

“Good,” Law said, his eyes narrowing. “Let them know we’re coming.”

The Polar Tang surged forward, its engines roaring. Law’s plan was simple: infiltrate, extract, destroy. He didn’t care about the Navy’s numbers or their defenses. He didn’t care about the consequences. All that mattered was getting you out.

As the ship closed in, alarms blared from the base. Cannons swiveled, and Marines scrambled to their posts. Law raised Kikoku, his lips curling into a cold smile. “Room.”

A blue dome enveloped the Polar Tang and part of the base. In an instant, Law was gone, teleporting to the heart of the fortress. Chaos erupted as he cut through Marines with surgical precision, his blade a blur. Penguin and Shachi led the ground assault, their weapons flashing as they cleared a path. Bepo roared, his massive form barreling through enemy lines.

Law moved like a shadow, his Observation Haki guiding him through the maze of corridors. He could feel you—your presence, faint but stubborn, like a candle refusing to go out. He followed it, his heart pounding. When he reached the cell block, he found Varkis standing over you, the rod raised for another blow.

“Shambles,” Law snarled. In a blink, Varkis was flung against the wall, pinned by an invisible force. The rod clattered to the ground. Law’s eyes locked on you, and for a moment, the world stopped.

You were a mess—bruised, bloodied, barely conscious. But you were alive. Your eyes, half-open, met his, and a faint smile curved your lips. “Took you long enough,” you whispered.

Law’s throat tightened. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he sliced through the seastone cuffs with Kikoku. “I’m here,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’ve got you.”

You tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Knew you’d come,” you said. “Idiot.”

He smirked, but his eyes were dark with fury. He turned to Varkis, who was struggling against the wall. “You touched her,” Law said, his voice deadly calm. “That was a mistake.”

Varkis opened his mouth to beg, but Law didn’t give him the chance. A flick of Kikoku, and the Marine collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. Law didn’t spare him another glance. He scooped you into his arms, careful not to jostle your injuries. “Hold on,” he said. “We’re getting out of here.”

The escape was a blur of violence and motion. The Heart Pirates fought like demons, carving a path back to the Polar Tang. Law carried you the entire way, his arms steady despite the chaos around him. You drifted in and out of consciousness, your head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was the only thing grounding you, a steady rhythm that promised safety.

When you woke, you were in the Polar Tang’s infirmary, the familiar hum of the ship’s engines filling the air. Your body ached, but the pain was dulled by bandages and medicine. Law sat beside you, his coat draped over a chair, his hat resting on the table. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed, but he was there. He was always there.

“Hey,” you said, your voice weak but steady.

He looked up, relief flooding his face. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.” You managed a smile. “You look like hell.”

“Says the one who’s been through hell,” he shot back, but there was no heat in his words. He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You scared me,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought…”

“You thought I’d break?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Law. You know me better than that.”

He chuckled, but it was strained. “I know. But seeing you like that…” He trailed off, his grip tightening. “I should’ve found you sooner.”

You shook your head. “You found me. That’s what matters.”

He didn’t argue, but you could see the guilt in his eyes. Law was a man who carried every failure like a weight, and you knew he’d blame himself for your capture. You squeezed his hand, drawing his gaze back to you. “I didn’t tell them anything,” you said. “Not a word. They wanted your weaknesses, your base, your plans. I gave them nothing.”

His expression softened, a mix of pride and pain. “I know,” he said. “You’re stronger than they’ll ever understand.”

“Damn right,” you said, smirking. “But next time, maybe don’t take a whole month to find me, yeah?”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, and the sound warmed you more than any blanket. “Deal,” he said. “But there won’t be a next time. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. “Possessive bastard.”

“Only for you,” he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment. The Navy had tried to break you, to tear you apart piece by piece. But they’d failed. You were still here, still fighting, still his.

And as long as you had Law, no cell, no torture, no Marine could ever take that away.

[lewisvinga]

agora hills | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; with y/n’s newest ep release, everyone is going crazy trying to figure out who is making her feel this way. her fan base goes crazier once she finally reveals who it’s about.

fc; tyla

warnings; obvi suggestive lyrics/pictures obvi, cursing

notes; requested ! i’m abt to use tyla as a fc for singer reader bc she’s soooooooooooo fine

masterlist !

liked by username, username, and 1,034,093 others!

yourusername: agora hills. out now.

username: mother has done it againnn😩😩

username: omg i did not expect any of this

username: THE MVVVVV😩😩😩😩😩

username: how u shake ass like that🥴🥴🥴

username: y/n nation WE WON

username: ok but WHO is making her write and sing these songs😩

username: ‘i wanna show you off’ show WHO off, miss y/n🤨🤨🤨

username: love it when you hit and smack too, baby??????? EXCISDME?!/@;&; WHOO??

username: she outdid herself ONCE AGAIN

username: the fit of her in the black ferrari in the mv😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

username: i’m sooooo gay

username: i’m sooooooooo normal abt this like soooooo normal

username: i’m going crazy who is this about 😭😩

username: ‘fuck me ‘till daylight’ omg 😩😩

username: pls tell us who this is abouttt

username: going through her following to see what man is making her sing abt this😩🥴

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 1,789,572 others!

yourusername: my inspiration for agora hills.

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: i can be your inspiration for your album?? 👀👀

yourusername: i think i’m going to need a lot of inspiration😼

charles_leclerc: omw.

charles_leclerc: my most gorgeous girl. i love you ❤️

yourusername: i love you, my pretty boy 💘

username: AGORA HILLS EP IS ABOUT CHARLES LECLERC??

username: oh wow….

username: i now get why she wrote what she wrote bc he’s 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

username: as an f1 fan and a y/n fan, this is INSANE

username: the third picture IM GOING CRAZY😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

maxverstappen1: well thanks a lot, now i can’t look at charles the same!

yourusername: you’re welcome 😁

username: so y/n can confirm that charles has that good d???

username: it was obvious w her ep

username: can’t believe the prince of monaco has you singing about how good the sex is 😭😭

username: now i understand why she kept using a black ferrari in her mv😩😩

[phas3d]

Can you do slytherin boys head canons with ravenclaw reader who info dumps randomly

You're Smart || Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: draco, tom, mattheo, theodore, lorenzo

summary :: you have a habit of saying fun facts and explaining everything in great detail while they listen - it's not super ravenclaw based but u can imagine it :) THANK U FOR REQUESTINGG RAAAHHHH - 🐍 :: masterlist!

DRACO MALFOY

Hated it at first since it felt like you were trying to on up him

Would start to research more topics on his own to make sure you can't one up him on it

Turns this into a competition that's completely one sided for no reason LMAO

Stays up all night up just to learn the most niche and useless information of all time

But somehow, you always know more than him and beat him

Gets so frustrated by this because he can't stand not being the smartest know-it-all in the room

So he decides to try and make YOU seem stupid

Asks you super hard questions that no one could possibly know

But for some reason, you know it

This drives him even crazier cause he can't win LOL

But overtime, he grows to find it really useful and cute at times

He likes to see how passionate you are on different things

And he does like smart girls, so he starts to see it as a pro

TOM RIDDLE

Super annoyed by the fun facts and random info at the start

Mainly because he probably already knows it or he doesn't care for it

Because if he was interested, he would have searched it up already

So in his eyes, it seems like you're call him too lazy and dumb to want to search something up

So he tells you to shut up right away when he knows you're going to info dump

But sometimes, he genuinely doesn't know and he hates admitting that

He's super bad at social interactions, online culture, etc, so he does need help with those

But he's too egotistical to admit that

So he starts to just "ignore you" when you info dump

You'll explain the deep and complicated lore of Trisha Paytas and once you're done he'll say, "Huh? Oh I was spacing out."

But in reality, he was listening in depth and taking mental notes

So he starts to use this to his advantage since you do describe every very well

He starts to silently train you in a way

For example, he'll place a group of items in front of you, like a blue shirt next to a Slytherin hoodie

This will then remind you of Alvin and the Chipmunks so you dive into the deep lore of each actor

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Doesn't really care much at first since he's always been a bit dumber than other kids

He assumed everything you were saying was common knowledge and that he was just dumb

But when others start to mention how smart you are, he's surprised

He has a smart s/o :O

Well, he always knew that but to find out that you were smarter than a majority of people gave him a confidence boost

Starts to rely on you for every single question he has possible

Even if he knows the answer, he just wants to see if he's right

He likes it when you info dump to him

Surprisingly, he's a really good listener when it comes to you

Loves listening to you talk for hours on end

THEODORE NOTT

He's not much of a talker, so having you there to info dump on him is really amusing

You're like a walking podcast for him to listen to

Likes to ask you questions too so you can switch topics

He's super proud of seeing how smart you are

Theo is pretty smart, the smartest out of the Slytherin boy group at least (Which isn't that hard) (Tom doesn't count LOL)

So it's nice for him to finally talk to someone that doesn't ask dumb ass questions every 5 minutes

It's like switching his brain off so he can just listen to you talk and explain

It makes him feel safer with you to know that you're so smart and into so many things

He also loves it because it makes it so easy to buy you a gift since he knows exactly what you like :)

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

You're both kinda in the same boat which is amazing and bad

He's also into info dumping and telling you about the niche history he found out

But so are you, so you two end up clashing and having different ideas

Like for example, you were both info dumping about the brand new live actions Avatar the Last Air Bender and you both had drastically different thoughts

Lorenzo thought a lot of it was inaccurate but you were defending it with your life

But in the end, you both just shut up because you accidentally switch topics mid way

He loves asking you questions about niche topics so he doesn't have to research them himself

Likes listening to you talk while he eats

Sometimes he'll facetime you while he has dinner so he can listen to you talk

And sometimes he even calls you before bed so you can talk him to sleep :)

thank you for reading ! 🐍 :: masterlist!