#whether you read that L-word as romantic or not

[gloomwitchwrites]

Congrats on 1k! Could you please do Simon Riley with SFW Alphabet. I need all the *feels* please! :)

Thank you! And I can certainly bring the feels.

Simon is such a complex and interesting character. I love reading and analyzing other peoples' headcanons about him. Everyone has a different take on the character, and this bit is just me rambling. Thanks for sending the request in!

Word Count: 1.3k

1k Follower Event Rules

SFW Alphabet Template

ao3 // taglist // 1k follower event masterlist // main masterlist

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

For Simon to show affection, there must be trust. Whether a friend or lover, Simon needs time to build a solid relationship with someone before he drops some of those walls. If he’s cracking jokes with you, you have Simon’s respect and trust. Simon isn’t a gift giver, but he does listen, which is his greatest strength. His form of affection is listening to you mention something off-handedly, and then doing the thing that you need without asking.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Simon would be an awesome best friend, but getting there would take time. Those barriers need to come down first. How would a friendship start? By you adopting him as your new best friend without him having a say. Just look at how his relationship starts with Soap. I don’t think I need to say more.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Simon enjoys cuddles with a romantic partner. Does he enjoy it all the time? No. Not really. He’s more of a “use me as a pillow and I won’t move” sort of person, but after falling asleep? He’ll curl up next to you immediately.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Simon absolutely wants to settle down but isn’t particularly worried about when. Just because he wears a mask, is lethal in the field, and has trauma doesn’t mean he doesn’t want the things that come with settling down. He knows he can be a better partner and a better father than what he grew up with. Simon is immaculate in the field, and I can’t see him not bringing that into his everyday life. Cleaning is a chore to him but he’s efficient. Cooking is hit or miss. Terrible or just okay at most things, but he’s particularly good at a few things.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Quick and blunt. Simon doesn’t mince words. He’s to the point, even if it hurts him (or you).

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Simon longs for commitment. He needs trust to build friendship and then a relationship beyond that. How quick? That depends. Simon will either know right away or it might dawn on him suddenly.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Simon knows when and how to be gentle. Sure, he’s a beast of a man, but there is a reason he often stands back and listens before speaking. This man processes information quickly and knows what needs to happen depending on the situation. That doesn’t mean he always gets it right. Physically, not a problem. Emotionally, Simon struggles sometimes with making the correct call.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Not a hugger. Hates hugs. If Simon is hugging you, you’ve won.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Quickly, if Simon knows what he wants. Simon will say it deliberately, but it might slip during a moment of passion.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Simon can get jealous but only when he thinks someone is moving in on what he believes is his. If this is a romantic partner, that jealousy isn’t directed at them but at the person trying to weasel their way in.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Passionate. Rough. All-consuming. Simon likes kissing the palm of your hand or the inside of your wrist. He loves it when you trail kisses down his neck.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s good with kids. Simon is the guy at the function that all the kids climb and jump on because he doesn’t put up a fuss. He’s a big tree for them to hang on. Outwardly, he might seem annoyed, but Simon enjoys it.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Depends. If there are things to do Simon will easily fall into routine. If there is nothing planned for the day, Simon loves a lazy, cozy morning.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

When he’s not working, Simon enjoys his sleep. He’d be the one trying to drag you to bed. If you’re with him, he doesn’t want to sleep alone.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Simon is slow to reveal things. Trust takes time with him, and even those he deeply trusts don’t know everything about him. For Simon, it depends on the person. He trusts Soap and Gaz, but he’d not going to dump his entire history on them. Price, for example, likely knows a lot more. If Simon is dating someone or married, that too will likely be different.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Simon is not quick to anger. Even in the field he’s mostly a calm cucumber with a bit of spicy pickling when he wants to appear intimidating. For Simon to get angry—like actually angry—there has to be a betrayal of some kind.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Simon doesn’t forget anything. He listens, he hears, he processes, and makes decisions. He considers everything important and if he cares about you, what you say matters. He’d remember your coffee order, the birthdays of your immediate family members, and even the things you say in passing.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Simon’s favorite moment in your relationship is when you said “I love you” back to him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective. Because of his military career, Simon views threats differently from the average person. Old enemies might come circling back, but he’s more worried about your personal safety. He’s likely to make sure you’re hammering something in the wall correctly than watching your every step.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Tons of effort to the point it almost appears seamless to you. I keep stating this over and over again, but Simon is a listener. He keeps tracks of everything in his head, especially dates and any anniversaries, and knows what to gift you because he’ll hear something you mention off-handedly and then just present it like it’s not a big deal. Every day tasks are not an issue for him. If something needs done, Simon does it and you don’t need to make him a “list.” Nah. Simon sees a task and completes it.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Might shut down if he feels cornered or attacked. Will not listen if you try to give him directions and he’s the one driving. Smoking just to keep his hands occupied.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Simon is not vain. He is cocky, and he knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t obsess over it. Skincare routine? Yes, but it’s simple.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Partially. Simon is used to being alone and working alone. That isn’t new for him.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Major sweet tooth. Loves chocolate cake.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Dishonesty. Lack of accountability.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Simon is a dead body in bed. When he’s asleep, you cannot move him, and he tends to spread out.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving

@childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98

@kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000

@cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado

@rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82

@no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @lxblm @ferns-fics

@ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow

@kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi

@lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[justlemmeadoreyou]

rain-kissed* (footballer!harry x

nerd!y/n)

summary: y/n and harry, former rivals turned reluctant partners, find unexpected chemistry. heated glances, playful banter ignite a spark. a near-tragedy makes y/n confront feelings, and...will they be reciprocated? ft. lots of mutual pining

words: 6.1k

warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of a major injury, cursing, kissing, hints of smut, mutual pining.

Y/N groaned as she walked into the lecture hall for her literature class. "Are you kidding me?"

There in the very front row sat Harry Styles - captain of the football team, president of one of the biggest frats on campus, and certified douchebag extraordinaire. His feet were obnoxiously propped up on the desk in front of him as he laughed loudly with his friends. 

"This class is gonna be a nightmare," Y/N muttered, taking a seat as far away from Harry's circle as possible. She couldn't stand arrogant jocks like him.

Class started and the professor cleared her throat loudly, shooting Harry a pointed look until he dropped his feet to the floor with an eye roll. "Alright, since this is an upper-level lit course, we're going to kick things off with a big group project."

A collective groan went through the class. Group projects were the worst, especially when half the group didn't pull their weight. Harry raised his hand lazily.

"What's the project, Millers?"

The prof narrowed her eyes at Harry's casual address but proceeded. "You'll be analyzing the themes and formatting an anthology of poems, plays, and short stories from a particular era or movement. I'll be assigning the groups and topics."

Y/N mentally prepared herself to get stuck doing all the work as usual for her group when Millers started listing off the pairings. 

"Styles and Y/L/N - you'll be covering the Romantic period."

Y/N's head whipped up in horror as Harry scoffed loudly. Of course they'd get partnered up. This was quite literally her worst nightmare.

"Fucking kill me," Harry grumbled, slumping back in his seat rudely.

"I'd rather work alone," Y/N couldn't stop herself from retorting. Immediately, Millers zeroed in on her with a stern look.

"I don't recall there being a choice, Ms. Y/L/N. Unless either of you plans to drop this course, I suggest you learn to work together effectively."

Gritting her teeth, Y/N forced out a tight, "Yes, Professor."

Harry was already texting rapidly on his phone, not paying any attention. This project was going to be utter hell.

The rest of the semester only proved Y/N right about what a nightmare it would be to work with Harry. Their first meeting to divide up the work went about as well as could be expected - which is to say it was a total disaster.

"Look, I don't have a bunch of time for this bullshit poetry stuff," Harry kicked back in a creaky chair, looking entirely too at home in the empty classroom they'd claimed for their work session. "How about you just do the whole thing and I'll, like, proofread it at the end or whatever?"

Y/N stared at him incredulously. "Absolutely not! This is a hugely weighted project, Styles. I'm not doing all the work myself."

He shrugged impatiently. "Why not? You seem like a big ol' nerd who'd be into this."

Biting back a retort, Y/N forced herself to remain calm and reasonable. If he was going to act like a damn child,she had to be the adult in the relationship–or whatever this was.

 "Forget it. We're going to split everything 50/50 whether you like it or not. I'll take the poetry analysis and you can have the plays. We'll swap sections to proofread before compiling the final thing."

Harry made a face like she'd asked him to perform surgery. "Do I have to? Plays are so boring."

"Don't care," Y/N said flatly. "You're pulling your weight on this one way or another."

With a melodramatic huff, Harry finally agreed and they were able to separate the reading materials and due dates before parting ways, both dreading the long weeks ahead.

Except...after trading several heated email chains and a couple disastrous coffee shop meetups, something shifted. Maybe it was the punctuality that struck after virtually living in the library for a week straight. Maybe it was how they both surprised each other by not being complete idiots about the subject matter. But at some point, the bickering and resentful silences turned to a bearable truce and even - dare Y/N think it - a hint of reluctant respect between them.

Y/N had assumed Harry was just another brainless party bro who skated by on his looks and family money. But to her surprise, he actually had intelligent insights into the Romantic poets and playwrights - even if he still whined about having to read "this dramalogy crap." 

And Harry, who had fully expected Y/N to be an uptight, pretentious book nerd, found himself caught off guard by her whip-smart analysis...and her unexpected sarcastic quips that had him stifling laughs more than once during their study sessions. He called her nerd instead of her usual name, but was now slipping back to using Y/n more often.

"Oh my god, you did not just say that about Lord Byron!" Harry snickered as Y/N made another scalding comment about the poet's arrogant womanizing. 

"What? The man was an infamous manwhore by all accounts," Y/N shrugged unapologetically. "Self-important dickhead thought his brooding and philandering made him a genius."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "How very unromantic of you, love! Have you no poetic soul?"

Without missing a beat, Y/N deadpanned, "I prefer to admire poets who didn't give the clap to half of London."

The startled laugh that burst from Harry's lips was so warm and uninhibited that Y/N felt an unexpected little flip in her stomach at the sight. Whoa, what was that?

Shaking it off, she hid her face behind her book again, tamping down an oddly giddy–sort of feeling. Just because she'd managed to find Harry slightly less insufferable lately didn't mean anything.

And so it went, their bickering gradually becoming more lighthearted and playful rather than biting. The weeks ticked by as they somehow formed an unlikely...friendship? Bros? Sure, they'd go with that for simplicity's sake.

At some point, they started expanding their hangouts beyond just study sessions too. Grabbing food after class turned into actually sitting together, Harry regaling Y/N with stories from his frat's latest shenanigans as she pretended not to be entertained. 

On the rare nights Y/N wasn't holed up writing papers, she started joining Harry and his boys at their favorite dive bar, quickly becoming the calm voice of reason trying in vain to talk them out of their next boneheaded plan.

"Come on, PlainJane! Live a little!" Harry teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders at the bar. 

The rowdy group cackled at Harry's horrible attempt at a literary-themed nickname for Y/N, as per tradition when any new face got absorbed into their friend circle. Personally, Y/N thought it was a lame pun, but she secretly loved how easily she'd slotted into their bizarre fratty family...and maybe especially how Harry always seemed to plaster himself to her side whenever they went out.

The camaraderie and effortless banter flowing between them should've been a huge red flag that something was shifting. But Y/N was quite stubbornly oblivious, as was Harry in his own way.

At least, that was until their big group presentation day rolled around. They'd been prepping and quizzing each other for weeks, reviewing notes and analysis essays till they were cross-eyed. Harry had really stepped up, much to Y/N's surprise, retaining way more than she'd expected about the playwrights and their major works.

The whole lit class was spread out in the lecture hall, with bullet-pointed notecards and thick anthologies ready as the first group took the floor. When it was finally Harry and Y/N's turn, they moved to the front in sync, Harry shooting her a subtle wink as he grabbed the microphone first.

"Buckle up, kids - this is how you do a proper literary presentation," he drawled cockily.

Y/N rolled her eyes on reflex, biting her lip and bumping his hip with hers in playful admonishment. "Shut up and just start already."

Neither of them noticed the amused looks being swapped by their classmates at their easy rapport. Or Millers leaning back with a knowing smirk, clearly recognizing the chemistry flying between her formerly antagonistic partners.

For the next hour, Harry and Y/N launched into their meticulously prepared overview of the key figures and works emerging from the Romantic period. Their back-and-forth was flawless yet casual, almost playful at times with little ad-libs and jokes only they were in on.

At one point, Harry lightly mocked Lord Byron's arrogance with a pompous impression that had Y/N doubled over giggling into the mic, barely choking out the next lines through her laughter. When she managed to catch her breath, she shot him a look that was equal parts fond exasperation and...something more heated.

There was a noticeable spark between them that had clearly evolved far beyond the adversarial classmates they'd started as. And if anyone could miss that subtext, it became blindingly obvious at the end when they seamlessly transitioned into their concluding remarks, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"So in summary, while the Romantics may have been a pretentious bunch of melancholic lads-" Harry began.

"-their pioneering works cemented their place as quintessential figures in literary history," Y/N picked up without missing a beat. 

They shared a grin before finishing in unison, "And that's the tea, no cap."

A surprised burst of laughter rang out from their classmates at their cheeky sign-off, even the prof hiding a smile behind her hand. Everyone could see it - the easy chemistry, the almost electric undercurrent between the former rivals.

Everyone, that is, except Harry and Y/N themselves. 

As they moved to return to their seats amid the applause, neither seemed to register the weighted looks and muffled whispers following them. Harry just ducked his head with an almost bashful smile, still riding the high of how flawlessly they'd worked together. While Y/N felt her cheeks flushing under the weight of what she convinced herself was just residual adrenaline.

In the weeks after their wildly successful presentation, that same strain of electrifying connection only grew stronger between them. You'd never know they'd spent the first half of the semester low-key loathing each other based on their current vibe.

Now, when Harry's frat brothers tried to rib him about his "study buddy" at their typical dive bar hangout, he just threw an arm around Y/N's shoulders and proudly declared, "More like my brain twin!"

Y/N would just duck her head with a bashful grin, pointedly ignoring how her heart did a little somersault at both the affectionate nickname and Harry's easy touch.

Or like when they sprawled out on the quad between classes, passing a bag of chips back and forth as Harry ranted about his coach riding his ass over the big rivalry game next week. Without even thinking about it, Y/N would reach out to squeeze his knee consolingly as he huffed out his frustrations. It was such a simple, natural gesture between them now that she didn't even register the slightly stunned look Harry shot her before clearing his throat gruffly.

Even their friends couldn't resist commenting on their respective obliviousness at this point.

"Bruh, Y/N literally lets you call her 'love' without punching you in the dick," Niall pointed out bluntly one night when Harry claimed, once again, he and Y/N were "just friends." His Irish buddy arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Pretty sure she wants to ride your lancer if you know what I mean."

Harry smacked him hard while trying not to get flustered. "Shut the fuck up, asshole."

While on Y/N's end...

"Sooooo, when are you gonna admit you have a huge crush on Styles?" Her friend Riley asked point blank over brunch, making Y/N nearly choke on her mimosa.

"What? No I don't!" She insisted a little too quickly, refusing to meet Riley's all-knowing gaze. "We're just...really good friends."

Riley hummed disbelievingly. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest further before clamping it shut as her mind started helplessly rehashing all her favourite little moments with Harry over the past few weeks. His warm, anthracite eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at her jokes. The proud grin he'd get whenever she successfully understood something he'd tried explaining. The way she felt this inexplicable magnetic pull to stay pressed into his side for as long as possible whenever they hung out...

"Oh my god," she breathed out, smile slipping as the enormity of her revelation dawned. "I'm in love with Harry fucking Styles."

That's not to say the smitten epiphany immediately changed anything between the two. Well, maybe it made their lingering hugs and casual touches go on for a few beats too long. Or had them both shyly stealing glances when the other's back was turned.

***

Mostly though, they just continued their cozy, obliviously pining routine of late night FaceTimes and weekends holed up studying together for finals. All while Harry's team prepared for their annual football rivalry game - the biggest matchup of the season that would make or break their championship chances.

The night before the game, Y/N found herself inexplicably anxious as she sat in the stands amid a drunk, raucous crowd. Harry kept shooting cheesy grins and double finger-gunged winks her way whenever he trotted past her section, clearly buzzed on adrenaline.

"Go get 'em, superstar!" She shouted at one point, laughing as Harry blew her an obnoxious kiss before getting back in the huddle.

The energy in the stadium was electric and infectious, Y/N finding herself caught up in the cheers and chants despite not being a huge football fan normally. Something about watching her...Harry out there gave her swirling butterflies low in her belly though.

As the intense game raged on, Y/N was on the edge of her seat, nails digging into her palms whenever Harry took a brutal hit or made a heart-stoppingly risky play. At one point he got absolutely leveled by a linebacker twice his size, his helmet bouncing sickeningly off the turf.The roar of the crowd faded into the background as Y/N watched in horror as Harry's body slammed violently into the turf. She felt her heart stop as he didn't immediately get back up after the brutal hit.

"Harry!" she screamed, her voice drowned out by the gasps of the other spectators. 

The medical team rushed out onto the field as Harry lay unmoving. Y/N's hands shook with fear as she watched them carefully roll him onto a backboard and load him into the ambulance. She felt tears streaking down her cheeks as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally received word that Harry was going to be okay. The doctors said he had suffered a severe concussion and possible spinal injury from the whiplash of the hit. He would need weeks of rest and recovery.

Y/N rushed to the hospital, desperate to see him. When she entered his room, her heart broke at the sight of Harry's battered body hooked up to various machines, a cervical collar immobilizing his neck.

"Harry..." she whispered, taking his hand gently in hers. "I'm so sorry."

Harry's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. "Y/N? You're here..."

"Of course I'm here, you idiot," she tried to joke, blinking back more tears. "I was so worried about you."

A small smile tugged at his bruised lips. "I'll be okay, love. Harry is a thick skull, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning at his terrible joke. "Don't scare me like that again, Styles. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A look of tenderness crossed Harry's face that made Y/N's breath catch in her throat. But before either could say anything further, the doctor entered to check on Harry's condition.

***

Over the next week, Y/N diligently stayed by Harry's side in the hospital. She helped feed him, kept him company, and supported him through the difficult early recovery stages. Harry quickly grew restless being cooped up, but every time he tried to get out of bed against doctor's orders, Y/N was there to scold him.

"You heard what the doctor said, Harry. You need to rest and let your body heal properly," she chastised him one day as he tried to get up.

Harry groaned in frustration. "But I'm going stir crazy in this damn bed! I feel fine, Y/N, honestly."

"No, you don't," Y/N said firmly. "You could have had a serious spinal injury. You're lucky it wasn't worse. Now lie back down before I get the nurses to strap you in."

Grumbling, Harry reluctantly complied, though he continued to hate being so confined and immobile. Little did Y/N know, he was already hatching a plan.

A few days later, Y/N arrived at the hospital only to find Harry's bed empty. Her heart leapt into her throat as she rushed to the nurses' station in a panic.

"Where is he? Where's Harry Styles?" she demanded.

The nurse gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, he checked himself out against medical advice earlier today."

"What? No, he can't have!" Y/N cried. She knew immediately where he would have gone.

Sure enough, when she ran across campus to the football practice field, she found Harry standing on the sidelines in his gear, acting as if nothing had happened. White hot fury blazed through her veins.

"Harry!" she yelled, storming toward him as the first raindrops began to fall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Harry turned with a cocky grin as he saw her approach. "There's my favourite nerd. What's got your panties in a twist, love?"

"You insufferable asshole!" Y/N exploded, not caring that they had an audience of his confused teammates. "The doctor said you needed weeks of rest and recovery! You could have permanently injured your spine!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Relax, babe, I feel great. Probably just overreacted with that whole backboard and neck brace nonsense."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Y/N seethed, hands balling into fists at her sides. Rain began pouring down around them, quickly soaking them both, but she didn't care. "You're incredible, you know that? You have zero self-preservation! No regard for your own safety and well-being!"

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Harry scoffed, though his casual demeanor faltered slightly under her furious glare.

"Dramatic? You could've been paralyzed, Harry! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Her voice broke with frustrated tears. "Don't you understand how terrified I was watching you lying there, not moving? I thought...I thought I might lose you."

Something flickered across Harry's features then. His cavalier mask slipped for just a moment, allowing a flash of guilt and tenderness to shine through that sent Y/N's heart lurching treacherously. Then it was gone, the wall snapping back into place.

"Well, I'm right as rain now, so you can quit your worrying," he said gruffly, turning his back on her.

That was the final straw for Y/N. She grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face her, not caring that they were getting drenched by the downpour.

"You're so fucking reckless with yourself, Harry! Like you have zero self-preservation or even an ounce of common sense! Do you have any idea how scary that was to see you lying there, not moving? How I thought..." Her voice hitched, throat growing too tight to continue as burning tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Through the rapidly blurring vision, Y/N registered Harry staring, chest heaving like she'd actually winded him with her outburst. His hands hung frozen at his sides, knuckles going white as he watched her come completely unraveled. And still she wasn't finished.

"You can't just keep putting yourself in danger like that! Pulling stupid fucking stunts and flipping off your own safety like it doesn't matter! Because it does, Harry. It matters so much to...to me," she finished in a thick whisper, finally allowing a tear to escape and streak down her flushed cheek.  

A weighted silence stretched between them, Y/N struggling to regain her ragged breathing as Harry continued gaping at her, utterly shocked by her reaction. Waves of tension rippled through the small space separating them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Harry seemed to recalibrate. His expression went utterly blank for a beat before, out of nowhere, his eyes hardened into flashing jade. When he spoke, his tone was laced with a chilling detachment.  

"Why?"

Y/N blinked owlishly. "W-What?"

"Why the fuck do you care so much, huh?" Harry exploded, eyes flashing as he aimed his scathing hostility directly at Y/N. "Last I checked, I'm not your boyfriend or your family. I'm just some dumb jock you study with, right?"

Y/N flinched at the biting sarcasm, feeling tears prick her eyes anew at his harsh dismissal. But Harry was on a roll, fists clenching and unclenching as he visibly wrestled with...what? Anger? Fear? She couldn't tell, but his next words sliced deep regardless.

"So why do you get to flip out and pass judgment every time I take a hit, huh? You think I don't know how to handle myself out on that field?"

"That's not what I-"

"No, clearly you don't think I have any sense of self-preservation or whatever psychobabble bullshit diagnosis you want to armchair next!" Harry barreled over her attempted protest, voice rising in a sharp crescendo. 

He took a menacing step closer, using his full height to loom over her in a move that likely would've been intimidating...if his eyes didn't look so pained and conflicted behind that mask of bitter anger. "Tell me, Y/N - what gives you the right to freak out like that, huh? To look at me with those scared eyes like you have any claim over whether I live or die or-"

"Because I love you, dammit!" The confession exploded from Y/N with the force of a meteor strike.

A stunned silence fell over the field as Harry gaped at her, mouth hanging open in shock. Even the rain seemed to pause in the heavy tension between them.

After several moments where Y/N felt her panic rising, Harry finally found his voice again. "You...you what?"

Y/N took a shuddering breath, bracing herself. She had come too far to back down now.  

"I love you, Harry," she repeated, slower and more sure this time. "I have for a long time, you idiot. But you're always so reckless and careless 'bout your own safety. You take stupid risks and shrug it off like getting hurt is no big deal!"

She stepped closer, feeling tears mingling with the raindrops on her cheeks. "Don't you understand? The thought of you being seriously injured, or worse...it terrifies me. Because I couldn't handle losing you. You mean everything to me."

Harry continued staring at her, eyes blown wide and lips parted as if her confession had utterly short-circuited his brain. Y/N pressed on, needing to finally unleash all the feelings she had kept bottled up for far too long.

"I love your stupid jokes and your kind heart. I love how passionate you are about football, even if it drives me mental sometimes. I love the way you always smell like sandalwood and make me feel so safe when I'm with you. I'm in love with every obnoxious, laddish, reckless part of you and I can't keep ignoring it anymore."

She let out a wet chuckle, wiping futilely at her drenched face, her hands still shaking. "So yeah, that's why I care, you absolute wanker. That's why seeing you get hurt destroys me every single time, because the thought of being in a world without Harry Styles in it is just too much for me to bear!"

The words hung heavy in the rain-soaked air between them. Y/N watched Harry open and close his mouth a few times, clearly struggling to find a response. For once, his swagger and cockiness had completely deserted him as her feelings poured over him in an unstoppable tide.

Just when the silence was becoming too much for Y/N to bear, Harry finally seemed to find his voice again.

"You...you love me?" he rasped out, the disbelief and wonder evident in his tone. "Like, you're in love with me?"

Y/N felt her cheeks flush hot despite the cold rain. She gave a small nod, unable to meet his intense gaze. Her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears, she barely registered the shouts and hoots coming from Harry's teammates who had witnessed the whole emotional outburst.

"Shut it, you wankers!" Harry barked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

In two long strides, he closed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Harry reached up with one hand to gently cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward his.

"Y/N..." he murmured, emerald eyes searching hers intently. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch despite herself. "And ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way? I couldn't risk that, Harry. You mean too much to me."

Something blazing and tender flickered across Harry's face at her confession. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he leaned in until their foreheads were resting together. Y/N shivered at the intimate proximity, at the way his familiar woodsy scent surrounded her completely.

"You daft woman," he murmured, the words fanning warmly across her lips and making her shiver for an entirely different reason. "Don't you know there's nothing I want more than for you to be my girlfriend? To be able to love you the way you deserve?"

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed at that, her heart feeling fit to burst from her chest. She had spent so long forcing herself not to hope, not to read into the heated glances and lingering touches she shared with Harry. Could he truly feel the same earth-shattering connection she did?

Her eyes blinked open again at the feeling of Harry's calloused thumb brushing reverently across her rain-soaked cheek. He was staring at her with such naked adoration and longing that it stole the breath from her lungs.

"I'm so bloody gone for you, Y/N," he confessed roughly. "Have been for ages now, if I'm being honest. Thought maybe I was imagining things between us or reading too much into it since I couldn't fathom someone as incredible as you wanting a mug like me."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to reassure him that she wanted every infuriatingly charming part of him, but Harry pressed on before she could get the words out.

"Then today, hearing how scared you were when I got laid out...how you thought you could lose me?" He shook his head slowly, curls dripping rivulets of rainwater down the sharp planes of his face and throat. "Don't know how I didn't see it before, love. The way you care about me, put up with all my shite...it's because you love me. Isn't it?"

It wasn't really a question, more like Harry was testing the words out for the first time and savoring the way they sounded. A thrill went through Y/N at getting to be the one to put that Look of rare, hushed awe on his handsome face for once.

"Yes, Harry," she answered anyway, both hands coming up to cradle his beloved face. "I'm desperately in love with you. The good, the bad, the reckless...all of it."

A crinkly-eyed grin stretched across Harry's lips then, brighter and more vibrant than Y/N had ever seen before. He wasted no more time closing that minuscule distance between them, capturing her mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Y/N gasped against his lips as the dam finally broke, months of too-long denied want and need bubbling over in heated waves. Harry's hands slid into her soaked hair, angling her head to deepen the embrace as he licked hungrily into her mouth. Y/N clung to him just as fiercely, fingernails scraping against his scalp and shoulders as if trying to physically pull him closer.

They were both panting harshly by the time they wrenched apart, sharing the same air in the infinitesimal space between their swollen mouths. Y/N felt drugged by the glazed, predatory darkness swimming in Harry's blown pupils,by the intimate glide of their rain-drenched bodies.

"Fucking finally," he growled against her lips before diving back in, one large hand splaying possessively across the small of her back.

Y/N hummed in ardent agreement, getting lost in his dizzying taste and scent and touch once more.  It felt like a cosmic star had been reborn between them, the force of their crashing inevitability obliterating all the hurt and confusion from before.

Neither was sure how long they stayed like that, trading desperate, drugging kisses amongst the pouring rain. But eventually, Harry pulled away just enough to nose his way along Y/N's jaw, lips dragging hotly up to her ear.

"Let's get out of this downpour, hmm?" he husked, teeth grazing her shell and making her shudder. "Got some making up to do for being such a blind tosser."

Y/N pulled back just enough to catch the incandescent fire blazing in his darkened gaze. Her breath hitched at the onceiled promise flickering there, at the tips of his wicked fingers already slipping beneath the drenched hem of her top.

It seemed she wasn't the only one who had been harboring some pent-up longing and hunger.

Still, there was one loose end she couldn't resist tugging before allowing Harry to whisk them away...  "Does this mean you're finally going to start taking better care of yourself?" she asked archly, arching one pointed brow. "No more stupid, reckless stunts for my idiotically brave footballer?"

Harry audibly groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically against her clavicle as his hands flexed with bruising force against her hips.

"Whatever you want, love," he conceded gruffly. "No more injuries or shite, I swear it. Now can we please get the fuck out of here before I embarrass myself further by ravishing you in the mud right in front of my teammates?"

Y/N gave a squeak of surprise as Harry abruptly ducked to gather her up in his arms, hitching her legs around his waist in one fluid movement. He sealed his wicked promise with another lingering, molten kiss that left her head spinning.

"Now, where were we..." he growled darkly before striding determinedly off the field, Y/N clinging just as fiercely in his embrace.

The teammates' raucous catcalls and laughter faded into the rainy background as Y/N tucked her face into the curve of Harry's neck, savoring his familiar sandalwood and smoke and the feeling of being wrapped in his arms at last.

She was never letting him go again. Not if she had any say in it.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld  @chesthairrry  @harryhitties @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs   @hisparentsgallerryy   @storyschanging  @selluequestrian   @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

[ma1dita]

about you

this was a request! read it here

words: 4.3k (longest one yet ohmy)

summary: james potter takes ‘easier’ for granted and finds out he now has a living reminder of that

warnings: none! sort of au, everyone lives and they win the war— angst angst angst, maybe open ended!!! groveling james and reader is a MOTHA (afab!)

a/n: guys i missed writing angst…i’m a deeply sad soul at heart so i enjoyed this a lot. I listened to ‘night shift’ by lucy dacus writing the first half, and ‘about you’ by the 1975 for the second half,,,,, both on repeat. i don’t mean to post at ungodly hours but i hope you enjoy!

posted: 11/11/23

—-

Insecurity is an ugly thing. It tugs at your frame, holding your shoulders hostage and your countenance shriveled in a scowl as you slink forward in your seat. But what should the rational reaction be when your boyfriend, the one you’ve planned out the rest of your life with— takes you out to dinner on a random Tuesday and then decidedly backtracks on everything you’ve built together? Your ears are ringing loudly, and you dumbly ask him to repeat himself when he says he wants to take a break.

“So that’s it then. You’ve made your decision and I just have to be okay with losing a year and a half of my life because you aren’t sure if you love me?” Your tone cuts through the fraying tether that holds you two together in the corner booth.

James for once, is at a loss for words. He wasn’t really sure of what to expect when he brought you here tonight, but any reaction to his admission was bound to hurt the both of you. You had to have known about his hesitations. Graduation was three weeks away, and everything was about to change, whether either of you liked it or not. Stupidly enough, James does love you, but that’s not the problem. The proximity he’s had as Head Boy working with Lily Evans makes him wonder if the life he lives is what’s meant for him. It keeps him up at night, gnawing at his resolve and comfort in being with you. He feels ungrateful to have it so easy. Loving you is easy. But the imposter syndrome sneaks into his room late at night in the form of ‘what if’.

“I…it’s just the timing of it all. We’re about to leave Hogwarts, and I don’t want to tie you down if I know I’m unsure of my—our future.”

He reaches out to grab your hand, and many a time ago, his sense of awareness was what you admired about him. You’d both get this familiar feeling of needing comfort, and within a minute, your fingers would intuitively find the other’s like it was second nature. Now, the thought of his touch might make you break his hand off to serve on a silver platter.

“Fuck your timing. If you think it’s as easy as making the decision to just quit while we’re ahead…. I love you. Don’t you…Is that not—” 

You clear your throat, the fire in your indignation being stifled by the whimpering feeling of knowing this was going to happen. The understanding of his plight, the knowing that he wants more. You could see it in the way his eyes wander when you all hang out, and you could feel it when he needs time to himself before bed, letting you back to your common room in the late hours alone. Screw your heart for appealing to his indecisiveness, his fear, when the final blow is aimed at the relationship you both once wanted together. Head Boy and Head Girl share living quarters after all. What chance did you stand against the girl he fell asleep a room away from? Maybe he dreams of her too, what you couldn’t give and what more she has to offer. 

“Tell me something James,” you choke as your body heaves with something akin to nausea. Being lovesick isn’t as romantic as it seems. The hopeless feeling in your tummy throbs as you clench your fists to keep it all down.

“Whatever you want.” 

His reply makes you laugh, desolation gripping your esophagus. Who knew feeling empty would feel like drowning? There is no more air left in your lungs that it almost incapacitates you, your last breath spilling out your final ask of him.

“Do you love me? What did I do?” 

The noise and chatter around you seems to fall silent as he zeroes in on your face, crestfallen from the words that leave your lips. It isn’t your fault, but how can he tell you that? At 18, he’s feeling stifled by the privilege of having his life all planned out for him. He knows people spend their lives searching for contentment but James can’t decipher if he’s right for all of this pressure falling upon his shoulders. The societal heir of his father’s business empire. The face of the upcoming war, bringing in a new generation of soldiers to fight. 

Deep inside, he’s a wild spirit just wanting to live, to be free. And it scares him that you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, that there isn’t much thinking involved, just doing. The lack of autonomy stifles his soul. How does one know if they’re meant for more? James doesn’t want you to have to suffer the consequences if he can’t figure it out himself.

“I love you honey. So much it hurts me. I just wonder if it’s enough.” 

Your hands clatter onto the table, bumping your half-empty pint of butterbeer as you gather your things, shoving them into your knapsack as his final blow hits your senses. And all he does is watch you, face transfixed as if he sees nothing, like he isn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

There’s no going back after this, you think silently as you steady your trembling hands. There’s also no way in hell you’ll let him see you cry. Fuck that. Your eyes fall over the curls that drape over the frame of his glasses, his face cradled by candlelight and dear Merlin, do you love this boy. All of him, even the parts that don’t reciprocate the feeling. This is the final snapshot in your memory of him, because this fleeting moment will have to be enough.

“I hope you get everything you ever wanted James. For my sake, I hope I never hear a thing about it.”

Perhaps having the last word will absolve you of the feeling that desecrates your entire essence as you put one foot in front of the other, pushing past the door of the Three Broomsticks and out into the unknown. But it’s not enough.

—

The break in routine absolutely shatters you, if we’re being honest. A year and a half of loving him, and three more before that of liking the slow steady burn that is James Potter…. It’s like looking at the world with new eyes and this window of opportunity with graduation nearing is your chance of starting anew. There’s also the custodial aspect after the end of a relationship, and it’s hard to separate the rest of what’s yours and his in your mind. Your friends are his, and his are yours. It makes quite a predicament to not have things so easy as they consider who to eat lunch with, or who’s dorm to hang out in. Hopefully, things get easier with time but you’re not as confident as you once were.

A part of you feels like you don’t belong anywhere anymore. James is the sun, after all; a natural leader— everyone revolves around his ingenious ideas and the light he brings. He’s the one who always has a plan, and everyone follows in his stead. Where do you fit in all of that? Where do you go?

His parents are likely the loveliest people to ever grace the wizarding world. Euphemia catches you by the arm after the graduation ceremony as you’re about to take the 7th year boat back across the Black Lake. With no family in attendance and no boyfriend to dote on, niceties were expended quick enough to want to run out of there and never look back.

“Darling, are you leaving without a goodbye?” Mrs. Potter smiles, calling her husband over both with grins made of sunlight. 

Somehow it resonates in your brain that it’s finally over, and your lip trembles when they pull you in for a hug that rivals your hunger to be loved. You think that even if your parents showed up today, it wouldn’t have felt this kind.

“Congratulations dearest! We’re so proud of you,” Fleamont rumbles, a big man with an even bigger heart as he brandishes flowers out of thin air to hand to you daintily. You’re going to miss them terribly. Is it wrong to want more of this? But you remember why it’s not as James’s cologne floods your senses and his silhouette creeps into your periphery. Your smile grows smaller as you two stare at each other and breathe the same air for the first time in almost a month. Whatever’s thrumming in your being, he holds the key to. Mr. and Mrs. Potter try to loop you into a photo together, the magical kind that moves to capture a memory so intimately but both of you stand perfectly still as his and your hesitant dismissals go unheard.

Loving hands fuss over both your caps and the way hair sticks out until you feel your shoulders jostle together for a moment and his hand lands on the small of your back. The flash goes off as you two look at each other in something that still resembles love. You can’t unlove him, not in a day, a month, or ever, you think. Not if you’ve bared your soul to him, even if he hurt you. 

You look away first, urging your heart to come back to reality. He’s not yours anymore, and you still love him. Alice told you earlier that he asked Lily out on a date for next Tuesday. What you were supposed to do with that information you’re unsure, but the feeling in your belly helps you say goodbye to the Potters, and clarify that they can keep the picture since you’re not James’ girlfriend anymore. An awkward silence settles over all four of you.

Euphemia rubs your cheek, hushed promises of keeping in touch while Fleamont looks at his son in confusion. James’ hand flexes in the absence of your body against his. He simply watches you walk away again, alone, while he’s surrounded by his friends and his family. The beating of a tiny heart matching your own as you hop onto the boat proves otherwise.

—-

A baby.

You think back to when it must’ve happened, the weekend before that Tuesday, when everything still felt right. With your last exams of your academic career finally done, both you and James were tangled in his silk sheets until dawn, an amalgamation of passionate whispers and lingering touches you could still feel in the days that followed. As you stared at the flutter of his eyelashes and relished the way he pulled you closer in his dream state, you were quite sure that he is, too, tangled within your soul to let go. That your doubts were residual anxiety from preparing for the future. For the first time in a while, you were reaffirmed that the boy sleeping next to you was your forever. Not being careful was a consequence of feeling safe in his arms, and subconsciously, you both hoped that everything would work itself out. As you walked out of the Head Students’ Lounge past noon with James’ hickeys as a necklace and donning your boyfriend’s shirt, you noticed the blush on Lily Evans’ face. You were just so sure, but that felt like forever ago.

Your parents weren’t happy when they came back from their business trip two months after graduation to find you four months along with a prominent bump and filled with so much fear. All plans of getting a job, of moving out, and joining the Order were now replaced with the startling fact that you are 18 and don’t have a single clue on what to do next. Your childhood bedroom feels smaller tonight, with both your parents standing at the door, all of you unsure of what to say. You can’t remember the last time they tucked you in, but as your dad takes a seat on the edge of your bed, it seems possible that maybe you won’t be alone in all of this.

“Whatever decision you make will be the right one, sweetie. If you love that baby, then we do too,” he sniffles, and you don’t recall having ever seen him this emotional before. One thing you are sure of, is this baby is loved, and made from love. The next is that England is not a safe place to raise your baby. 

Somewhere far away, in a hidden place guarded by some of the most experienced wizards, the Order of the Phoenix meets again to determine the future of the wizarding world. James’s eyes dart back and forth from the door to whichever adult is talking about the next mission. You didn’t show up again. All of the meetings so far where he was always the first one to arrive and the last to leave in hopes of getting a glimpse of you, and you never showed. There’s a deep worry that haunts him as the months pass by, and he knows that it would be easy to send you a letter, or to show up at your door, but he’s probably the last person you want to see. 

“We’re going out for a pint, you ready to leave James?” Lily whispers into his ear, arms curling around to his chest. But he’s not ready at all, sat on the sofa with his eyes on the door, just in case. Trying to love someone who’s still in love is a losing battle, Lily thinks, as she watches her boyfriend look like a child missing their favorite blanket. But in a war like this one, no one would be foolish enough to decline company.

“I’ll meet you there,” he smiles, leaning back to kiss her cheek. It’s cruel to both of them, the way he’s acting knowing that Lily won’t ever be you. Every chance he gets to have a moment to himself, he thinks of the despondent look on your face as you walked away from him and his parents that day. No more anger at all, no biting words or the fighting spirit that he knows and loves. Both of you just accepted what was to come.

Sirius and Remus approach him later after everyone’s left that they got word that you moved to America. He thinks of what could’ve been, and the thought of your safety is the only thing that lets his mind rest as guilt pushes and pulls at his heartstrings like waves.

He’s spent these months fighting in the war, loving and losing that he thinks this isn’t anything like the white house and picket fence fantasy you both used to cook up. As he grabs his coat to leave, James wonders if by being away from all of this you’ll get to live the life you want. 

—

“Okay honey, hold on tight to mama.” 

Your little boy was almost bouncing off the pavement with a chocolate covered grin, and it makes you laugh harder than it should. Maybe Florean Fortescue’s was not the way to start off your son’s first trip to Diagon Alley, but your new job at the Ministry starts tomorrow and you’ve been missing your favorite stationery. The town was packed with people with the war having ended and trying to start anew. You haven’t seen any familiar faces and maybe years ago that was a bad thing, but hope spreads over Diagon Alley with strangers smiling at Christopher as he skips on the cobblestone, almost tripping over his own feet at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. 

He runs forward to explore the store as you smile at your creation, letting him wander along the aisles as you have done years before. Being back here is like walking through a memory, and though it used to be home, you know yours is walking around in tiny bright red shoes that light up like his smile. Your fingers flip through the different quills and parchment on display, and after finding everything you need, you hear your son’s laughter in the opposite corner of the shop. Motherly instincts always prevail as your feet guide you to the sound of his voice, since he’s never been one to shy away from a friendly conversation.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, honey?”

James’ head whips up from the tiny boy he was entertaining with color-changing quills to see you, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to make sure he’s seeing properly. The both of you go quiet as time stands still, with Christopher chattering at your feet. 

“Mama! Look at this one, it goes rainbow!” he says, tugging at your coat to see the quill in James’s hand. The pieces start to fit together in James’ mind, looking at your pursed lip, then to the sight of this boy smiling with the innocence he had a lifetime ago. This boy, his son, has your eyes. You shake your head rapidly as he intakes a breath of air.

“Honey?” he whispers, knowing that was his name for you.

“So what, he looks like a honey,” you say defensively, grabbing your son’s hand.

He looks like my son, his eyes say—both of you look down to the child who’s all grins and none the wiser piping up.

“My name’s Topher!” 

“Yes it is, and now it’s time to say goodbye to the nice man, okay?” Topher pouts and looks up at his father without even knowing it, handing him the quill. 

“Keep it. I’ll pay for it, and then you can write to me,” he says almost desperately, losing grip of everything that he’s been trying to convince himself for the past 7 years. 

“Don’t be weird, Potter. Don’t…” you shake your head, eyes misting over. Seeing him again brought back everything. It was already overwhelming to have a kid that’s almost the splitting image of him, to learn of a love so pure after one that’s wrecked you to your core, but being here, within arms reach… You’re 18 again and scrambling away from the corner booth trying to get away from the man you love most not wanting you in return.

“Honey, why don’t you give us a minute to talk? Go find me some cool enchanted stickers for me to bring to work tomorrow, okay?” Your baby runs off without even questioning it, his sense of adventure also inherited from his father.

“I’m…so sorry.” James moves closer to you, and you take a step back sighing humorlessly.

“For what? He’s an amazing kid. Even though… he wasn’t planned, I don’t think I could ever see my life turning out any other way.” You shift your weight to your other foot. He looks, successful, if that’s something he would be proud of. He’s wearing an impressive suit, and his eyes are a bit hardened by the past few years, but his charisma, his smile…. He’s still the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I feel foolish. I was so scared to live my life and then here you are raising our child…” 

You blink softly at his words, and it reminds him of your youth, all doe-eyed and full of want. You used to want him like he still wants you. In front of him is a grown woman, a mother who’s strong and filled with memories and love that he should’ve been a part of.

“Things happen for a reason, James. We both did what we had to do.”

His hand brushes yours, and you realize you’ve been without his touch for 7 years. 7 years of being scrubbed clean of James Potter, and not a single regenerated cell in your body has been touched by him. But your son is of him, so you think that no matter how this ends, there will always be a part of you that loves James too.

You extend an olive branch to have him come to your apartment this weekend and get to talk. He knows he doesn’t deserve this kindness, but you know he deserves to meet his son.

—-

The doorbell rings and you take a deep breath as you open the front door, looking up at him holding a teddy bear for Topher.

“He’s still down for a nap. Let’s go sit in the den.” You say quietly. The hallway is filled with pictures of your boy, and of you in different stages these past few years. He stops at a portrait of your parents with Topher being swung between them.

“Your parents….”

“Were supportive; I wasn’t alone,” you muse, knowing he knows of your strained relationship with them back then.

“They actually just retired early last year. Overworked themselves and finally comfortable, so they help out when they can. What about yours?” Trying to make conversation with your ex is terribly hard, but it’s in good spirit and there’s not much to do until Topher wakes up.

“They passed, actually. Mum at the end of the war, and dad 6 months after. Never wanted to be apart, you know that.”

Your face falls at his revelation, “I’m sorry for your loss. They were amazing people. Taught me what it meant to be a parent, for sure.” Amicable silence fills the living room before you clear your throat.

“I have to be blunt, James. What do you want from this? You must be married and busy, so if Topher can’t fit into that….”

“I’m neither of those things, honey. I want to try and see where this goes,” he says scratching the back of his neck. 

Your heart stops at his endearment, catching yourself looking at him seriously. 

“You can hurt me, but I’m not letting you do that to him. Back then, you were all I ever wanted love to be. And then I had my beautiful baby, and I suddenly knew my love meant more.”

“I never wanted to hurt you. It was a mistake, because I was too proud to accept that I had it good. That what I had was meant for me.” James grabs your hands, begging for you to understand. The lost boy he was is a lifetime away from the man sitting in front of you now. Though it’s touching, you keep your heart guarded because the little boy sleeping down the hall is your biggest priority. You hope he can understand that too.

“He’s not a placeholder for your dreams of wanting a family. You have to build that, I did that myself. I’m not going to let you string him along and then once you have a family of your own, you just up and leave.” 

“I know. I was hoping the both of you could be my family, if you give me the chance.” You bite your lip as your thumb runs against his. It’s easier to forgive than to forget. But for Topher’s sake, you can try. 

“Tell me something James,” you whisper, having needed to know this for the past 7 years.

“Why did you throw it all away? Was the idea of loving me…so terrible?” He tilts your chin up, and you think that the earnest look on his face is the closure you needed to properly forgive him.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. Loving you is the best part of knowing you. Do you think I ever forgot about you?” He chuckles lowly, brushing back a strand of your hair, and you think this could be dangerous if you let yourself get too close. 

“I’ve thought about you everyday for the past 7 years, I just didn’t think I deserved you after everything I’ve done. I was so stupid, I am still. But I’m trying to be better.”

“You think of me but dreamt of her. Was it guilt?” Your hand grabs his as you move it away from your cheek, settling onto your lap. The air around you is suffocating.

“It took time for me to figure out that it was intention. Lily was a distraction. You’ve consumed me since the day I met you. My dreams, my thoughts… All of it is you. I choose to think about you as much as I can, because if I didn’t I was scared I’d forget all the good things about us back then.”

You both hear a thump from your son’s room and realize you’re wiping tears away. James stands up when you do, and both pairs of your socked feet pad closer to your son’s room. 

“We start this slow. We make decisions together, and if there’s any inkling I get that he doesn’t want this, it’s done. You understand?” Your hands are firm on the doorknob as he’s standing close behind you, hanging onto every word.

“Every word. There’s no turning back from this.” He wants to ask another question, but before he can, your hand unconsciously finds his and your grip is so comforting that he notices himself sniffle. 

“If it all goes well, and if you want, we can try again. But that’s in the far distant future, James Potter.”

“Anything you want, honey. That’s the future I’ve been dreaming of.” With you. Your lips quirk into a smile as they brush against his cheek.

Slowly opening the door to both watch your son wake up from his nap, your hand pulls James into the room behind you. Quietly, he sits on the edge of Christopher’s bed, and when his son looks up at him, you both notice the little boy beaming like the sun. 

—-

“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.” -Franz Kafka

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing:

night shift by lucy dacus & about you by the 1975

[mxrecg]

True Love vs Infatuation | Gojo x Reader

Summary: Gojo loves nothing more than spending time with you, even if it only consists of doing the most mundane of things. It wasn't until today, you realized just how much Gojo Satoru loves you.

Pairing: High School Gojo x YN

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2.4k

A/n: Imma be so honest idk wtf this is but I wrote it a hellaaa long time ago. So bc JJK s2 is out I thought why not post this drabble I wrote a long ass time ago. I also genuinely think this prolly isn't how canon Gojo would act but bruh I tried!! Anyways enjoy

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Incandescent fireflies painted the dark sky with small flakes of light, creating an enriched serene atmosphere for reading. 

So there you sat cross-legged, outside your balcony, fully engrossed by the book you were reading. 

You slowly became hypnotised by the words allocated within the pages of the novel you were reading.

As your eyes further loomed through the pages and comprehended the context, your eyebrows furrowed in irritation and cuss words occasionally left your lips. 

Lost and captivated by the words decorating the interior pages of the book, you paid no mind to the snoring boy who laid down on your lap. 

You continued reading the story. Book in your dominant hand; whereas, the other one gently massaged the scalp of the teenage boy on your lap. 

Page after page began to turn, and soon enough you’ve reached the final page… to say you were disappointed was an understatement. 

Angered at the ending, you immediately slammed the book down on a coffee table and debated on whether or not you should ignite it on fire for illustrating such a realistic yet heartbreaking ending. 

Your sudden outburst lured the teenage boy out of his sleep, and he groaned, carelessly rubbing his eyes during his tired state. 

“Did one of your favourite manga boys die again?” he asked, now fully sitting up and stretching his arms. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” you aggravatedly muttered. 

“Then tell me what’s aggravating your pretty self and giving you wrinkles,” he stated and you didn’t even bother showing your irritation to the latter comment. 

You took a deep breath, turned your head and he watched as your eyes became livid as you recited the vast difference of each character’s milieu and how their fate perfectly intertwined with one another. 

Your hands doing all sorts of motions, in an attempt to exemplify your extreme dislike and sadness of the poetic story you read. 

A story involving two individuals who unconsciously were ameliorating each other’s lives.

“It’s infuriating Satoru!! Did these two airheads even love each other?? It hasn’t even been like 24 hours and the girl is already marrying the man who was bawling his eyes over another girl- love of my life my ass,”

Satoru listened to your outburst intently, smiling at the sounds of your melodic voice. 

You let out a small huff of frustration, before finally ending your rant and the tears suddenly cascaded down your pale skin, “That being said, the author is able to write damn well.” 

Satoru only laughed quietly, wiping away your stray tears with his right hand, “I thought you hated sad romantic books? Why would you willingly choose to read Shakespere? At least watch the movie instead,” he replied and began playing with your hair. 

His reply caught you off guard and you tilted your head in confusion, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You know what book I’m talking about?” you asked incredulously.  

“Yes… why do you look so shocked?” he asked, continuing to brush the threads of your h/l h/c hair, “It’s Romeo and Juliet, how could I not know? I swear Shoto was straight up fangirling about the movie actor-Da Vinci!!” 

“Da Vinci?” you replied, flicking his forehead and trying to hide your growing amusement, causing the man to pout his lips, “How the hell would a painter act? A dead painter at that.”

“No- no Leonardo Da Vinci the actor-”

It took every fibre in you to not burst out laughing at the moron in front of you, “My love, listen to me carefully- it's Di Caprio. Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa.” 

The man in front of you scoffed at your reply. 

“Da Vinci. Di Caprio, who cares. They’re both Leo’s involved in the art industry of the world. You must admit though, neither of them compare to me!” he said proudly. 

“I don’t know…. Leonardo Di Caprio does seem to have a lot of fangirls right now…. I mean have you seen him in Romeo and Juliet? Or better yet, Titanic?”

The man only poked the interior of his cheek with his tongue, scowling at you as you laughed. 

“The real question is though- did you read the book?”

“Yes,” he let out, not missing a beat. 

“The Satoru Gojo reads? The world must be ending,” you teased, clasping one of his hands and using your other hand to caress his cheek. 

Satoru didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned into your hand and softly smiled. 

His eyes soon twinkled into amusement, as an idea struck him. 

Noticing the change of his behaviour, you lifted an eyebrow to display your confusion. Satoru remained silent and instead flipped you over, so that your back was pressed against the couch. 

He smirked, straddling your hips and began tickling your sides. 

Squirming under his touch, you burst into fits of laughter, “T-toru…. S-stop….” you tried to breathe out, “Gojo- p-please hahahaha.”

Your pleas only encouraged him to tickle you faster, and you soon began to kick your feet, thrashing beneath the man as if your strength could overpower his. 

“Say Gojo Satoru is the strongest person in the world,” he smiled, continuing his attack. 

“I’d rather die,” you said in between heaps of laughter.

The man poked the interior of his cheek before smirking at you, a playful smile adorning his face as he continued with his attack. 

“Being tickled to death. Hm that seems new, I’ll discard your body so don’t worry, suit yourself,” he replied and grazed his fingers at your newly exposed skin, since your shirt slowly began to ride up above your navel. 

“Ok ok… Gojo… is the… strongest person….” 

“Go on, continue,” he encouraged. 

Despite the laughter escaping your lips, forcing your eyes shut, you already sensed the cockiness behind his words and you immediately laughed harder when you thought of something that would catch him off guard. 

“Gojo- i-is… the… strongest….” you stuttered out. 

“Altogether, now, state the full name,” he stated. Although, it seemed more like a command than a request. 

“OK!! Gojo Y/n is the strongest person in the world,” you spurred out in one quick breath. 

Impressed with the turn of events and his lack of words, you could not help but smirk- considering you made this cocky guy lose his demeanour. 

His tickling immediately ceased, his irises resembling a deer caught in the headlights, and his mouth slowly falling open. 

Gojo was in disbelief, as he tried to ensure his hearing wasn’t deteriorating and the words that escaped your mouth not too long ago were not a part of his mere illusive imagination.

Before he could recover and say some snide snarky remark, you grabbed Satoru’s shirt, pulling him down with you against the cushions of the couch you resided on. 

The action took him by surprise, but he didn't refuse and instead grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him, with his arms eventually caging you beneath him. 

He licked your bottom lip, and you found yourself parting your mouth slightly, both your tongues intertwining with one another. 

Caressing your cheek, he then began to angle your head more towards the left, and did not hesitate to bite your bottom lip shortly after. 

You hissed at the new sensation, and Gojo immediately attempted to alleviate the now burning sensation on your lips by running his lips over the new forming bruise. 

You were the first to pull back to breathe. As the both of you attempted to even out your breathing, one of your hands caressed his dusted pink cheeks, while the other one removed his sunglasses, revealing those piercing icy blue eyes you fell in love with. 

He looked at you with such love and adoration that you could not help but feel butterflies swarming around your stomach. 

Your e/c eyes looked up at his illuminating bright blue ones and you smiled, “I’m the strongest person in the world, Toru.”

“That you are,” he replied, kissing your nose. 

“You’re not even going to rebuttal and be the cocky bastard you usually are?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the strongest… The strongest doesn’t necessarily mean having the most power. It’s your character. Plus you got me… not just anyone could make me fall in love with them. You have my tall ass whipped around your finger.” 

You stared at your boyfriend, in awe and bursted out laughing. “We’re both strong. How about that?” 

“Mhm. We’re the top two strongest special grade sorcerers to exist, and for the next century to come” he muttered and buried himself into your neck, as he was now fully lying down on you. 

You laughed at his reply, “Your best friend might not like that statement so much,” 

“... I mean you’re also my best friend and technically you’re stronger than him, not by a longshot but still stronger nonetheless… and I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he mumbled and kissed your neck. 

You quietly hummed in reply, and began to softly hymn the songs of a soft lullaby.

Satoru was still lying on top of you, and as the melody escaped your lips, your fingers threaded his soft white hair. 

Gojo Satoru was at peace. This cocky bastard was like putty in your hands, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

To others his exterior forecasted a childish, arrogant and conceited individual. One who would blatantly show his dislike to those who he did not give an ounce of care for. 

And to the shaman and other sorcerers who only knew his name, he was a force to be reckoned with and feared. 

But to you, he was only Gojo Satoru. 

“Y/n?” he called out softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“You know, I love you, right?” his face may have been hiding in your neck, but you could feel him smiling. 

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden comment, but even you couldn’t stop the smile threatening to form, “I know. And I love you too, forever and always,” 

“You didn’t lie though earlier,” he randomly stated, “One day, your new name will become Gojo Y/n.”

“Satoru…” you whispered, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. 

“One day, I’ll marry you… and when we’re older you'll become the mother of our children.”

“One day Satoru, one day,” you replied, kissing his temple. “By the way, since when did you even read- romance books?” 

You felt his breathing hitch and he slowly pried himself off of you, aimlessly scratching the back of his head. 

“Uhm… like two years ago?” 

“Why though?”

“About two years ago,  there was a new transfer student. I noticed she was eloquently spoken, especially in English-”

“Eloquently spoken??” You asked, trying to suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up and let me finish,”

You covered your mouth and smiled. 

“Anyways, I was coming back from a mission and stuffing my face with an assortment of sweets. Then I heard you and Shoko talking about romance novels, and how you liked guys that read… so the first book I picked up was some corny romance manga and then I read Romeo and Juliet. Shitty book that I barely understood but happy ending I guess.” 

“So you only started reading because you overheard me talk about it?” you pinched his cheeks, “Aw, first year Gojo Satoru was so whipped and in love, how sweet” 

Satoru only rolled his eyes at your statement, and you bursted out laughing as you remembered his attempts to woo you back in your first year. 

“I thought you barely had any hobbies?” you asked. 

“I don’t. Because I’m good at everything.” 

“Yet you still chose to pick up reading of all things?” you slightly laughed. 

“I would pick up any hobby if you asked me to, honestly.”

“No offence, but if that is where you got your romance from you did a shitty job, love.” you giggled. 

“Ouch,” he replied,  “But hey it went pretty well, you’re mine now anyways.” 

 “That you are,” You replied, kissing his nose. “So if you read the book and I assume you also watched the movie, do you understand my pain?” 

“100% Romeo is an airhead. He was probably just horny and infatuated with the first female he saw,” he bluntly stated and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud, Satoru joining in on your laughter. 

As your laughs began to die down he continued, “On a serious note though… Whether or not it was love, their actions prove that they did love each other. I guess love really does make you blind, their suicide only proved that.”

“Tragic ending?” 

“Not really… in a way, I believe it’s a happy ending- that is, assuming those two airheads were actually in love with each other.”

“Did you not hear me muttering cuss words when reading and slamming the book? If you asked me, that book was nothing but aggravating and sad.” 

“Sad as their death was, it was a happy ending. They claimed to have met their soulmate and the love of their life before they died. Not everyone gets that luxury you know?” 

You looked at your boyfriend with both amazement and confusion, “Since when were you so wise?” 

“I don’t even know, love. But I’m not wrong…. Our story would be much happier though, because neither of us are gonna die.”

“You spoke nothing but the truth,” you quietly replied and the two of you began leaning into each other once again. 

“Who knew Satoru could be such a wise lil baby,” said a voice, laughing. 

The two of you immediately pulled away, and looked up to see no one other than Geto Suguru, the poor third wheeler of your relationship. 

“Suguru… how long have you been there for?” you asked. 

“Enough to know that this man loves you way too much… to the point where he knows his feelings for you aren’t infatuation but solid feelings.” 

While you were a blushing mess, Gojo only smiled and smacked his best friend on his back, “Okay enough chit chat, why don’t we all get something to eat, yeah? I suggest-” 

“Steak. We’re eating steak tonight at that new restaurant. You both are paying. It’s the least you could do for making me witness such crap.” 

“You’re just mad because you’re single, bro”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you agreed. 

“Shut the actual fuck, both of you lovebirds.”

The three of you then laughed and made your way to the restaurant of Suguru’s choice.

A/n: So any thoughts? I hope you all liked it <3 Ngl, this does have another part to it, but idk if I'll ever post it tbh. Follow me on my ao3 account I have other ffs there too @idekmxre

[aphroditelovesu]

Yan!Apollo w/Reader!Daughter of Yan!Hera Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ ☀️ — lady l: this headcanon is based more on Hera's POV than Apollo's, but I hope you like it anyway. This ask was thought of and I can do a second part if anyone wants! Good reading and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, offenses and hatred, bouts of jealousy, unhealthy relationships, mention of war.

❝🦚pairing: yandere!apollo x reader!daughter of yan!hera.

No one knew how you ended up in Hera's arms, but everyone knew you were hers. Some said that you were found by her when you were a small child, others say that you were taken by her after she cursed your parents after they had offended her in some way and other versions say that you were her and Zeus's daughter. No one knew the exact origin and it didn't really matter, because you were hers and always would be.

Hera is known for being vengeful and possessive, jealous of Zeus's lovers and anyone who crossed her path. And that jealousy passed on to you as you grew into a beautiful young woman. Your mother wouldn't let anyone near you and when you reached marriageable age, Hera became more suffocating than ever.

She would never let her little girl get married or be defiled by any man. Whether mortal or god, no one will lay hands on you. Hera swore to herself that you would never be touched or hurt as long as she existed.

Apollo has always had an interest in you. He always liked you but never had the real chance to get to know you, not with Hera hovering over you all the time. The god didn't know why but he wanted to get to know you better, to get closer. You attracted him, maybe it was because of your immense beauty, he didn't know, but there was something about you that attracted him like a magnet and he needed to know what it was. So he waited for an opportunity to get closer to you.

And this opportunity arrived in the best way possible. You were finally allowed to wander around Olympus for a bit, without having your mother glued to your side. You begged her if you could go out alone for a bit and Hera gave in very reluctantly. As you wandered through some gardens, Apollo was sitting near a statue of Zeus, playing his lyre and singing something in a low voice. You cautiously approached the god and crouched near a hyacinth bush, hiding and watching him in wonder. Apollo knew you were there, but he didn't stop singing and playing, wanting to impress you.

When he stopped singing and playing, Apolo stared blankly at the bush where you were hiding. That was when you knew you had been caught. You stood up awkwardly, smoothing out your rumpled dress and stammering out a weak apology. You knew it was wrong to spy on others, especially a god. To your surprise, Apollo laughed and approached you, telling you that everything was fine and he didn't mind being watched by a beautiful lady like you. You blushed and smiled at his words and that was the beginning of a beautiful romance.

After this meeting in the garden, you and Apollo began to meet more often, all hidden from your mother's jealous eyes. You found yourself more and more attracted to this god and Apollo more and more in love and obsessed with you. You were perfect in his eyes. Benevolent and merciless in just the right amount, a daughter of Hera indeed. You would be a perfect wife and Apollo found himself more and more eager to ask you to marry him, but he was no fool, he knew that Hera would never accept. So he wouldn't ask her permission, but rather his father.

Apollo went to meet Zeus and told him his wishes, that he would like to marry you, leaving his father at an impasse. Zeus would like to allow you to become his son wife, but Hera would never allow it. And she was the goddess of marriage, getting married without her blessing wasn't the right thing to do. But Apollo didn't care and when Zeus reluctantly gave his permission, he knew what he had to do.

One night, Hera was by your side as you tried to fall asleep. Like the caring and patient mother she was to you, she kept you company until you fell asleep. As you fell asleep, Hera left the room and locked the door like she always did. You woke up a few minutes later and opened the window, allowing Apollo to enter. Once in your room, Apollo kissed you and got down on one knee and asked you to marry him. Your heart raced and before you could think, the words ''yes'' left your mouth and you were in Apollo's arms, kissing him passionately. You were so focused on each other that you didn't hear the door open until Hera started screaming.

Hera had known something was wrong for weeks. She suspected but had no proof that you were seeing anyone, until that cursed night. She left your room and waited for a few minutes, wanting to make sure you didn't have a lover, the thought made her sick. When she heard voices coming from inside your room, Hera unlocked the door and quickly walked in and she saw red. All she felt in that moment was hate, pure rage seeing you in the arms of a bastard of a husband. Hera had never been so sorry that she hadn't been able to kill Apollo when he was still in his whore mother's womb. How dare he tarnish you? Her pure princess? She was ready to kill him.

Apollo pushed you behind him just as your mother started screaming. This sight only enraged her further. It wasn't enough that he dishonored you, he still wanted to keep you away from the only person who would always love you. You flinched at your mother's screams and Apollo's eerie calm. When Hera finally stopped screaming, she tried to get closer to you but Apollo wouldn't let her. Just as Hera was about to curse him, Zeus stormed into the room furiously and demanded to know what was happening. Hera couldn't explain how furious she was and Apollo was very calm. Zeus looked at you and when he saw the ring on your finger, he knew what had happened. Curse that Hera had discovered that way.

Zeus tried to calm his wife, but his attempts were frustrated and he had to impose himself so that she and Apollo did not start fighting physically or trigger a war. Apollo just said that you and him would get married and that Hera would have no right to interfere, not when he had the blessing of the King of Olympus. Hera let out a scream of rage and all this fury was diverted towards Zeus, leaving the god in trouble. Hera was screaming at her husband and demanding answers, how did he have the nerve to let his bastard son get his hands on you? Hera doesn't remember feeling as much hatred towards Zeus as she did at that moment. Zeus remained silent, trying to remain calm while being insulted by his wife. When she finally stopped yelling at him, she turned to talk to you and you were no longer there.

Apollo had taken you. Hera fell to her knees and uttered curses. Zeus just watched her with remorse. She got up and sat on your bed and grabbed your pillow, in an act of fury, she tore it and her green eyes were filled with hatred. She would destroy Apollo and anyone who got in her way until you were safe and sound in her arms. She was ready to start a war, use her son, Ares, to destroy the world to bring you back. She swore these words and Zeus, for the first time, was speechless.

[saturnville]

do you want to, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x black best friend oc (anvika dawson) content: in which two friends cross a line people have been waiting for them to cross...and it works out. warning: 18+ content, angst, fluff, heavy dialogue song: do you want to by xscape an: part one here. part two here. their story is complete. thank you for reading <3 tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neeville

They hadn’t spoken in over a month. A bridge seemed to find its way between them. Not finding their way back to one another was unlike them. Most disagreements lasted at most three days. But, for there to have been 30 days of silence had her questioning if they’d come back from what they went through. 

But, after a much-needed therapy session, a cry session with Onyx, and deep reflection, Anvika realized that space was the best thing she could give him. She was challenged to put herself in his shoes and that changed her perspective entirely. 

“I want you to think from his perspective, Anvika,” her therapist began. She was an older Black woman with rich skin and silver hair. Her eyes were like honey and her voice was warm like the hug of an old church mother. “If you had feelings for him, right, whether you admitted them or not, and there came a time where the dam that contained all the feelings, emotions, thoughts, what have you, had broken and he was willing to drown in it all, just to turn around and downplay what occurred not even 12 hours later, how would you feel?�� 

Ouch. Having it repeated to her without bias struck her uncomfortably. Anvika twisted her lips as she pondered long and hard. How would she feel? Rejected? Embarrassed? Used? Maybe all of the above. 

“What are you thinking about?” her therapist, Traci, asked. “And it doesn’t have to come out perfect or sound. Say how you feel.” 

Suddenly, her chest heaved as her breaths grew deeper. Her tongue circled her teeth and her eyes welled with tears. “I love him. I always have, in one way or another. But, I cherish what we’ve got and I just don’t—“ she sighed deeply. “I’m afraid for it to be ruined and I lose another man that I love.” 

Traci hummed. “So, you love him. Always have, you’ve built a good friendship with him, which could be a solid foundation for a potential romantic relationship, which he seemingly wants, but you’re afraid that it would go wrong and you’d lose him. What else are you afraid of?” 

“Just…that I won’t be more than a body to keep his bed warm. That’s why my ex and I split. Sure, we were together, but he was more invested in sex than he was in cultivating and strengthening our relationship. Intimacy is important, but only being desired for your body does something to a girl. I don’t want that…and so I’m afraid of being nothing more than a warm body. And now I’m upset because I teetered on my boundaries which were no sex with anyone that wasn’t my significant other. I don’t have a significant other, Traci. I have a best friend…or had.” 

Anvika’s voice shook as she spoke. She fiddled with the necklaces stacked around her neck. 3 gold necklaces—Queen Nefertiti, a heart, and the number 44. Traci’s eyes followed her hands. “What’s 44 stand for?” 

Anvika’s hands stalled. Her voice was quiet: “It’s his racing number. He races today.”

“You wear it often?” 

Anvika nodded. 

“Why?” Traci pressed, pushing her glasses above her head. 

“It helps me feel close to him when he’s away. He’s always away.” 

Another hum came from Traci. “Does he wear anything that represents you?” 

It was small. A simple word on his neck was often hidden by his braided hair. Completion. The definition of her name. He’d gotten it a year prior and never told her until she was helping him take his braids down and noticed the fresh ink there. Her heart grew three sizes that day. 

Anvika swallowed thickly. “My name means strong and complete. He has completion tattooed on his neck.”

Traci chuckled in amusement. Breakthrough was happening. 

“Sounds to me that the relationship the two of you have goes deeper than you’d like to admit. You shouldn’t beat yourself over the night you shared with him. We all have moments where we teeter-totter. And even though you didn’t want to, you did. But not only did you do it, you did it with a man who cherishes you, who honors you, who respects you. He is still your closest friend, but who is to say that your lover shouldn’t first be your friend? The choice is yours and I will walk with you through whatever decision you make. Just take the time to think about it, Anvika.” 

She’d thought about it every day since. 

+

Misery wasn’t a state he found himself in often, let alone one that he allowed himself to bask in. He was a firm believer in not allowing his circumstances to permanently alter his mood; his actions proved that he wasn’t the believer he thought he was. 

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His words were more limited than usual. His animations were not quite animated. He was going through the motions day by day, a boring routine that grew exhausting. He was better than this and he knew it. But, his usual methods of taking a run, spending time with loved ones, and giving in to his sweet tooth didn’t help. If anything, they made him feel worse. All because they were activities they did together. It seemed as though his entire life was attached to her and it drove him mad. 

He didn’t think there’d be a day where his mood would be affected by his disconnect from her. And it manifested physically. Lewis was tired often, which was a symptom of the fast-paced lifestyle, but for it to show in his eyes and the slowness of his movements was a clear indication that he was not okay. 

Lewis sighed into his pillow as his phone dinged once again. If he could throw it away, he would. His eyes glanced at the screen. Ani. The fourth message he’d received from her and the fourth time he wouldn’t reply. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have much to say.

You raced well, it read. I hope you’re doing well…I hope we cross paths again when you’re ready. 

He grappled with responding. His heart yearned to speak with her but his mind overpowered his ability to pick up the phone. What would he respond with? Thanks, not ready to see you because you hurt my heart and made me feel rejected. Talk soon. He’d be damned. 

He did a double-take after a moment. You raced well. She watched? His heart twisted. She attended every race she could, amid screaming fans jumping for joy. He could still hear her strained voice chanting his name when he walked on the track. 

“Lewis!” 

His conversation with the gentleman ahead of him was stopped. The racer apologized graciously and turned to see Anvika at the top of the bleachers waving excitedly. It was her first international race and she was over the moon to be there. He chuckled and beckoned her down. 

She shuffled through the bleachers and was soon guided by a security guard to where he stood. She smiled widely. “So, how do you feel?” Her hands grabbed his own and squeezed. She was about to burst. 

“I feel good,” he said with a smile. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m so excited! I hardly ever leave the country unless it’s for business, so to be here and supporting you--so exciting!” The small bounce she did had the jewelry around her neck bobbing. His eyes dropped to her exposed collarbone--Nefertiti, a gold heart, and the number 44. Bright and shiny like it was brand new. His eyebrow raised. “That new?” His finger curled around the chain, tugging softly. The action had her stumbling toward him. 

“Oh, this?” she quipped. “Yeah. I’m not too much of a jersey girl but I couldn’t come without repping you at all. My hat’s up there with Onyx.” She pointed to the bleachers. She hoped it didn’t get swiped--she made him sign it. 

The smile on his face matched hers. For them to have been friends, she cared for him in ways that would have people assuming otherwise. Wearing someone’s name or number around your neck, closest to your heart, spoke volumes. And she’d chosen to do it for him. The honor he felt was immense. Lewis wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips against her forehead. “You, my love, are a gem.” 

“Jeez,” he huffed as he buried his head further into the pillow. Soon, his pillow was wet with tears. He hated to admit how much he missed her. How much he craved hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, or feeling the weight of her when she’d fall asleep on his shoulder. He missed her. 

+

They crossed paths the following Monday after the Met Gala. Lewis was waiting in a lobby for his car to arrive when he heard her call his name in hopes he’d respond. It was an awkward reunion. Neither party knew what to say or what to do. Anvika was surprised he’d spoken to her and Lewis was gobsmacked at her beauty. 

“You look beautiful,” he said after some time.

She always claimed red wasn’t her color, but she proved herself wrong and proved himself right. Her dress was much different than what she normally went for and it only emphasized the impact she made once she hit the carpet. The scarlet red complimented the richness of her complexion beautifully and the rose-like details were stunning. And her heels were like liquid gold on her feet. She’d done her hair differently as well. Her dark brown hair was pressed and in an intricate updo that showcased her ethereal features from her dark eyebrows to her round lips. Anvika Dawson was a gem. 

Anvika smiled small, feeling flustered under his intense gaze. Her hands smoothed the material of her dress. “Thank you. You do, too.” And she meant it. He was an ethereal being. She often wondered if he was real. Her fingers clawed at her dress as she fought the urge to run her fingers cross his shoulder. 

He was dressed to the nines and in her opinion, had been the best dressed gentleman there. She always adored him in black. It made him look powerful and like the king of the room. And his skin, rich and golden, glowed beneath the ambient lights. 

Silence covered the two of them like a thin blanket--uncomfortable. Lewis couldn’t remember a time when he was uncomfortable in her presence…until now. Moments later, his security detail let him know the car was present. He prepared to bid his farewells but was stopped by Anvika’s hand on his arm. 

“Wait…are you staying at the hotel with the…” In a nervous ramble, she went on and on describing the luxurious building she was put in on behalf of her agency. It was 22 stories tall with the most beautiful lights surrounding the entryway, a maroon carpet leading into the foyer, and a surplus of botanical plants that made her feel as though she was walking through a palace. Lewis, amused by her nervous tangent, nodded.

Anvika’s eyes lit up with hope. “Will you…if you’re up to it…will you stop by, please? I-I’m on the 14th floor, room 44. Will you please just,” she sighed deeply and tore her eyes from his just momentarily, “I miss you, Lewis. And…”

And there it was. He stammered slightly and suddenly felt small under her hopeful gaze. He missed her too. He nodded once more. Anvika released the breath she had no clue she held and assured him she’d be there whenever he decided to come, just to let her know. Before he was whisked away by security, he heard her voice in his ears once again, “Thank you.”

+

Anvika’s feet nearly burned holes in the floor as she paced around her suite. Her thumb was in her mouth, a chewtoy for her nerves. Her eyes cut toward the small wall clock near the bathroom. He said he’d arrive within an hour. Two minutes late. Would he show up? Her heart was a snare drum in her chest as she contemplated her emotions. 

“Calm down,” she ordered herself, though it came out muffled as her teeth drug down the side of her thumb, pulling a tag of sensitive skin with it. She winced when she tugged too hard. “Dammit.” 

Then, there was a soft knock. Her head shot up and a gasp came from her. He came. Anvika frantically patted her hair, hoping that her bun didn’t look awful, and sped over to the suite door. She took a deep breath before pulling it open. She smiled small, “Hi.” She moved out of the way to welcome his presence. 

Falling into natural order, Lewis made his way toward the couch in the living area of the suite. He sat off to the side, nearest the right arm of the couch with his hands in his lap. She sat at the opposite end with her knees toward inward, brushing against his gently. His eyes were glued to the floor. The tenseness made her uneasy. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly and played with the loose strings at the cuff of her (his) oversized sweatshirt. “I had a therapy session not too long after everything happened,” she began. Her admission made him look at her. His eyes, once so full of life and love, were just as dull as the walls surrounding them. “We had what they call a breakthrough. You know, finally getting to the root cause of why we think, act, and speak the way we do. And it was humbling, to say the least…to realize that I hurt you in a way I never thought I was capable of.” 

She chuckled breathlessly but nothing was funny. Her tongue circled her teeth, a nervous habit, as she fought to keep the tears at bay. Lewis’ eyes, prickling slowly, stayed on her. 

“You left. And that hurt me. But you left because I hurt you. That hurt even more. And I am so sorry. You’ve been nothing but good to me and I let my own fears and insecurities cloud my judgment. I was so focused on not screwing up our friendship that I managed to do it anyway because I was neglecting how you’d feel, too.” 

He listened intently. So, she continued, “You asked what I was scared of. I never gave you a clear answer, not because I didn’t know, but because I didn’t want to be honest with you. And simply put, the idea of not only loving another man but losing another man that I love scares me. You already know I was in that messed up situation where I was nothing more than a trophy and a warm body. I didn’t want to be that for any man again. I swore I would never be that for any man again.”

Lewis’ eyes softened and for the first time since they sat down, he spoke, “You know you’re much more than that.” His hand then found its way to her thigh, caressing it softly. 

Anvika gave a closed-lipped smile. “And, um…I was upset because I had these strict boundaries, you know, no significant other means no type of intimate activity, right? I crossed that line with you and I beat myself up over it. In my head, I totally rejected this order I placed on myself and just felt internally guilty because at the time, I thought that was the beginning of experiencing heartache again. That manifested into a fear of ruining our friendship because we’d never crossed a line like that before. We went from friends to lovers in the span of 12 hours, and Lewis, that was a crazy shift.

“You always hear stories about people trying the relationship thing with their friends and they end up never speaking again. You mean too much to me for us to never speak again, so when I say I was miserable, that’s what I mean, especially because I put us in this position. None of this excuses what I did, but it was time to finally be honest. I’m sorry.” 

Silence. She hated silence. Especially when it was uncomfortable. He still hadn’t said anything but she saw the wheels turning in his head. She watched as his eyes darted from left to right, a sign that he was running through a series of logical thoughts--a million a minute. She waited patiently for his response. 

“I felt rejected,” he said softly. “Like I was good for that moment where you let loose but then after that…” 

Anvika sighed heavily. The  conversation was going deeper than she anticipated. 

Lewis dropped his hand from her thigh and brought it to his face, rubbing softly. “When you care for someone all you want to do is be there for them. To be someone that gives them the love, honor, and respect they deserve. I’ve seen how these situations have broken you down and ruined your self-esteem and trust in men, and yet, deep down even while simply being a friend, all I wanted to do was love you and show you differently. So when that happened…what I thought was placed in my grasp was taken just as quickly as it was given. And I would think, is the thought of being with me that bad? That does something to a person, Ani.” 

There was a strain in voice as he asked her what he’d been thinking for weeks. Her confessions gave more insight on why she acted the way she did, but just as she said, it didn’t change the fact that he was hurting. But, to lay his heart on the table the way he wanted with her awaiting ears was relieving. Maybe they would get somewhere.

“I know, darling, and I am sorry,” she said quickly between his words, but quickly retreated so he could continue. “Keep going…” 

“I can’t make you love me the way I love you, I can’t make you mean it in the way that I do, and I can’t make you want something more with me,” he said truthfully though the thought pained him. “So if friends is what keeps you in my life then--”

“I want to try,” Anvika cut him off. His eyes cut to her. His heart began to pound in his chest. “I was told that your lover should be your friend. I’ve experienced you as my friend for six years and I’m starting to understand that it’s okay for those lines to blur, but I only want that with you. If you’ll still have me.” Though her words ceased, her eyes, filled with tears, pleaded with him. Lewis exhaled.

You, my love, are a gem.

+

At that moment, Anvika understood why people made love often. She wasn’t a very sexual person, opting for other forms of intimacy to deepen her relationship with her partner. But when it came to Lewis, she knew he would have her addicted and yearning for more. 

He was so attentive to the needs of her body and gentle in executing them. He was patient, knowing he was the first man she’d been with in four years and that alone made her desire for him grow greater. 

Each graze of his lips against her jaw, sensual caress of her chest, and deep thrust had her singing his name. It was the sweetest song he’d heard. 

Lewis made love to her slowly, just as she requested. 

“Can you go slow, please?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. 

“Whatever you want, baby.”

He was used to things moving fast, but he was willing to slow down as much as necessary. Plus, it gave him the opportunity to take in every face she made as he dug deep into her. 

Anvika was pressed against him, her legs trembling around his waist as he guided her movements. Her head was thrown back as she succumbed to the pleasure she’d been without for so long. Her jaw hung as a string of profanities fell. Lewis couldn’t help but chuckle. “Feel good, baby?” 

Anvika let out a breathy whine as her body grew warmer and warmer. The whine turned into a sharp gasp when Lewis’ tattooed hand slithered around her neck and squeezed. “Lewis.” His action made her jerk against him. 

“I asked you a question, beloved,” he whispered against her jaw, peppering kisses along her damp skin. 

Anvika nodded, “Yes! So good.” Lewis turned her head and brought his mouth to hers—a heated exchange of moans and passion transferred from one to another. “I love you.” The words fell from her lips as she reached her peak.

To be loved. Against her skin, he whispered back, “I love you.”

+

The water felt amazing against her skin as she stood beneath the rainfall-like water head. It soaked her once pressed hair, causing it to shrink and revert to its natural state. When Anvika wiped the water from her race, she saw Lewis staring at her, eyes full of love with hints of lust.

“What?” she asked innocently, welcoming the forthcoming feeling of his hands at her hips. 

“You’re pretty,” he said simply. He swirled a strand of her hair around his finger and watched as it recoiled. Her big eyes followed his movement. “Very pretty.”

Anvika smiled like a school-girl who found out her crush liked her back. “You are, too.” She pecked his lips and prepared to turn toward the water again but was halted by Lewis pressing her against the wall, hiking her leg up, and capturing her lips in a soul-snatching kiss. 

She whimpered and tossed her arms around his shoulders. His hand slid between them, his fingers dancing along her most sensitive place, working her up. “Can I?” His arousal nudged her thigh, desperate to get a release in her warmth. 

“Yes…”

+

They ordered takeout and ate comfortably on her bed whilst Sex in the City played on the television in the background. They were bare as the day they were born, but it didn’t spark the same excitement as it did just hours before. It felt natural and domestic. 

Anvika sat on his lap, eyes fixed on the television screen as he fed her their shared vegan pasta. The sounds of her heavy chewing made him laugh. “Is it good?” She hummed.

“You’re the only person that could convince me to eat vegan food.”

Lewis shrugged with a lazy smile, claiming for himself what she did not take off the fork. “Because I’m magical.” 

Anvika giggled and nodded, pressing her lips against his. “You are, darling, and I love you because of it.” 

Lewis wouldn’t get used to hearing that. What scared her before came so naturally in the moment and he was so thankful that it did. He finally got what he wanted and he’d never let her go. 

He smiled and it finally reached his eyes, “I love you more.”

And it was so.

[hexonthepeach]

perfume - k.dy

pairing: f4!nct doyoung x fem!reader (past johnny x reader mentions)

genre: hana yori dango/boys over flowers/meteor garden/f4 thailand reverse harem au (mild allusions and characterization only)

warnings:

bully-to-friends-to-lovers, established relationship, polyamory, dom!doyoung, glucose father adjacent, scent kink, control over food consumption/bathing (for scent kink purposes only), gratuitous use of the l-word by anti-romantics, angst/feelings, flashbacks and history

🔞 edging, cockwarming, orgasm denial, oral (m/f receiving), passionate sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, bukkake, consensual negotiated kink (degradation, somnophilia), anal play (f receiving)

wordcount: 20k

author's note: this is a doyoung-centered continuation of my ongoing F4 au. it can stand on it's own but i recommend reading Dive for more context. Doyoung's role in the F4 is Sojirou Nishikado/So Yijung/Ximen/Kavin (playboy control freak) so this fic incorporates elements of his secondary romance within the original/adaptations, now with y/n.

read on AO3

fic headers / dividers credit to @ saradika + please do not repost

Freshman year, Kocher International. 

Head down in your books at lunch, trying so hard to escape scrutiny from above, you pretend to be no one. 

It shouldn't be hard to be nobody, otherwise ignored and immune to whatever social contract deliberates your life. In a better world you'd be invisible. It's a superpower you'd wish for much more over the usual playground answers of super speed or control of the weather. 

Let me be unobserved, you'd thought. Let me open a door and not worry about a bucket full of dirty mop water falling on my head or the inevitable posting of a grainy video of it, posted in a Telegram channel to fulfill some checklist made up by bored, rich monsters. 

Your four-generation-behind phone with its cracked screen proved useful in some regards; you never heard about these public pillories until some kind stranger sent you a screenshot of them, usually in the context of whatever plans they'd made to torture you again.

Every notification is already a pain, driving splintered glass into the pads of your fingers. Just now you're reading a text message from your father asking you to pick up more cheap instant noodles from the convenience store on your walk home to round out whatever scraps he's picked up from the local restaurant your mother bussed tables and cleaned dishes at when she needed extra money.

"Why is Saint Kim watching you?" your friend asks across the table. She's been looking up at the room this entire time, unable to give you even a moment of her attention or assistance to finish the English homework you'd been working on. You'd been rushing all day to finish it before afternoon class, after a late morning of delivery driving for your family's drycleaning business.

"Are you sure it's not the Devil?" you ask, parsing through the lines of a book you'd bought secondhand, trying to match verse for verse.

"No," she says, shaking her head when you finally look up. "Don't react. He's coming this way."

"Shit," you say under your breath, eyes flicking to your untouched lunch. "I need you to leave now. Take these trays and dump them and I'll meet you outside of 4th. If I make it."

You don't look up from your book as you mutter, but you follow her path and her hesitancy as she internally debates whether to heed your warning or watch from a safe distance.

Your handwriting becomes a scrawl of nonsense you have to cross out in sharp lines. You begin the verse again, holding your breath as you will your entire body and mind back to a manufactured calm. 

If you can't be invisible, you can at least play your role. You're copacetic by the time you see the tips of polished black wingtips beside you, before you hear the Saint clear his throat.

“Y/N.”

He drops a familiar, school-mandated clear cosmetics bag next to your ratty backpack. The already embarrassing stash of tampons and old chapstick has a new bounty including a "used" pregnancy test stick with a second line drawn in with pink gel pen jumbled into its contents.

"You left this . . ." he says, not finishing the sentence to indicate where he'd found it. You immediately hear a titter. Your flock of spectators is growing by the second and the useful idiot at its center seems wholly unconcerned.

"Thanks," you say, not bothering to look up or to even hide the bag. You keep writing, blindly, the English words just rounded shapes flowing from your shaking hand. 

Their kind fed off attention, your only defense is to starve them of it.

The Saint clears his throat, again. Apparently he’s not just unconcerned, he’s also unwilling to leave.

"Aren't you grateful Doie found it before someone else did?" You don’t have to look up to know it's Miranda who’s asked, glimpsing her manicure as she picks up your bag, green gems shining on perfectly-tipped nails. 

"Oh this must not be hers. I didn't think she could afford this."

You think she might be diving into the stash for one of the Lilies' pointed additions but no–you watch in horror as she plucks out the bottle of perfume you'd been carrying with you since your parents had gifted you a single, tiny box last Christmas. 

"Chanel?" she says, laughing. "No wonder you smell like my grandma."

"Probably a knock-off," another of the Lilies says. Ginger, by the sound of her grating voice. Her handwriting on the board in homeroom listing out your abortions is as familiar as the pink gel pen script on the extra large foil condom with xoxo slut written on it staring at you through the plastic.

"Definitely a knock-off. You have a nose, don't you, Doie?"

You look up, finally, at Saint Kim. He's alone for once–the other one, the Devil Kim that shadows him is still up on the second level, leaning on the railing over his shoulder. You watch the Saint’s small mouth turn into a moue of distaste, nose wrinkling at the proffered bottle.

"Authentic," he says, capping it before offering it back to you. Your field of vision is obstructed by that veined, pale hand–fingernails as perfectly groomed as the rich girls who surround him.

You reach up to take your most prized possession back only to find he doesn't let go, holding tight when you try to pluck it from his fingers.

"You should know . . . " he says, sniffing slightly.

You look up at him with alarm blazing in your eyes. Every word Kim Doyoung says to you writes your next damnation. You should ignore him, run, anything–but you can't look away once you've met his assessing gaze, his tall frame limned in the fluorescent cafeteria lights like he's carrying his own personal halo. 

Even seeing him at a distance every day can't depreciate how ethereally handsome he is. You know better than to swoon at that elegant face, night-black hair pushed away from his forehead. Beneath his family’s charities and his PR-scripted concern you know he’s just another ungodly creation birthed of nepotism and curated genes.

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper. 

"You should know it doesn't suit you."

The laughter that follows is deafening.

No, you think. He's just as soulless as the rest of them.

“What do you mean actually sleep?" you ask, coyly, unbuttoning your romper. "Like after we . . . ?"

"I've managed 6 hours of sleep in 36 hours, y/n–” Doyoung seems to hesitate, dark eyebrows raising, hand pushing his hair back from his pale forehead. He snaps his laptop closed, at last, shoving it to the farthest edge of the bedside table.

No–you think–not hesitation. 

Frustration.

You've seen this man before. 

All work and no play made Saint Kim into a Prince of Hell. He'd spent the first 8 hours of your date day half-present–the other in the 4 hours of sleep he's gotten since some crisis at his family’s headquarters in London that usurped your vacation. 

A whole 2 days in which he hasn't held you at all. His rules, his chance, but you can't help but wonder what has him so clenched that he's barely even touched you since your date began at 6 am Bangkok time.

You'd taken two extra strength melatonin and slept like the dead, anticipating his early-riser schedule. Only you and God had to know you'd fallen asleep next to your day tour fit ready to be fucked in it. 

You’d made yourself so pretty only to find him in the kitchen hunched over his phone, laptop softly pinging with notifications. Doyoung had still been dressed in the clothes you'd seen him in the night before, ending his conference call to laser in on you hovering in the kitchen.

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

"No," you'd lied, pushing the piece of paper he'd left the staff on the counter, his English handwriting crisp and formal. "What’s this?" 

"We have a few dietary restrictions today," he’d said. 

"Are you saying I am what I eat?" You’d asked, taking a bite of a plump strawberry. "Is this some kind of prep?"

"It's for the date," he'd said, resigned. "Just be patient with me."

Then he'd smiled, disarming you with a casualness you hadn’t seen on him in a long time, rubbing his eyes blearily under his thick glasses. 

"Can we go back to sleep?"

And so you'd settled into his grasp on your made bed, scrolling Insta and waiting for the inevitable alarm–which turned out just to be Jungwoo delivering two iced Americanos in some gambit of checking your progress.

"Missed the floating market opening?" Jungwoo asked, eyebrows raised at the sight of Doyoung face first in a pillow.

You'd silently mouthed your thanks, leaving the drinks to sweat on the bedside table as you changed into your second outfit of the day, occasionally drifting in to check on your sleeping beauty.

It was a rare delight to have him so vulnerable beside you, blanket rucked up beneath his chin and his white teeth visible past the sweet curves of his mouth. Without consciousness your partner for the day is just Kim Doyoung, the gentler side of the same creature who you knew would often choose a couch to watch serial television with you over a day trip if you wanted it. 

But this was different.

Now instead of using his precious time to fulfill what you'd felt promised in his casual brushes against your back when you'd finally traveled out, or the way he'd stroked your leg at brunch under the table (every bite chosen by him, of course), you're being railroaded into lying still while he sleeps. 

Again.

You continue undressing, letting him drink in the sight of the lingerie set he’d left in your room. You knew it was custom made by the way it lifted each curve he’d already had access to, tailored for you as if every millimeter of your body was to account for.

Doyoung's cheeks are hollowed, lip chewed. He pulls his glasses down and regards you even more as you continue to undress yourself.

"You do know what the word 'nap' means, don't you?"

"I'm not the one who hasn't slept," you say. "At least let me get comfortable."

His stare pierces into you as you turn around, stripping for utility rather than give him a show he clearly hasn’t earned. You check yourself in the floor-length mirror beside the bathroom, viewing yourself through his eyes as you pluck the lace over your curves to sit just right. 

“Do you like it?” you ask.

You may as well be speaking to the floor when you turn around, finding him buried in the pillows only by the dark fall of his hair.

“You can’t be that tired,” you say. 

You're used to taking a late afternoon siesta in peak summer but you're far too excited to even consider sleep right now. For one, it's sweltering–windows open to allow the noises of hawkers and traffic not far off to drift in.

Second, you've never been more turned on in your life. 

You can still feel the tingling in your toes from when he’d slipped his hand up under the hem of your shorts, teasing at the velvety smooth skin on your inner thigh as you tried not to choke on your mimosa.

You make your way to the bed languidly, crawling up the thick white duvet with a teasing smile.

"Just stay on your side of the bed, please," Doyoung says.

"Oh," you say, collapsing on top of the covers beside him. "Well you're no fun." 

"And you're impatient and uncouth," he retorts in a way that makes you wonder if he really means it. 

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

"Too hot." He rolls on his back, flapping his half-buttoned shirt in the breeze from the fans. You sigh dramatically, collapsing into the pillows in the middle of the bed. 

"You should get naked, then.” You say. “Don't be modest on my account."

He opens one eye to glare at you, finding you relaxed and inviting beside him. His throat bobs, gaze flicking to the ceiling.

"That year of celibacy really took a toll on you, didn't it? Two hours. Indulge me."

"Please, sir," you whisper. "I've been such a good girl."

It had been a stipulation of the F4’s latest deal–24 hours for you to recover from your first night before the gauntlet began. Doyoung had been more than strict about the terms, leaving you your own set of instructions including–not surprisingly–not touching yourself.

Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t think about masturbation constantly, at all hours of the day. He may as well have told you to try not to think about a white bear for how powerful the intrusive thought had taken over since then.

"You'll get your reward. Later," he says. He's an impassable wall, stretched out beside you, so you content yourself with staring at his profile. Even under these oppressive circumstances you appreciate the light dusting of freckles on his cheek brought out by the sun, the dark lashes dusting his cheeks over the slight bluish marks of sleep deprivation.

"Yes, sir."

It only takes a few minutes for him to snap at you again.

"Stop that," 

"Stop what?" 

"Getting so handsy."

You hadn’t even realized your hand had drifted over the plane of his belly under his white shirt, too absorbed with watching the muscles in his cheek spasm as you inched nearer. 

"Can I help it when you're right there?" you ask. "I thought this was your–"

Doyoung rolls you before you can slither any closer, pressing your back into the sheets with his hands on your wrists, knees digging into your thighs. 

If the intention was to get you to stop being uncomfortably turned on it has the opposite effect: you let out a moan of pleasure, legs twisting together for friction. He slams them shut between his own, groin pressed into yours.

He's as hard as you hoped, and you lift up into him to let him know you know it.

"If you don't behave I'll have to cancel this," he warns directly in your ear, sounding as choked as you feel. "I thought you were already trained." 

"Trained to fight back," you correct, pressing against him with your own strength.

"That's not trained," he says, lifting up. "I'll blame your lack of experience and experienced partners. Nothing we can't work on. Until then you'll follow my rules or I pull you from the game. Understood?" 

You let a few beats pass, accepting there's no way out and you don't have anything to throw back at him.

"Yes, sir," you pout.

"Now that's a good girl," he says.

Just as quickly as you were taken down you're let go, inhaling deeply now that you're not being pressed into the soft bed. 

"You really don't want to play with me before you sleep?" you ask, brushing your lips against his chin as he crouches over you. You’d be a liar if you didn’t say you enjoyed the way his nostrils flare a bit, working his pink bottom lip between his teeth. Whatever arbitrary rules he’d set for your time together you can tell he’s at least regretting it right now, stiff length brushing against your bare leg as you lift your knee to test it. 

“Are you trying to make me punish you?” he asks, voice husky. 

"I thought you liked it when I was a brat," you say, cocking your head. 

Doyoung sighs, eyes half-lidded. "I do. But not when you're using it to avoid intimacy."

Your throat clenches, a hard knot forming in it you can't seem to swallow as your face gets even hotter.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. 

“I think you know what I mean,” he continues. “It’s not like we both don’t have a habit of using sex as a distraction from anything emotionally challenging.”

You gape up at him in disbelief. 

Of course you’d never been able to hide that aspect of your last relationship with him when he’d often been right outside the door. All of the F4 knew how many times your arguments with he-who-should-not-be-named-especially-not-while-in-bed-with-his-best-friend had ended in you shutting him up by any means necessary. Not that you didn’t enjoy it at the time–but rather you understood it wasn’t the most healthy template for a relationship. 

"I thought this wasn't going to be about feelings," you blurt out.

“Proving my point.”

Doyoung tsks, tapping your cheek with his fingers–nowhere near a slap but just as effective, soothing the spot with his thumb. Soon he’s brushing your tears away when they inevitably spring up and you have to turn to hide their seep into the mass of pillows.

"If I wanted therapy I wouldn't be here, Kim Doyoung," you say, trying to bury your face in the piles of soft down. 

“Shh, silly girl,” He gently pulls you out from hiding, soothing you with a warm kiss against your forehead when you stop struggling and let him hold you, releasing that surge of emotion and writing it off to hormones and the sting of rejection.

“You know I’m speaking to myself here, too,” he states softly. “Bear with me, I’m learning.” 

"Do you even really like me?" you ask, face pressed into his chest. 

It’s horrible to admit this specific insecurity but you can’t help it. Being abandoned multiple times in your life when you’d finally, finally let your walls down would damage anyone’s trust. You’d hoped this day with him would be easy and carefree and light, not dimmed by the shadows of your anti-romantic histories. 

"I adore you, actually." He settles partially on top of you, leg wrapped over yours as he props himself up on his elbow. "Which is why I want to start this right. You wanted the F4 boyfriend experience. This is mine."

"Last I checked you’ve never seriously dated anyone," you groan, sniffling. 

"Last I checked, neither have you." 

Well, that connects. You swallow your fears, relaxing into the cage of his embrace, retreating a little from the vulnerability of being exposed.

"What kind of girlfriend experience were you expecting, then?"

A lazy smile gusts across his features. You can't help but find it a bit sinister after being handled so indelicately. 

“I don’t always know what’s going on in that empty little head of yours." He accompanies his statement with a brush of his thumb across your flushed cheek, tracing your semi-parted lips in a way that sends sparks down to your core. 

"I’d like to stop guessing and actually get you to let me treat you the way you want to be treated. Have you ever asked yourself what you want?"

You panic a little, considering his words. Living with disappointment had made this question a hard one to even consider. 

"I just want a good time. Isn't that what you want, too?"

Doyoung seems to ignore your ask, drifting into a relaxed state against the pillows. His hand traces the hairline at your temple. "You know I worry about you. All the time, actually.” 

His voice is lower, a little wistful, and it’s doing just as much as the slight brushes of his fingertips to make you throb all over again. A lack of sleep must have made him delusional, you think. This is not the Kim Doyoung you know.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

"Is that why you're always involving yourself in my business?" you ask, matching his tone in how breathless you are. You expect a quip, not the sincerity written on his face when he swoops in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, too fleeting to be anything but sweet and sincere. 

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? It certainly wasn’t just to get into your pants. I want you. All of you.” 

You're taken aback by his honesty. You'd always suspected his constant meddling in your affairs came from a place of interest but you'd never wanted to give him too much of a response–maybe a little afraid his fickle nature and fear of commitment would mean he’d give up on your friendship, too. 

Another thing you knew about Saint Kim: he had a tendency to run like a frightened rabbit at the first sign of emotional neediness in his partners. You'd never given him reason to believe you expected anything from him, but you'd also stopped fighting him on giving you what he desired to give.

It wasn’t just presents or expensive experiences, of course. He’d found out quickly those weren’t welcome without some cajoling. No–his art was in knowing what you needed even before you realized it, nudging it across your path. 

You’d figured out his deviousness after the umpteenth time someone was charitable at your little florist shop part time job, offering to fix your scooter in exchange for a nice arrangement for a proposal. As soon as you’d seen the fully restored bike outside and the customer didn’t return your texts you’d called Doyoung, completely unsurprised to find he was at the coffee shop next door, waiting to pick up his flowers.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you’d said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“What makes you think I’m giving you charity,” he’d responded, dropping a department store bag and your own custom coffee order on the counter. “You’ll wear this when I come to pick you up tonight at closing, including the jewelry and perfume. I need you to play your part again. The flowers are a consolation for the heart we’re breaking.”

He’d enlisted you as his defacto “new girlfriend” for the more difficult separations, and though you’d gotten your share of a glass of expensive wine thrown in your face more often than he ever experienced it (his type always went after the easier target) it wasn’t like he didn’t have a replacement dress ready and a nice dinner waiting after you’d cleaned off the Chateau Lafitte Rothschild. 

You have to face the fact that no matter how many times he’d treated you like his girlfriend, you’d never actually expected him to want you to be one. 

“I’ve waited a very long time for this, Y/N. Which is why I want our first time together–alone," he adds quickly. "–To be special."

It's difficult to believe him but you're spellbound all the same, watching pink dust his cheeks and his ears turn a shade darker as he most likely realizes how ridiculous it is considering him fucking you senseless the other night with the help of two other men. 

But you can empathize with his anxiety. Yesterday's Thai massage he'd arranged had helped you work out the flight or fight of anticipating being alone with him. It’s back now, but different. The way he's looking at you makes you feel infinitely naked, infinitely unlocked.

"What do you mean special?" you ask, wary, hoping to see some glimmer of uncertainty or falsehood in his gaze. You want to believe it's a lie or just some artful prank, trying to ignore your heart flip-flopping in your chest. 

It’s a mistake to let him see you squirm considering it’s Doyoung’s drug of choice–his lips twist into another menacing grin as he plays with the charm on your necklace. Another of his little gifts.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Doyoung asks, dripping self-satisfaction. “Or are you going to chicken out on me?”

You turn over so he can't see your expression, realizing he’s throwing your own words from the night before right back at you.

"I haven’t decided if I want to date you, yet,” you say. 

"Maybe not," he says. "But you'll have to pardon me for wanting to show you this good time you supposedly want while also treating you decently. Unless we're no longer friends?"

"We are," you say, biting your lip, "even if you enjoy torturing me."

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy. 

"Metaphorically speaking."

"You have no idea, do you?" You can feel the edge of his glasses as he bites the place where your clavicle connects to your shoulder, his hand snaking around your bare middle.

"You could show me," you invite, mid-gasp, as your body responds to his long-awaited touch. His fingers are almost cool in contrast to the heat in the room, tracing circles in your skin that have you squirming. 

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

"We don't have to have sex," you offer. "Maybe you could just–"

"Shh," he says, fingers skimming lower. "My terms. Are you going to stay quiet for me?"

You nod into the comforter, breath hitching as he touches you through the thin layer of your underwear, veined hand flexing as he molds the damp fabric to your body. It's such a delicate pressure but he's already memorized your shape, index finger sinking into your folds, gently rubbing a ring around your throbbing clit.

You're sticky and swelling with each pass, entranced by how good he is at teasing you, cherishing the way he sucks in his breath when he pushes into the indent of your hole.

“Doie,” you whine, leaning back into him, trying to get him to kiss you as he laughs into your hair. 

“Quiet,” he reminds you, kissing your cheek and teasing the seat of your underwear where they're soaked the most. "You want to take these off?" 

You shake your head, sensing it would be too easy of you to give in.

"That wasn't a question," he says, tugging down the band, leaving them trapped tight around your thighs. "I don't want you to wear them until I tell you that you can." 

You feel your core clench at the way his voice cracks, his fingers sliding back up to slowly and delicately draw a thread of moisture from your bared slit. You whine a little when he stops touching you, bringing his fingertip to your lips.

"Taste it." 

You let your mouth fall open, let him run it over your tongue, beginning from the middle and swirling over it. 

"Describe it," he murmurs. "If I like your answer, maybe I'll indulge you more." 

"Salt," you say, immediately. 

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes. 

"Have I taught you anything? I want specific notes. Flavors." 

You're transported back to the time he'd taken you to your first (and last) wine tasting. Spitting into a bucket and being lectured about body and tannins and soil conditions was the last thing you'd wanted to do after an hours-long trip to a vineyard but you'd indulged him, allowed one glass of what he considered the only drinkable wine on the premises. 

An unrefined palette, he'd called you. 

"Fruity and floral," you make up. "A nice lingering finish. Want a taste?" 

He looks down at you behind his glasses, equal parts amused and unimpressed. "Did you use the soap I asked you to?" 

Your brain glitches at that. Had you? You'd been in such a rush to go out–

You gasp when he palms your breast, squeezing the meat of it through the breathable fabric of your matching bra.

"I'll take that as a no," he says. "I guess you're not ready." 

He rolls off of you, leaving you in a lurch as you realize your legs are locked together by your underwear. You move to remove them, taking off your bra as well to avoid the awkwardness of being partially dressed.

By the time you're done you realize he's on his back, the hand that had been stroking you buried in his loose khakis. 

"What are you doing?" you ask, more than a little pissed off at the sight of him masturbating as if you aren't ready and willing to assist beside him. 

"Getting ready for our date. You can watch. No touching." He cracks an eye to look at you before closing it again. "Either of us."

"Are you edging me, Kim Doyoung?" Your menacing tone is entirely natural.

He hums a bit, working himself at a more punishing pace, knuckles peeking out from under his boxer briefs with each full pass over his length.

"Can't even look at me? Afraid you'll lose control?" You sidle down on the bed, beside his tensed thigh. You can smell a bit of the ozone on him from a morning in the sun, your knees knocking into his calves when you move over him.

"I don't trust you," he says, voice deeper than you've ever heard it.

"Is it touching if you finish on my face?" you ask when he finally blinks up at your presence, hovering over him with your breasts dangerously close to his clothed thighs.

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

He pulls himself free from his pants, surprising you with how dark and weeping his tip is as his thumb encircles it. Pools of white precum spatter on his lean, pale belly, your head dipping dangerously close–

"I said watch." He grabs at your hair, denied when you bend up again, showing him your dirty tongue.

He groans, fingers clenching air. "You were put on this earth to test me, weren't you?"

Still, he doesn't break his attention on the way you roll the drops you'd licked from his clean skin in your mouth, swallowing once you've fully enjoyed the taste.

"A little sweet you say," teasing him. "Drinking pineapple juice?"

"Brat," Doyoung says, but he's almost gone–eyes dark with desire, gently gripping your skull as you continue to ease in.

You're a master at following his lead, blowing a breath over the spot you'd licked, and then his length until his movements slow, cherishing the way you hold your mouth over his cock.

"If you can't give me what I want, then at least give me a taste," you say, sticking out your tongue in offering. You love the way he responds to the sight, needy and losing it when you hold eye contact, drilling into him.

"No," he echoes, weakly. He's too smart to push into your open mouth, instead driving his hips up to fuck his fist as you watch his glasses slide down his nose, eyes clenching shut. 

"You're no fun," you say. "Just a little swallow can't hurt?"

"No. Don't want to ruin it," he says cryptically, making a choked noise as you brush his fingers with your nose and he has to pull you away.

"I promise you it . . . It will be worth it," he manages. His jaw clenches as his movements relax, finally in control of you both.

"It better be," you say. 

You lower your lashes as your eyes flick between his cock and his face, stretching out your tongue to the point that drool begins to drip down your chin, splashing on his whitened knuckles and the tight stretch of his balls peeking out from his underwear. He bites his lip, breath holding as he starts to spiral.

The first thick rope of white rockets up his half-bared chest. Soon he's spurting even more, cum reaching his rucked up shirt, a little getting on his glasses. 

He's so out of it he doesn't fight as you wrest out of his limp hold. You clean up the sticky mess on his skin with your tongue, his abdominal muscles twitching under the light flicks and drags. 

"Want to give me some notes?" you ask, straddling him without resting any weight down, taking off his glasses. This time when you move to kiss him he rises weakly to meet you, lips parting to accept what you haven't swallowed. 

In truth, he tastes wonderful. Coffee, a little menthol from toothpaste and a hint of the watermelon you'd shared earlier mix beneath the coat of his spend.

He licks into your mouth until you moan, your body throbbing with unfulfilled pleasure. You follow him as he sinks back into the pillows, enjoying having him at your disposal, your core leaving wet trails on his thigh when you brush against the fabric.

"I'm going to wait until you're asleep and use you if you don't help me get off," you threaten, pressing soft kisses to his slack face. It’s no use. Doyoung has passed out again, lower teeth visible as he snores softly, forehead sheened with drying sweat.

Fuck it, you think. 

You ooze off of him to take your second cold shower of the day, and maybe get acquainted with one of the fancy showerheads in his massive walk-in while you use his special soap. 

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

Your mystery destination isn't an unknown–it's in every tourist booklet and blog you'd skimmed before your trip, thinking you'd be on your own to find a good spot to traverse to. But it still takes your breath away the moment the car door opens in the sprawl of motorbikes and delivery trucks and Doyoung takes your hand to pull you into Paradise.

Pak Khlong Talat is a bustle of energy well after dark, the time you know its treasures are delivered fresh and unbloomed, wrapped in newspaper and steeped in crushed ice. For as far as you can see the market sprawls along Chak Phet road, but even more overwhelming than the sights and sounds is the scent. 

Jasmine, roses, lavender. Thousands upon thousands of blooms strung up and tended to by night owl vendors, delicate arrangements hand-sewed by artisans streetside into garlands so well-crafted Doyoung has to tug you to keep you moving, onwards to some other unspoken destination. 

"I was worried you might hate flowers after working with them for so long. I take it you like it?" he asks, indulging you when you ask if you can take his picture at a particularly lovely hang of garlands, the purple-blue light perfect for the film you'd loaded into your father's old camera. Photography had never been your craft, but after your dad had passed you'd made an effort to capture more of your memories, cherishing what you'd taken for granted before.

“It’s perfect,” you say, admiring him through the viewfinder. "But can you look like you're having fun?" 

Your model is stiff, mouth a moue as he checks the street for other observers or a possible collision with a laden handcart. 

"Fun?" Doyoung asks, and you snap his picture on the offbeat, enjoying his look of surprise. 

“Like you've taken your date to one of the most romantic places on earth, after buttering her up with a night cruise of Chao Praya and finally letting her eat real food." 

He sniffs at a fall of marigolds, a smug look on his face that you commit to film, right before he sneezes. 

"For the record, we're eating after this. Som tam hardly counts as a meal, I just didn’t want that drink going to your head." 

You're shepherded through the vast warehouse of the main market, to an adjacent street, and into a non-descript building painted in a funereal white.

"Are we even allowed to be here?" you ask, once the key code is entered and you enter the strange business. 

"I called in a favor," he says, taking your hand, leading you up a metal staircase past a simple storefront of dried blooms and shelves laden with boxes and bottles alike.

An apothecary? An alchemist's shop? The purpose of the space eludes you.

"An atelier," Doyoung explains. "One of the most sought out in the world."

There's the distant hum of the city outside and a central air you're unused to in this climate but the upstairs is quiet–by all accounts either an office or a laboratory, or a mixture of both. The central working area is a chaotic but organized space filled with tables of glassware and dried floral arrangements contrasting potted orchids, small beakers of coffee beans littered amidst rows of labeled brown bottles.

"So this is how they make perfume," you say, inspecting a stoppered bottle labeled "Gerianol 10%".

"Not just any perfume. The best. Here." Doyoung leads you to a much less cluttered workstation, the desk arranged with the lights still on, a note detailing some instruction you can barely read before he slips it into the pocket of his slim-tailored pants. Beneath it is a notebook, scrawled with a perfect cursive English you recognize from the cards he’d included in boxes or bags whenever he’d bothered to claim their contents. 

"Sit," he instructs. You think he means the comfortable chair but before you can sit down he presses you to the desk, caging you in. 

"Sit," he repeats, hands on your hips through your slinky skirt, lifting you to the bench. You scoot back, carefully, the white blooms of some exotic flower brushing against your cheek until he can move the vase a careful distance. 

"Do you understand what we’re doing here?"

You can't possibly know what he means, eye level with the graceful column of his neck and his exposed collarbone beneath his translucent button-down, drowning in the melange of scents but most especially his clean, neutral cologne. 

"No," you say, honestly, heart beating fast. 

He picks up a corked flask from some kind of metal scale, dipping a thin thread of paper into it to waft it a fair distance from your nose.

"Before we came here--before you even agreed to this trip–I sent instructions to my friend for a specialty blend of their creation. It took quite a bit of back-and-forth–I even visited here last month to take a private class and make sure we prepared the base and middle to your standards."

"For me?" 

You feel dizzy, reaching out to take the sample and smell it again, his hand capturing your own before you can bring it too close to your nose. He wafts it for you, expectant as you absorb the details.

Indeed, it smells divine–exactly the kind of warm, bright notes that make your heart feel at ease. There’s something floral and citrus worked in, not too heavy, the finish leaving you with an impression of a lazy summer afternoon. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “Did you make this to match what you knew I liked?”

"Yes.” Doyoung exhales, looking almost sheepish. "I had some references. That cheap shampoo you never stop buying, the Lush exfoliator with the orange blossom, even–" he shudders a bit– "that awful Chanel you doused yourself in, in high-school."

"Coco Mademoiselle," you say. "It's been years since I–"

"It didn't suit you," he says, standing up to sample another bottle from the neat row. 

Something dawns on you, a distant memory locking into place.

"It was you," you gasp in realization. "You're the one who got rid of it. I should have known when you tried to give me that bottle of Jo Malone–"

“It had already turned. You need to store your scents away from direct light.”

“It was a keepsake!” There were very few possessions from your youth that you’d been able to hold onto–not only because your parents had been barely able to afford your school uniforms, much less gifts. What little you’d had was lost when your house was destroyed by the men your father owed money to, this small thing neglected in the destruction.

“It didn't suit you because it wasn't made for you," he continues. "You wore it because you thought it would make you fit in, when you should have made what you wore wear you–"

"Please, stop."

You have to bite your lip to the point of pain, remembering how excited you'd been to unwrap that tiny bit of luxury your parents had saved up to buy you, your mother sure the brand name would save you from another day of humiliation. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that the cutout ad from the magazine on your wall was for the model, not the actual perfume, but you felt loved by the gesture all the same.

Hundreds of thousands of won an ounce for it to only turn on your skin, well before afternoons spent on the basketball court under the thankless sun. That memento had aged from pink to a sickly rose unused on your cosmetic shelf, a totem from a time when you imagined yourself belonging. Before it had disappeared, like so many other things.

You can't remember the last time you'd worn anything, had never even gone near that section of a department store after the humiliation of being made fun of for smelling cheap.

“My dad skipped lunches and my mom worked double shifts to get that for Christmas my first year in Kocher,” you say. “Mira was the brand ambassador for that campaign, you know.”

Mira had been your idol even before you won the scholarship she’d established to attend Kocher. Perfect, beautiful, but most of all the first girl in their sphere to show you genuine kindness.

"It must be so easy for you," you say, wiping your face. You rarely cried these days but that memory was particularly painful, a reminder of how often you’d assumed Doyoung found you just as offensive. Not just your scent, you thought, but you.

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard. 

"Whatever you want, you can have. Whatever you don't like, you can get rid of. I'm sorry, I don't live in your world. I can’t just throw something away when it’s not useful."

"No," he says, quietly, abandoning his explanation. "That was thoughtless of me. I can replace it–"

“Can you?” You glare up at him. “Is this what you really want? To dress me up like your perfect doll and feed me from your hand so I’m more able to suit you?

Doyoung looks like he's going to be ill, every design in his head unraveling before your eyes. You’d feel sorry for him if you didn't know this was a lesson worth imparting.

"Don't ever offer to replace what you don’t know the true value of," you say, voice trembling.

There's a weighted silence as he considers his next words. You still haven't slipped away from him, choosing to hold your ground. How many times had you been forced to be the antagonist in some fruitless class warfare, unresolved? But then you also had a habit of finding battles in peacetime. 

You pluck the newest scent strip from his frozen hand and waft it between you, at the designated distance.

“Thank god this smells nothing like it,” you murmur. You offer him a wry smile, anger fading. “I couldn’t stand it.”

You feel Doyoung’s relief as he collapses against you, forehead against your hair as his arms wrap tight around your middle. You relax after a bit, cheek pressed to his collarbone as you breathe in his unique scent–a little like fresh laundry left out in the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “All these promises and plans and stupid details and at the end of the day I really . . . Don't know what I'm doing."

"I really don’t know what you’re doing, either," you say. "But I like that you try.”

"You do?" The hope in his voice makes your iciness melt a bit. You let your hands twine around his neck, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with the gesture.

“I know it’s not easy for me to admit but I do appreciate everything you do for me, Doie,” you say. 

He doesn’t respond in words but you savor the shift in his demeanor, like a weight has been lifted from him. You think even he didn’t know it was there. You ignore the glassiness in his eyes when he pulls back, choosing to look at his notes instead.

“Are these all the ingredients?” you ask, working out a few of the more familiar words. “What’s op–?”

“First things first,” he says, rolling up his sleeves.  "Did you touch yourself?" 

"No," you say, surprised by the shift. "I followed your instructions. No products with scents. No underwear."

You spread your thighs to make your point. His hands hike your skirt up, over the breadth of skin to your hips and then to the curl of your belly, his breath hitching as he finds you already glossy.

It had been a bit of a gambit considering your riverside excursion but he'd allowed you a lemongrass-based repellent–the scent of which is still clinging to your bare skin as he kneels down to press a kiss to where his fingers had traced earlier.

You jerk a bit, conscientious of the workspace as he spreads you, just that light touch making your nipples harden beneath your thin shirt and bra.  

“Are we allowed to–”

“Shh. Relax and try not to spill anything,” he interrupts, breath cooling your wetness. “I just need some inspiration.”

“What?” 

"You’re so good already," he says into your sex, spreading you so he can lightly tongue at your skin. “Perfect little flower just for me.”

After waiting so long, you're torn between begging and shoving his teasing licks away, hand threading through his raven hair as the notebook slips from your hand.

"Kim Doyoung–” you gasp as he spears his tongue through your upper folds, nose nudging the sensitive bud. “–if this is another round of teasing I will murd–”  

You yelp as he hunches down to wrap your legs around his shoulders, hands re-occupied by exposing you as you try to stay upright. 

“Don’t worry. You can come like this. I want to know if you taste different after.”

You don't know what he means until his mouth closes over your clit, sucking just right. You jolt, pinched on the meat of your thigh until you can relax again, making little mewls as he rolls his thumbs alongside the point of contact.

“I want you inside of me,” you beg, feeling that fluttering sensation that heralds a build-up. “I wanted to come with you inside me.” 

“Soon. Just need to be good while I sample you.” 

“Sample?” Your hand sinks into his hair in panic, tugging, but Doyoung is too lost alternating between suckling at your sex and palpating you with a circling thumb, his beautiful hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread.

“Drip for me, first.” 

“I don't think I can–”

“You giving up already?” Doyoung scoffs, smirking up at you with reddened lips, tongue-tip darting against your clit. Every brush of soft muscle makes you spasm a bit, belly tightening unfulfilled.

You shake your head, panting. “I just . . . Doie I want you inside me.” 

“You can relax and take it,” he says, tongue wrapping around your labia, sucking slightly. Your head is buzzing, every stray thought removed by his exploration of you.

“Relax. If you don't I'll just have to try until you're begging for me to stop.” 

“No, please, Doie. I'll be good,” you plead. “Just . . . need something inside. Hurts so bad being empty.”

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

“The one that looks like an eyedropper,” he says, hand open to accept like he’s performing surgery. You fight to find the right glassware with his mouth still on you, efforts more focused and intense as your legs tense with each hit. You find the rubber-stoppered glass cylinder, stomach dropping. 

“Is this safe?” You ask, gripping his mussed hair tighter when he pulls away for a moment.

“If you hold still, yes,” he taunts. You seize when you first feel the tip slip inside you. The glass is cool but warms to your body heat quickly, too slim to feel anything.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re even pushing this out, you must be so tight.”

“I am. Too tight,” you groan. “Please don’t tease me anymore.”

He ignores you, focusing on his work, pulling the instrument free when he’s satisfied.

“Not bad,” he says, dropping it on the desk beside you before he’s back on his knees with his nose buried in your cunt. “Bet you can do better than that.”

“No, please, I need you–”

“Then drip for me,” he laughs into your leg, tracing the wetness down the crease in your thigh. You tense your hold on the desk’s edge when you feel his tongue prod at your entrance, muscle breaching your hole to lick into you. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that has you plummeting just as he resumes stroking your clit through the slippery coat of your arousal. 

Finally, you think, feeling the advent of tears for how wound tight you are, how desperate you are to feel him give you just one more point of contact with the ache inside.

“Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you repeat, the noises obscene as he drinks you in, other hand on your hip to hold you against his face. It’s not even the stimulation that makes you begin to come but the audible groan he releases as he feels you quake against his mouth, heels snagging on his shirt when the first wave breaks and those little tics inside you turn into powerful contractions around his tongue-tip taking everything you can give him. 

He keeps licking you even when you’re begging for him to stop, nose tracing down to catch a stray drop from the back of your knee with a playful dart of his tongue. 

“Was it worth it?” you ask, folding over him as he wipes his mouth clean in your drenched skirt. You know it’s just the start but you already feel wrung out and feather-light, wicking away the sweat that’s beaded on your own face despite the cool, dry air of the room. 

“Hmm?” he hums a bit, disentangling to stand up and hold your face in his hands. His pupils are blown, sweat beading on his temples, but he looks as satisfied as you hoped he would be, your arousal drying on his slender features.

“All the prep,” you say. “Isn’t that why–do I taste as good as you expected after all that?”

Doyoung looks down on you, amused. Already you feel like you’re heating up again, with how his dark eyes flit to your mouth and back up again. 

“You think I prefer you prepped?” he asks, angling his head down besides yours to whisper in your ear. “The next time I eat that perfect little pussy of yours I want it to be filthy.” 

He traces the lobe with his teeth for good measure, pulling another moan out of you. “I’ll even make sure to wait until the other two have a go at you, first.”

You feel your heartbeat stutter as he presses his lips to your pulse point, tongue darting past his lips to dab at the sweat there.

“No, precious, I wanted to make sure the perfume we make tonight matches all of you.” Doyoung’s nose brushes your ear as he breathes in your scent. “Every time I wear it I’m going to remember the way you sounded when you first came for me and me only.”

The promise of it has you feeling a different kind of heat, dizzying for how much you want it to last past this night. 

“Fuck,” you whisper explosively, eyes clenched shut to stay fixed upright, fisting the thin material of his collar as he pulls you from the countertop and against the hard planes of his body. “I need you. Now. Please.”

“I like hearing you say that,” he chuckles a bit. “But I’m going to make you earn it. You can wait a little longer. You made me wait years, after all.”

You let him guide you into his lap, in the chair, pushed into the desk as he opens the notebook to another page. And another, until you take over and explore it for yourself. In the dim golden light from the street outside you catch glimpses of colors and drawings, notes written of impressions and memories you’d all but forgotten in your haze of grief these past few years. 

There’s even photographs taped to some of the pages–ones you know well by the fact that they’d been taken on your camera. Doyoung didn’t have Jaehyun’s artistic training but he did have an eye for capturing candid moments.

November, your first year of college. You’re standing in the first snow of the season, catching flakes on your tongue. You can still feel the burn of them, hear the murmur of the city dulled in a fresh blanket of white and taste the roasted yam you’d eaten, tossing it in your mittened hands until it was cool enough to peel. 

Doyoung’s shoulder is off-kilter beside yours, unable to capture himself in the frame for all his long reach. The peek of the striped scarf you’d knitted for him in gray and blue is all that’s visible of him under his peacoat, the mismatched weave of it captured even in this poor exposure.

“Base note: cedarwood,” you read, carefully, eyes hazing a bit with emotion. Evergreen.

“I still have it, you know,” he murmurs against your temple. “I only stopped wearing it because it started unraveling.”

“I’d make you another but I quit knitting after making three scarves,” you say, wryly. “Well two and a half, actually, I ran out of yarn on Jungwoo’s and made him a hat instead.”

“I thought you were just trying to get him to hide that ridiculous military haircut,” Doyoung muses. “Keep going or we’ll be here all night.”

“Now you’re impatient?” you ask, cementing your flirtation by shifting in his lap. You can’t ignore the feeling of his erection folded against the curve of your ass, or the way he grunts when you find a better seat with it nestled between your thighs.

“Sometimes I forget you were put on this planet to vex me,” he says. You’re lifted up by the waist, a hand on your lower back the moment you’ve found the desk for support, face above the book. 

“Why don’t you try reading until I’m satisfied you know exactly what you’re getting?”

You don’t fight him, elbows bent as he rucks up your skirt. You feel your face grow warm with blood as you find yourself exposed to him again, locked in by his legs and his groping touch reaching up beneath your shirt. 

"Base notes: amber and–" you have to fight to keep your voice steady as he swats your exposed curves, hard enough to sting. 

"Ambergris,” he corrects, voice fried with delight.

“Ambergris,” you repeat. “And white musk."

"Good. And?"

"Bisabol–" you begin, corrected with another slap on your ass that hits, hard, glass jingling on the table.

"Did you jump ahead?" He asks, knowing full well your eyes are swimming with tears. 

"No sir," you say. “I didn’t think that was a real word.”

"Opoponax." He says, reaching over you to grab a bottle, dropping a thick oil on you and rubbing it into your bruising skin. "Also known as sweet myrrh. Go ahead. Keep reading."

"Source: distilled from resin from ancient groves in Somalia, bought in Mogadishu from a local orchard, all profits to fund schools and clinics for women displaced by civil war." 

"Do you believe this to be a charitable effort?" He asks, hand spreading over your buttocks. You think he might be referring more to your arrangement than whatever is written on the page.

"No," you say. Your history and political know-how might be lacking but you've seen the wrong side of kindness. "It sounds like what people write to make themselves feel better about exploitation."

"Clever girl," he answers. You feel his nose brush against your skin, testing the mingling of scent with it. "Keep going."

You turn the page, swallowing back your protests. This spread is rich with text and color, a veritable garden bursting from the page. You fix on the first entry in the upper corner, bracing yourself for another faux pas.

"Heart notes: Turkish rose," you say. "What is this, poetry?"

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

You shake your head, lips pursed in delight at the scrawl of English. “No.”

You let out a gasp as he bites the flesh nearer your back, the sting of it surely leaving a mark by the way the pain lingers.  

"Read it," he says, dipping over you for another bottle. “You’ll remember.”

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows," you dictate, stumbling over every word and yet never punished for it. Instead Doyoung lets a steady drip of the bottle fall down the back of your leg to your knee, his fingers bringing up the rest to mix what he's already poured on you.

"Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine." 

You end your recitation in a whisper, leather binding and paper gripped in your fingers as he massages the oil gently into your tingling skin, careful to avoid where your legs are locked together in arousal. You're heady with scent and sensation, awaiting some reminder that this isn't just a strange dream you’ve wandered into.

"There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight," he finishes for you as he paints the rest up your spine beneath your shirt. You let him ministrate on your body as the words settle, as time recedes and you face a version of your youth you’re not sure isn’t just fiction. 

That book beside you, the first time he’d spoken to, long forgotten.

“Midsummer’s Night Dream,” you say, turning to face him again, settling between his thighs as he fails to meet your gaze. You lift his face with your fingers, cheeks indented by your gentle hold. “You remembered that, too?”

“It was the first time you ever looked at me,” he says. “And it felt like you saw right through me.”

No, you’re not dreaming. You’re the architect of this moment just as much as he’ll claim to be a cursory observer if confronted on it. 

You take in his mismatched eyes–one folding a little more than the other when he smiles at you ruefully. Those freckles you’d never really spent time examining, a happy accident of the time he’d spent with you in the sun. His fingers catching yours for a moment when you weren’t paying attention.

But most of all, the haunted cast where he’d lost sleep managing someone else’s problems. When he’d still been worrying about yours.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I ever really saw you until now.”

“What didn’t you see?” he asks, expectantly.

Six years of his careful distance from you, that coldness and disinterest just another mask for someone who was as raw and vulnerable and real as you if you managed to pry open their shell. His tendency towards control, towards the knife’s slice of cutting you so cleanly from his life no one would know your name unless he spoke it aloud.

There wasn’t another human being in their right mind who’d last that test, your only grace being that he’d thought you were untouchable. His best friend’s girlfriend, of course. But beyond that, one of his best friends. 

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

It wouldn’t require money or taste or a family name to bring Saint Kim down to earth. Just time and small acts of resistance, like the beautiful shell remnants you’d spilled into his hands on that last trip to Maui together, when it had still been the five of you. Each ground down to a small disc with a perfect spiral at its center, a reminder of the beauty remaining in broken things.

You place the notebook in his hands, curling your fingers around his. The pages it’s opened to are sparsely constructed, besides the photographs nestled between. Only you two know what’s there, buried in black sands and blue waters. You can see his handwriting falter where he’s written the notes for this moment in your shared history, sketches of those shells, and flowers.

A single photograph of you watching the others playing in the surf, his shadow cutting across the stretch of your legs.

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality. 

Orange Blossom for innocence. 

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

You recognize the creamy yellow-white flower he’d tucked behind your left ear when you’d fallen asleep beside him. A non-native plant to the island, you’d learned, worn to indicate one was taken. A weed, like you, now prized as a treasure.

“What didn’t you see?”

You pull back to look at him, giving him yourself without reservation. 

“That I think you love me . . .” you say. “. . . Like I think I love you, too.” 

He looks up at you, astounded, the chair beneath him creaking as he collapses. 

For once you regret being beside him when you’d heard the same words spoken to him by other people, pulled into their lives without you ever remembering their names. The difference between you, you once believed, was that they didn’t mean it. 

Now, you understand, they just never knew the true cost of losing him. 

You watch him collect himself, running a hand back through his hair and curling into his seat, memories forgotten in his lap, bedamned. You’re sure the engines of Hell are running hot for the way he can’t even look at you right now. 

He needs a way out, you think. You’d rather be drowned in other women’s wine poured over your head than be on the receiving end of his disregard again, the script already constructed in your mind before you’d found you had the nerve to sleep with him.

"You can be honest with me,” you say. “Tell me it's been fun but you're not interested in a relationship.”

“What?” Doyoung is just as confused as when you’d told him you loved him, as honest as you’ve been in both sentiments. 

“Your family will never approve of me. I’m just another fling you happened to take a more lasting interest in. It’s better this way. Cut me off, forget about me and move on.”

It's his turn to balk. You expect his pre-programmed response. Saint Kim's gospel for turning down the interested but uninteresting party: deflect, dissuade, detach. 

“No,” he says, face draining of color.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I can handle it. Really. We can still be friends.” 

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

“What do you mean, no?” you ask. “Isn’t that how this always ends?”

“You stupid girl,” he says, grabbing your face in his hands so you can’t escape, making you look into his warm gaze. 

"Don’t you get it? This was always about feelings.”

When his lips crush against yours you don't have to speak to respond, catching his head so you’re not suffocated by the raw emotion you can feel in every movement. You return each kiss until the breath is out of your lungs, until you're drowning in his scent as he forces you back onto the desk.

You’re impatient to feel him, everywhere, aware you’re ripping buttons as you open his shirt to gain access to his smooth chest, trailing kisses as far down as you can go, still unable to escape his tongue sliding over yours.  

“I wasn’t going to do this here, like this, but fuck it,” he says once he’s free, fumbling with his belt as he holds you to pepper your face and neck in a steady reminder of his affection. “I need you.”

“I need you, too,” you echo wholeheartedly, helping free him out of his clothing, pulling his length to where you’re still slick with oils and cum and ready for him. God, you think you’ve never been more ready to break around him, to show him what he’s brought out of you with this game.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper. 

You watch his face, breath held and heart stuttering as he sinks into you slowly, both of you gasping at the way your heat resists each measure of his continuous thrust. It feels like he’s barely in you when he stops, making you moan in dismay.

“Doie, please,” you say, trying and failing to wrap your legs around his slender hips to capture him deeper. You’re half out of your mind with that burning weight inside you remaining still.

“Say it,” he says, taking off your shirt to have access to your skin. He pulls down your bra, nipples tugged between his fingers as he assaults your neck with his tongue and teeth.

“It’s special,” you choke out. “Thank you, please–”

“Say it,” he corrects, twitching inside you but not moving an inch more. He curls down to nip at your breast above the lace, sucking a mark into the softest part. “Without the ‘I think’.” 

“No,” you resist, realizing what he’s asking too late. Your nails sink into his half-bared shoulder, head rolling against his. “You don’t get to torture me for that.”

“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Doyoung laughs against your cheek, hand splaying around your hip to still your squirming. “I can do this as long as it takes.”

He thrusts, just a little more, making you cry out in desperation as the contents of the desk tinkle behind you. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You think I love you?”

“So, so close.” He pulls out, rocking into you again to feel the seize of your entire body when you anticipate just how far he’ll go before denying you. A little more, at least, and you can feel how much it’s taking for him, see the strain in his body as he holds back.

“You love me,” you tease, this time not a question, no you think. “Saint Kim loves me.”

He sheathes himself in you fully, gripping your nape to kiss you as you clench involuntarily around him, protests in the back of your throat muffled by his tongue sliding across yours. He tugs at your bottom lip when he breaks free, fully smiling now like he isn’t buried completely in your cunt just warming himself instead of chasing his own bliss.

“What did you call me?” he asks, leaning over you to retrieve something. 

You take advantage of his distraction to snake a hand between you, slipping beneath your skirt before it’s grabbed, tight, and brought up to his lips. 

“Don’t cheat,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the cap of a bottle. 

“You never heard anyone call you that?” you murmur, opening it. 

You smell spring flowers and delicate citrus before it’s taken away, set aside when you nibble and suck at his sensitive ear to make him twitch, hands drifting across his ticklish belly down to his hipbones. He reads your intent again, stopping whatever silly task he’s doing beside you to lift your wrists to his shoulders. 

“The name is a little ironic, isn’t it?” you say, squeezing him experimentally with your thighs as you stroke his nape with your nails. You flex other muscles too–earning the grunt he makes as he feels you squeeze around his girth. 

He angles your head, pressing something wet and soft to where your pulse flutters in your neck. You’re immediately permeated with a light, airy, sweetness, the different scents revealed like a melody that ends in that richer, warmer scent from earlier. 

“Is that my perfume?” you ask. 

“An anointment,” he says, blowing across your skin to dry it and sending a shiver down your spine to where your bodies are locked together, that fullness and muted pleasure of him radiating down to your toes.

“I do seem to have a demon inside of me,” you sigh into his neck as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do they do that in exorcisms?”

“Blessings,” he corrects, adjusting with another grunt. “We’ll find out if it worked in about an hour.”

“An hour?” you grumble. “You think you can keep torturing me that long?”

“I think I gave you the key to your own cage,” he says, checking his watch. “About five minutes ago. Does it feel like longer?”

You mumble something into his rumpled collar, making him laugh beneath you. Even just that tiny movement has you involuntarily gripping him, abdomen clenched. 

“What’s that?”

“I’llsayitifyoumakemecome,” you repeat, embarrassed enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck again. 

“You think this is a negotiation, Y/N?” Doyoung’s hands are back on your breasts, thumbing the areola in slow circles that are very much a reminder of his touch earlier on your throbbing clit. You whimper, trying to stay still so he doesn’t figure out that if he continues to do that you might have a chance–

“You trying to make me come squeezing me like that?” he asks, breath ragged. “That seems like a quick way to end this.”

“You . . . you could just fuck me,” you wheeze, feeling the way he teases your pebbled, hard nipple with lighter brushes, his mouth quirked where it’s pressed to your forehead. 

“What if I want to make love to you, instead?” he asks. He inhales sharply at your body’s response. 

“Fuck, you liked me saying that, didn’t you?”

You nod, unable to speak, holding onto him in desperation as the combination of his words and soft strokes make you melt into the pleasure of every small motion of him inside you. You realize he’s unconsciously pushing into you, too, unable to keep his hips from pressing into yours. 

Overstimulation is making you hyperaware of the scratch of his unzipped jeans against your burning thighs, the random brush of his open belt against your belly. Time seems to disappear as he holds you quietly, letting you soak up the fragrant, radiating warm reality of him.

“I can wait all night for it,” he threatens, even just his lower register making you quiver a little around him. “Count every time you twitch and moan on me until you break.”

You’d felt him flag a little while he worked but now he’s fuller inside you, stretching you wide as he twitches to life. It’s even hotter than all of this build-up, you think, knowing he can act a menace but that the idea of you surrendering to him is what’s really getting him off.

Of course, you think, mentally steeling yourself like you’re preparing for war. In a way this is something like it, up against as formidable a foe as he is. 

“Doie,” you whisper, threading your hands in his hair as you nuzzle for his lips, kissing him softly and intimately, like it’s your first time. “When did you know?”

“What?” He goes a little rigid against you, unable to hide his rapid heartbeat with how close you’re pressed to him. You blink up at him, expectantly. 

“When did you first know you loved me? Really?”

He smiles, shyly, but you see the hint of anxiety on his features beneath his arousal. There it is, you think, having to hide your own satisfaction. 

“Is this a trick question?” he asks, warily, eyelashes half-lowered.

“Not if I know the answer,” you say, smoothing his kiss-swollen lips with a touch. “I don’t think it’s in that book, either.”

“Really?” He’s intrigued, a tentative rock of his hips against you making you dizzy. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, just as playful. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you say. “After.”

He sighs explosively, nose wrinkling. “You don’t know.”

“Want to bet?” you ask. It’s always a little thrilling seeing Doyoung presented with an opportunity he can’t resist. He fumbles for the notebook beside you, almost slipping out of you when he has to reach even farther for a pen.

“Write it down,” he says, smug as a cat who’s caught something small and easily toyed with. 

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

His answer is a pained sound of agreement, adjusting himself against the desk. 

“No peeking,” you say, flipping to a page in the back. 

“Wait,” he says, grabbing the book before the nib of the nice pen touches the creamy paper. “What are the terms?”

You ponder for a moment, feeling a grin slide onto your lips. “Doesn’t our perfume need a name? Whoever is right, gets to name it.”

You can practically taste his delight as he leans in to kiss you, forcing you to pull your page closer to you. You make him wait, filling the blank space as best you can with detail as he fidgets between your legs, sending small shocks of pleasure through you both. 

“Thank you,” he says in earnest once you’ve handed him it open to a new leaf, his hand and the notebook shaking a little as he tries to write mid-air, finally resting it awkwardly atop your head in order to scrawl out his own answer.

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.” 

“You’re a cheat,” he says, shushing you with an added thrust of his hips. 

You settle back on your elbows, already enjoying your victory as you feel the tiny pressure of his handwriting, hear the scratches of his sketch. You're more emboldened than ever when the leather binding snaps shut.

“Now tell me,” you say, looking up at him coyly. 

“Can’t I just show you–”

You snatch the book from him, turning to your entry. Then, to his horror, you rip your page free and fold it shut, tucking it into the pocket of his open shirt.

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “You had 24 hours, right? I’ll give you my answer tomorrow morning.”

Doyoung looks as if he’s tasted something sour. “You won’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you that you won,” you say, looking down at his page. You trace the fresh ink with care, admiring his tight script and explanation. “February to April? How could I have guessed an entire season?” 

“Did you at least guess the year?” he asks, looking a little better for your affirmation of his win. 

You nod, finally feeling the discomfort of your position and resting your head against his warm chest. There’s nothing awkward about being wrapped around him like this, the late hour and strange, still space making it easier to forget the world outside.

“Hard to forget,” you say. “I thought for sure I’d never see you again after that winter holiday.”

Another break with Johnny, of course–but this one had been your choice. You’d finally felt the crushing weight of two years of contempt from the people around him, the Suh family matriarch at the center of it all, doing everything in her power to crush not only you but the people you loved. 

And then, when you’d needed him the most, Kim Doyoung had walked away from you, too. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you, either,” he sighs. “It was the first time in a long time you weren’t with us. With me. And it was my fault for pushing you away when you were just trying to–”

“It’s in the past now,” you cut him short with a finger pressed to his lips. 

The memory is painful, still–and you don’t want to sully this moment with it. You appreciate that even in his roundabout admission there’s a clear understanding for all you’d been through. You’d hoped he remembered that time from the past, when you’d first peered between the cracks in his carefully-manufactured facade.

Now you could be sure of what it meant to him. You feel like your own walls are crumbling, the light shining through. 

“So you chose the period of time when we didn’t speak to one another, at all?” you muse. “Not just one day?”

“You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he says. “You were on my mind every minute and every hour of those three and a half months.”

He pauses, sigh warm against your brow. “I couldn’t tell you when I knew, for sure. I certainly couldn’t admit it, then, even to myself. But sometime then, I realized I cared more about you than a friend.”

You’d never doubted he was capable of it, never doubted it might be true. But hearing him admit it, now you know why he wants to hear it from you, too.

“Say it,” you say.

He finally looks at you again, tired but alight with amusement.

“You first,” he says.

“Who knew three simple words would be so difficult for Saint Kim?” you tease him.

“Alright. Come here,” he motions, slipping out of you with a shared groan. He pulls you to a couch under the shuttered window, settling down and forcing you to straddle him. In this position he can’t stop you from immediately taking all of him, his eyelids fluttering when you bottom out.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not going to last,” you laugh, delighted by the way his nose scrunches when you clench around him. 

“Says the girl who’s sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He grabs on to your hips to roll them against his own, fingers tightening when you wriggle against him. “You’re gonna say it first even if I have to fuck it out of you.”

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

“I can live with that,” he sighs, head resting back on the couch. 

You rock on your knees slowly, satisfaction warming you throughout as you force him all the way inside you. You let him hear how he makes you feel, pleading sounds and whispers every time he hits that place in your upper walls, curved inside of you perfectly. It doesn’t matter if you're in control you can’t help but hunt down that lovely rush of pleasure in your belly, twining your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Good girl,” Doyoung praises, watching you in awe through half-lidded eyes. “You’re so beautiful. I always wanted to know what it would look like when you lost yourself with me.”

His words make you shiver, brushing his lips until he holds you against his mouth to show you how he likes it, less exploratory and more confident. It’s maddening how good he is at this, making you feel every single sweep of his tongue across yours, hand on your neck keeping you from escaping. 

“Don’t you want to–” you protest as he helps you to lay flat on your back across the length of the wide loveseat, settling between your thighs. 

“Oh god, Doie,” you whimper when he takes over, finally, finally, beginning to fuck you. It’s just as slow but at least he penetrates you fully before pulling out almost all the way, shoulders quaking as he holds himself up. 

“Promise me you'll let me dote on you for the rest of your life,” he says, not waiting for your response before driving into you again. His movements are barely controlled, grunts escaping the back of his throat when his hips snap into yours again.  

“I promise,” you hold onto him, back arching off the cushion to meet him, blissed out in the relief of each, careful stroke against your fluttering walls. That crescendo is happening whether you want it to or not, every overworked knot of muscle threatening to snap loose. 

“Promise me that no matter who you fuck you’ll always let me treat you right,” he says, voice breaking. “You’ll let me show you how I feel even when I can’t say it.”

“Yes, Doie. Yes.” You pull down on his shoulders, trying to move for you both, kissing his jaw and throat.

“Stop fighting me and take it,” he says, moving more easily with the thick coat of your cum, establishing a gentle rhythm. 

His voice has always made it hard for you to pay attention to anything else but he abuses that power now, murmuring guidance into your neck that has you tightening around him as he fucks you deep and slow. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. Take all of me.”

You feel shivers up and down your body, nipples hardening tight as they brush against his chest, his hair tickling your forehead as he blindly kisses and licks at your mouth and chin. 

You’d thought he’d be concentrating on something else in his head to keep from losing himself but instead it’s you who's floating, breath captured in your lungs when he adjusts on top of you to pin your hips down, pressing your leg wide to bury himself to the hilt.

“You feel so perfect. I could really do this all night, you know,” he smirks down at you from where he’s supported on his elbow. “Is that what you want?”

“No, fuck, please,” you whine. There’s no thoughts in your head besides just how much you want that ache inside of your cunt to melt into real pleasure. 

“You want me to stop?” he asks, feeling how you begin to pulse around him as he swirls his hips up into that most sensitive part of you, his flat belly grinding into your clit. You gasp, leg locking around his, helping him work you apart.

“No no no,” you beg, face hot. “Just . . . just kiss me through it, please.”

Doyoung’s smile grows wider. “Say what you already told me.”

You twist your head against the cushion, earning his hand on your jaw as he makes you look at him while you break, kissing you between panting breaths. His confidence is written in the cocksure grin remaining on his mouth, more cruel when he bites at your bottom lip, hard, before licking the pain away. 

“Say it,” he breathes, slowing down on purpose. 

“I . . . ah,” you cry out, “I love . . . please don’t stop.” 

“What’s that?” he asks, pace punishingly slow. Your legs lose feeling, vibrations starting in the back of your thighs and tremoring down to your feet. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you repeat, nearly tipping off the edge, “I’m coming, I’m finally–”

He slows down right as you hit that crest, making you cry out in frustration. 

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

“Say it,” he says into your lips, pulling out–too far–

“Iloveyou,” you exhale, seizing around him in time to your wildly beating heart.

“Louder.” He slams into you again, merciless.

“I love you, you stupid bastard,” you say, hanging on to his shoulders. “I love you!”

“Good enough,” he says, drilling into you until he can feel you break, orgasm sustained through the painful pressure of him losing himself in your throbbing heat, finding your mouth again, finally, to silence the repeated mantra on your tongue.

You kiss him fiercely, unloading everything words aren’t enough for, legs tied around his waist to keep him locked inside you until he’s fighting back, fucking you so hard the sound of it fills the quiet room. 

“I love you,” you repeat a final time for him, just to watch the way it makes him break, jaw slackening when he loses control, finally. 

He stutters into his own orgasm, teeth scraping against your locked lips, forehead pressed into yours as he empties inside you for what feels like forever, finally collapsing on top of you with a whimper when his arms give out and he’s as limp as his cock inside you. 

You scrape your nails across his scalp, soothing him. You don’t mind his weight, or the way you’re still pressed together with sweat and your combined spend. 

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rasps, eyes dazed as he looks up at you. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head tightly. “Not for me, at least.”

“You’re not mad?” 

You know he means his inability to say the magic words but you crack a smile, just as pleased with yourself. 

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

Oh, it’s delicious seeing realization dawn on his face, little glimmers of surprise and horror bubbling up from his afterglow. 

“Fuck,” he says. You’re grateful he doesn’t deny it, rolling to the side in defeat. 

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

You laugh softly, rolling over to pin him down with your leg, trapping him against the back of the couch. 

“You did, right now,” you say, relishing having him where you want him. “I had a hunch. And I know you, you’d never beg for someone to say something during sex–”

“I didn’t beg,” he corrects, grimacing.

“What was it? The first one to get me to say it? Bonus points if it’s on your cock?”

“Ah, well,” he says, perking up despite the fist pressed to his forehead in embarrassment. “Then you don’t know.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, Jaehyun wouldn’t–”

“You’re really not mad?” he asks, painfully reticent as you pull his hand away from his face and twine your fingers together.

“Not if it means I can use it as leverage,” you say, kissing his knuckles.

That doesn’t seem to surprise him, at all. 

“Good girl,” he says. “What do you want?”

A few years ago, give or take 

You’re a little too happy, an awful fact considering how much he'd missed seeing you this way.

Lately you’ve been sleepwalking through your life, all those tiny fractures and bruises finally having the time to mend–but healing is a painful process in itself. Doyoung had returned from his family’s formal Chuseok gathering in Singapore, eager to check in on you after receiving sparing responses from you via text.

You didn’t have a friend he could check in with instead any longer–not after that one girl had fled the country, the other ghosting you after their father was mysteriously laid off from a company he well knew did business with Suh International. 

He’s worried about you long before that, terrified that one last straw would break you even if by all indications you were strong enough to take it. After you’d had Johnny arrested and solicited a no-contact order you’d cut your ex off completely, moving to a tiny apartment far from where you’d grown up, changing your number. 

Only Jungwoo knew about it, and it was he who’d reluctantly offered your whereabouts to him after a few glasses of whiskey in their usual club. 

“She asked me to keep her info on lockdown. Got that hacker kid, what’s his name–Haechan? Wiped her socials off the map, so he can’t find her. He did good but you know Suh.”

Doyoung nods. They hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, probably because the idiot was combing through every civic office and apartment building in the city. Hell, he’d probably driven around until he found her by sight alone, knowing that animal wouldn’t rest until he knew her whereabouts, as stubborn about chasing her down as he was about refusing the F4’s help. 

“His mother called me to ask if the place he bought in cash was for her,” Doyoung says, knocking back his drink as he receives a text, heart sinking that it's not you. “Did you help him buy it for her?”

Jungwoo sighs. “No. I just got her rent halved with some coercion, you know? But then he goes and buys a unit in the same building with whatever stash he thought the Old Tiger didn’t know about.” 

The Devil Kim leans back, long legs akimbo as he gestures towards the server for a refill. “He’s waiting for her to go back to Chicago before he moves in. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I did not,” Doyoung affirms, turning away from the group of women at the bar sending looks towards their private table. “Let’s plan for when Madam Suh leaves. I can have her pull him into the London offices, considering he’s failing his courses.”

“Stone cold,” Jungwoo says, smirking. “Glad I’m not on your shit list.”

“Just don’t fuck with her,” Doyoung says. “Or fuck her.”

Jungwoo laughs into his glass. “Even I’m not that stupid.”

He’d thought he wasn’t, either. 

Not until you’d called a few days later, your speech a little slurred. He couldn’t have told you if what he was doing was important even if he was in a meeting, showing up to find you picking at a bowl of bar snacks in what he thought might be one of the nicer bars in your shitty part of town. Not as shitty as your old neighborhood, but it wasn’t a competition.

“Saint Kim,” you’d heralded him, raising an empty glass still smelling of watermelon and hibiscus. 

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone, here,” he’d said. 

You were dressed in one of your few nice outfits, a little on the revealing side for his tastes, but those had been Johnny’s you’d conformed to–animal print and thin straps, tastefully tasteless.

“I wasn’t,” you say, hiccuping. “Alone.”

For the first time in a long time fear spikes his blood pressure into overgear. Were you drugged? Was he going to have to fend off another predator who'd found you vulnerable?

You deserved the chance to move on but there was a real threat in what would happen to anyone who approached you without their permission. Johnny’s, yes, always, but the F4 had also agreed to look out for you well before your last incident at a club. 

“Who?”

“She left,” you say. He feels instant relief, reaching out to adjust the thin coverup slipping off your bare shoulder. 

“You make a new friend?”

You shake your head. “She’s nice. Met her in one of the ikebana classes work is paying for. Thought we were hitting it off but I must have said something dumb because she ran out of here, fast.”

You look up at him cautiously, too inebriated to realize he can recognize a set-up before it begins.

“You didn’t just talk about your ex, did you?” he asks, settling beside you at the bar. He orders something less ridiculous than whatever you'd been drinking, while you scroll through an Instagram feed, finger trembling over the screen. 

You look up at him, color-stained lips curving in an easy smile. “You want to see what we’re working on?”

Doyoung finds himself looking through a grid that is immediately obvious is not yours. His mouth goes dry, seeing rows of beautifully-staged floral centerpieces, the backgrounds as familiar as the back of his hand. You don’t seem to notice, going to the user’s story and tapping in vain to find the picture she’d posted.

“She deleted it already. Huh. Well, she texted me the picture–”

“Stop.” Doyoung places his hand over yours, his palm damp from the immediate flood of adrenaline. 

“So you do know Mona,” you say. You look up at him, expectantly, eyes glassy with the brand of hopefulness and naked curiosity he’s seen you charm everyone else around you with before. 

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Doyoung pulls cash from his pocket, not caring how much he puts down except that he’s sure it’s enough to cover the amount he’d like to drown himself in right now. Enough to go blind and burn out the phantom of that face he’d put behind him years ago. 

“Put your coat on,” he says. “I’m driving you home.”

“But I’m not–”

“Now,” Doyoung says, grabbing your wrist. He’s barely ever touched you in the years that you’ve been friends, and it sickens him when he feels you freeze in fear and confusion, that trauma response buried so deeply it's in your bones.

He wants to be kind, he wants to be patient with you. He just doesn’t have it in him to be anything to you right now.

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, dragging you out into the bitter cold evening, the streets slick with sleet, your heels catching on the pavement as you stumble in his wake.

“Stop,” you yell at his back, trying to yank your arm free from where he’s bruising your skin with whitened knuckles. “You’re hurting me–”

“You’ll live,” he says, pulling you to where he’s parked his car, the engine roaring to life the moment you manage to close your door. He can barely look at you, realizing too late that your crestfallen expression is making him more upset than the lightning strike of seeing her name again.

“You didn’t ask my address,” you say, quietly, met with his silence as he drives much more dangerously than the weather permits. He's forced to speak with you once he's slammed the brakes at an intersection, red light shading you through the windshield.

“Tell me one thing,” he says. “Did you try to set us up by having me come there?”

You’re petulantly silent now, an answer in itself.

“Answer me,” he orders, hands gripping the wheel.

“I thought you’d want to–”

“Do you think we have the kind of relationship where you can just do whatever you want and get away with it?” Doyoung’s voice is calm but he sees you flinch at his words and tone, your shoulders moving under your jacket as you begin to quietly cry. 

It drives him deeper into anger, hitting the gas with a roar of the engine the instant the light turns green. 

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself for this one, Y/N,” he says, already regretting every word tumbling out of his mouth. “You fucked up.”

“I just thought you could both have some closure after that–”

The car jerks as he brakes in the side lane of the service road, cars roaring past them honking their horns. Your sobs are barely audible over the idling engine and the blink of the hazards he turns on while he tries to find calm, your face turned away from him. 

“You thought that interfering in other people’s personal lives would make you feel better,” he says. “No wonder you don’t have any real friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see your full body shakes still, can feel as that armor encasement you’d put together piece-by-piece over years of dealing with loveless reality falls back into place. And, years later–no, even hours later–he’ll remember how at the time he was stupid enough to think it was the right thing to say. 

You needed a reality check, he’d thought. A reminder that all the wishes and hopes in the world wouldn’t change the bleak architecture of it, uncaring by design and much easier to navigate without them. That moving on was the only path to this idiot’s dream of closure, something you knew nothing about for how often you’d let them pull you back into their world, blinded by sunk-cost and loneliness. 

All the things he wished he believed for himself, but without the benefit of your optimism.

“Fuck you, Kim Doyoung,” you say, opening the car door and slamming it shut without so much as a glance behind you. He’d waited to make sure you reached the nearest bus stop before driving off, calling Jungwoo to let him know you were here–crying in the cold. 

He'd seen you in passing.

His best friend knew a lie when he’d heard it, most especially from him. 

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep. 

He’s not allowed to. 

He can’t move either, arm going numb beneath your curled body, your breathing finally easing for the dozenth time since his trial began. You have horrible sleep habits–kicking off the covers, stealing the pillows–but tonight you’ve passed out with that same bone-deep tiredness he’d felt earlier, face beatific in the slivers of light piercing through the slatted shades. 

It’s close to dawn, he thinks, the cacophony of insects and birds outside transitioning from a quiet chorus to a full orchestral suite. Soon it will be too loud to sleep deeply. 

“Y/N?” he whispers, tentatively, not daring to move.

You don’t respond, relief rushing through him. It’s not that he’s desperate to join you in slumber but that he’s waited for you to finally surrender to REM. He needed you down. 

And you needed it, too. 

He’d negotiated with Jaehyun when you’d been in the shower, earlier, sacrificing precious moments of shared time exploring your skin and the new taste of you under the water to supplicate himself to his best friend and worst enemy in this moment.

“It’s a charter,” Jaehyun said, blinking sleep from his eyes but awake enough to be angry. “You’re not finding another one short term.”

“I emailed you the tickets. Cattle car but first class, at least,” he says. “Jungwoo agreed to give you his day, he doesn’t want to take her out until after dark, anyway. You can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Jaehyun had slammed the door shut in his face, but he hadn’t missed the budding smile on his friend’s face. At least one person was rooting for him.

That’s how he’d earned another morning with you. As always, making up for lost time.

You’re half out of the covers, one leg sprawled over the duvet as you sleep. You’d put on one of his softer button-downs, inhaling the smell of it after he tried to steal it back. 

“Please let me wear you,” you said. “I want to dream about you.”

Being around you like this is more comfortable than he imagined, as if you’re being slotted into a position he didn’t even know there was an existing space for. He’s woken up to women in his bed but you’re the first who’s ever asked him for this, particular experience.

“I used to have this fantasy, you know, whenever we crashed at your apartment.” He’d watched you go sheepish recalling, dates omitted for a reason. “Sometimes I’d lie there and touch myself thinking about you crawling into that guest bed–maybe a little drunk or you’d forget which room. Or maybe, you just wanted me to think that. I’d be awake but I’d pretend to be asleep while you . . . used me.” 

He experiments by tracing his fingertips up your bare leg, the peek of your lace underwear beneath the hem of his shirt maddening for how it curves into the crest of your ass, presented for him. A treat dangled before him, the command to partake only that you wanted him to make it slow–you wanted to wake to it.

He sucks a breath in, erection in his sweatpants hard against the band already from just watching his sleeping beauty. He finds every mark on your leg, every fine hair, thanking Heaven above you aren’t overly sensitive or ticklish like he is when his hand slips beneath his shirt to your belly. 

He slots himself against you, carefully, as if adjusting in his sleep. He has to wait for your breathing to even out again, slipping his free hand up to your breasts. 

“Used you? Did you not get off in this scenario?”

“I mean, yes. But it’s mostly about you. You wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just fuck me full of your cum and then you’d leave me leaking it on your sheets and go back to your room. Or sometimes I’d crawl in your bed, if you were alone, and you’d cover my mouth so the others couldn’t hear it. And the next day it would be like nothing happened, you wouldn’t even bother to ask how I’d slept.” 

He loved how much of a slut you were, when you felt comfortable enough to share that side with someone. Johnny had certainly never appreciated the subtleties of your nature–too blinded by adoration to even consider degrading you on purpose. 

No, Doyoung had known for awhile you pushed the boundaries with him to see if he’d break.

Your nipples harden even though he’s barely handling them, discovering what shape your breasts make in repose as he tries desperately not to rut into the swell of your ass. Warming himself in you earlier had been one of the hardest challenges he’d faced but it had been worth it to learn you inside and out, to know how to make you grip his cock with that delicious little cunt of yours with just a kiss or a word that pleased you.  

You don’t wake but he knows he’s gotten through to that little lizard brain of yours when your legs rub together unconsciously, pushing back into him so his cock is settled between your buttocks. The friction from the lace is like the proverbial pea under a mattress–rubbing against his cock through the layers, catching on the veins and scraping the underside of his cockhead. 

It’s already a nice ache, one he ignores as he adjusts to better continue plucking and teasing at your body beneath your shirt, until you’re used to his touch enough to truly fall back under, once more.

You're so vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he brings his hand down to test the patch of moisture growing in the fabric, that lace sticky with your dreams of him. 

Use you, he thinks. You have no idea what he wants. 

Doyoung can play with the fantasy of you crawling into your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed while he’s passed out in the other room, determined to be punished for waking a sleeping monster . . . but it’s not what he's fantasizing about now. 

He takes time in stroking you, a single finger digging in between your lips through the fabric, listening intently for your breathing to change. You sigh, one of those full exhales one does in their deep sleep, but you arc back a little, into his touch, leg falling forward crooked so you’re a little more spread. 

Doyoung wishes he could move down there and use his nose to push you apart instead of his hand but that’s not your fantasy–not this time. You didn’t want him to spoil you anymore, completely underestimating his love for it. True, he didn’t often eat other girls out, too personal or just too much of a chore to figure out what they liked, but you weren’t ever going to be with him and not come from that first. 

Just the thought of tying you up so he can spend hours fucking you on his tongue is making his cock pulse, too hard to be ignored. He quietly pulls down the drawstring of his sleepwear, freeing himself so he can replace his finger with the much wider tip of his cock, biting back a groan as he rubs into that damp, soft lace he’d known would suit you the moment he’d touched it in the display box brought to his private buying room. 

You'd never know he’d already fucked himself with it before ever giving it to you, that errant fantasy of touching you finally realized as you whimper a little in your sleep at the soft push of him between your legs. He finds where your clit is getting just as swollen as the rest of you, bouncing against warmth and the promise of unspooling that need with his help, again.

Just his precious little cocksleeve, spoiled and worshiped, showing your gratitude by begging for it even when you’re unconscious. He tests the waters of the scenario by slowly pulling the seat of your underwear to the side, easing in between the fabric and your folds. 

You twitch against him, sheets rustling. He holds still, cock jumping and balls tightening with a little anxiety. 

He only has this one chance. 

Outside in the dark and quiet of the house sleeps the man everyone knows you’re really with, the one who doesn’t have to fight for an I love you to pass your lips. You’d never understood what it felt like watching you climb into Jaehyun’s lap whenever the whim took you, pretending you didn’t know what it did to him or the other two of them watching you.

Your breathing is shallow and your hand flexes a bit, against the pillow, but that’s it. Within a minute he’s grown more confident that you’re still asleep.

He reaches over you, pressing the pads of two fingers against the front of your underwear while he slips a little deeper between your legs, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the contrast between the satiny slide of you and the rougher cling of your panties. It’s a relief as he loses himself to it, rutting from the back while he applies constant pressure to your bud.

“Mmm.” You make a soft noise, but he doesn’t pull free, choosing instead to keep a hypnotizingly steady pace fucking against you. Your hips twitch against him, seeking out more contact, but he doesn’t rush–pressing his head against the back of yours and melding with you in the softness of the pillows and sheets. 

You’re so wet you’re soaking his pants, everything he collects tickling down to his balls pressed into your ass. He’s going to stuff your mouth with his fingers, when you finally open it, make you gag on them while he fills you full from behind. 

You moan now, voice syrupy with sleep. He doesn’t care if you’re still down, not with you gently pushing back, trying to get release.  

Not yet, you little harlot, he thinks, hips going still again. He’s burning at the wait, your cunt continuing to glide against him as you act out whatever is going on in your dreams, the movement making him insane for how closely it adheres to his desire to have taken you back when you were innocent, his little virgin weed learning what her body wanted, seeking it out in his bed.

“Treat me like one of the girls you don’t really like. Use me.”

Such an unending fantasy of yours that he never wanted you, almost sweet for how dumb you are–or just willfully ignorant. He’s always liked the second one better–your little game played out that you were one of them. Dressed in that school uniform, kicking your skinned knees, sucking on a piece of candy while four college-age idiots hid their bathing-suited boners under their robes, fighting or fucking around in front of you so you could keep up that precious little illusion of immunity. 

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep. 

It should make his blood run cold but as with all twisted-up and tangled desires it only makes him feel ignited, pulse pounding in his head. You’re still asleep and thinking of someone else, someone not even in this house, the guilt of it passing over him faster than a cloud on a breezy day. 

He rocks back into you, this time pulling out enough that he can find your soft hole, already tight again–the only part of your body not relaxed as he forces his way past the flutter of your opening, cockhead sensitive enough to sense the more textured g-spot where he knows you’ll come fast and easy if he fucks into it. 

“Shh,” he says, finally trailing his mouth against your jaw, pushing into you softly. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Mmhmm,”  you reply, nuzzling into the pillow, curling into him. He pushes a knee between your legs, folding you into the bed beneath him as he begins to fuck you, finally taking you for himself and himself alone. 

You’re so warm inside, body adjusting to take him easily for how boneless you are, kitten-like mewls muffled by the pillow. It turns him on hearing the edge of pain there, the way you struggle when he pulls your underwear up so tight it sticks between your folds, clit rubbing against it the way he’d stroked himself to completion with it tied tight around his cock.

“Stay quiet or I’ll stuff your mouth full instead,” he whispers against your shoulder, feeling as always a little stupid but losing that internal cringe when you choke on a moan.

“Is that what my little slut was dreaming about? Gagging to tears on another man’s cock?”

He feels you tense at a bit at the suggestion, letting him use you in spite of the rougher handling. 

“That’s right. You said another man’s name in your sleep. Do you think that's acceptable?”

You shake your head, whimpering. 

“Such a whore you can't keep track of who's dick is inside of you. Tell me, who's fucking you right now?” 

“Doie,” you say, music to his ears. He'd always hated the nickname until you started using it. You were the only one–you were always the only one who made his chest burn with unsated desire when you said his name.

“Who owns this tight little pussy?” 

“You do,” you gasp out. 

“Are you going to forget me? Maybe I need to fuck you so hard you only think of me when you spread your legs for another man.” 

Doyoung feels electric at how easily you begin to crumble with just a few words, squeezing his dick so tight when he says something you like, even more when he makes it hurt. 

“Sleepy baby going to let me stuff every one of your holes until I’ve had enough? Use you like my own little doll?”

You nod, no longer capable of speaking except in a plaintive moan when he leaves you to shuck off his pants and pull down your ruined panties, pillow pulled beneath your belly to force your ass up. In this position he can drill into you deeper, burying you into the mattress with each thrust. 

“That’s what you get for crawling in here,” he says, fingers digging bruises into your hips to hold you down. “Keep your mouth shut and take it.”

The pleading, almost scared noises you're making have him hard and pulsing, two steps away from coming himself but in no hurry to. He pulls your hair to bring your head back, shoving his fingers in your mouth. 

“You like that?” Your cunt can't hide it, sucking him in. “Get them wet for me.” 

You drool over his knuckles, gagging as he fucks your mouth with them in an awkward rhythm to his merciless rutting. He spits into his hand when he's satisfied, fingers swirling around the tight rim of your ass so quickly it makes you buck. 

“Don't scream,” he murmurs, giving you two fingers at once. You make a noise through the pillow you're biting, gripping him tight. He's gentler with this, slowing, letting you adjust to take him.

“This is my favorite, right here,” he groans. “Feeling my cock inside you with my fingers. I'd fuck this tight little ass again but I want to feel you come like this.” 

He begins to stroke you harder, deeper, wet and sticky when his balls slap against your abused cunt. He keeps his fingers buried in you, scissoring you open as you take it.

“Come for me, Y/N, grip me good so I can fill that pretty mouth of yours.” 

It's a beautiful feeling when you begin to throb, contractions in your ring of muscle letting him know when you hit your peak. He fights the tingling in his balls, the urge to come with you painful for how long he's been holding it back. 

He talks you through it, instead.

“Such a good little hole,” he says. “You're coming so hard, baby, can feel it so well.” 

You moan, loud, as you break, loosening almost immediately, flooding him with sweet, hot warmth. He makes sure the last of those tics is gone before pulling out.

“Roll over,” he says, straddling you with a hand on the headboard, delighted by the sight of your flushed face and starry eyes. You already know what to do, tongue lolling and uvula exposed as he guides himself into your mouth, soft tongue swirling around his tip. 

God help him he's been thinking about this since yesterday, pushing deep enough to gag but not choke, fucking your mouth and the hot tightness of your throat when he hits it. It’s the sight more than anything that drives him to spill hot white ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling out to milk the last few splashes on your parted lips and delighting at the sight of you licking them with your spend-covered tongue.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, dropping down and kissing you, finally, tongues stroking each other until you finally pull free to breathe, blinking up sleepily at him. 

“You do taste different,” you tease.

“I taste like you,” he says, pressing soft kisses all over your face. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

“Did you like that?” you murmur. 

“I loved–” he pauses, watching the smile spread on your wet lips. 

“I love you, you know,” he finishes. You reach around his neck, comforting him out of instinct, but he doesn’t need it. 

“I love you,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue now that they've flown out so easily, the tightness in his chest easing as you rise up to kiss him. 

“It's beautiful to hear you say it,” you say. “But you're right, I know.”

“I think I even know the exact time and date,” you say, reaching between you into the pocket of your shirt to pull out that torn and folded art paper scrawled with your words and an amateurish sketch.

Tomorrow morning . . .

[Unknown number] [Tomorrow morning April 13th dawn is at 6:17] [I have something to show you. Meet me on the roof of the East Wind Hotel]

Doyoung looks at the text message again, hand hanging over the railing of a dance floor, conversation with the woman by his side forgotten. With the blur of a late night and a trip to a different hotel room, with a different woman, he'd almost missed it.

Probably one of the innumerable flings he's had, Jungwoo recruiting him to get every last lick of enjoyment out of Seoul before he enlisted. His friend snatches the phone from his hand.

“No business,” Jungwoo slurs, eyes bloodshot as he focuses on the text. “I thought you weren't working hospitality anymore.” 

“It's not . . .” There's something nagging at him, like a bird pecking at his skull in time to the drone of the EM, the buzz of conversation. A sense of deja vu so strong he's forced to cycle on it. 

“Pfft. I know you don't bring girls back to your kingdom,” Jungwoo says. “Stop working and party.”

Doyoung doesn't know why he feels compelled to see the cryptic message through, doesn't know why he races across town at 5 am, reeking of whiskey and another woman’s perfume, doing his best to sober up as the designated driver talks about the change in weather, the cherry blossoms in full bloom outside the window.

The morning commute is already surging and the destination central to the city so by the time he makes it he's out of breath from running two blocks away from a jam, head pounding.

“ . . . restricted for non-guests,” someone is saying, voice recognizable as an intern he knows from his leadership program, still stuck on night front desk duty. 

“I just need a few minutes, please. I need to take a picture–” He'd recognize that voice in a hundred years if he hadn't heard it, not just a hundred days.

“What's going on here?” 

You freeze, shoulders stiffening as you turn to face him. Not much has changed–a new haircut, same ratty old sneakers–but you look different. No longer a ghost, but just as untouchable for the skittish way you hold when he approaches, only the barest relief on your beautiful features.

You don't smile, don't even say hello.

You're scared of him, again, just that thought making him spiral.

“You came,” you say, exhaling. “We need to hurry. We need to get to the roof.”

Doyoung turns to the staff. “Is the roof access still shut down?”

“Stair access only, sir.” 

Your eyes go wide at the interchange, something like embarrassment passing over your features as you begin to laugh. 

“Of course this is your hotel,” you state, smacking yourself on the forehead. “Of course, why didn't I think to check that. God, I'm an idiot.” 

“We didn’t change the name when we acquired the chain so it would be unlikely for you to have guessed that,” he says. “What are you doing here?” 

“There's no time and it's easier just to show you. We need to get to the roof, now,” you say, grabbing his wrist and tugging on it towards the stairs. 

“Y/N,” he says, holding you fixed and pointing at the elevator. “We can take it up as far as we need to.” 

You're still laughing maniacally twenty floors up. “I was going to cry if I had to go up another flight of stairs.” 

“Are you really taking pictures?” He asks, gesturing at your camera.

“No, but I started carrying it the first time someone called the police on me thinking I was going to jump,” you giggle, wiping away tears. He feels delirious from lack of sleep, so maybe you are, too, but it doesn't seem to be the case as you spring out the doors, forcing him to guide you when you're lost in the executive suite hallways.

“I managed to sneak in last time, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten this far. I'm glad you came just in time, I think they were going to kick me out.”

He's surprised at how easily things have snapped back into place between you, no mention of anything that's happened as you race up the stairwell to the roof access. 

“Will you tell me–”

“Oh thank god,” you say once your through the heavy doors and collapsed on the green helipad, growing impatient when he props the door open out of habit. He's been up here many times, nothing remarkable about the space besides the legacy sign on top, view crowded by other buildings at varying levels. 

“Stand here,” you say, pushing him into place, turning him by the arms. “Do you see it?”

“I don't even know what I'm looking for,” he says, beginning to grow annoyed. 

“Look over there, at the People's Bank. Relax your eyes, it will only take a minute.”

He feels increasingly foolish but he does what you ask, cool morning breeze clearing his muddled head. The sky is washed in a pink and blue haze, the sun cresting the more mountainous region of the city behind you to bathe the city in solid gold.

“There,” you breathe, letting out a little sigh.

“What?” All he can see is a few birds passing over the vista of crowded advertisements and neon. 

“Do you see the light?” you ask. 

“There's tons of lights–” he begins, cut short by the blinding catch of the sun's reflection on one of the characters, then another. He spells it out slowly, guided by your hand holding his to each one. 

The bank: Sa. 

The next building over, also burning brighter with the touch of the sun: Rang. 

Then an advertisement that has been up long enough most of the original message is lost. Hae.

“How did you find this?” he asks, knowing it would be impossible for him to have ever seen this without knowing the trick of the light. 

“I didn't find it. Well I did–I had to search some buildings for it.” 

Later he'll find out you climbed close to fifty flights of stairs in the last two months, had spent every waking moment not working or in school breaking into buildings before sunrise to find that exact spot, forever amused at the thought you hadn’t checked his family's flagship hotel first.

“You don't remember getting the same message from someone else?” you ask. “I was worried you wouldn't come, again.”

Again. Something tugs the memory up from the oubliette he'd locked it into, Mona teasing him about sleeping in and missing their appointment.

Mona. 

His stomach falls, checking back behind him at the door as if that particular ghost will return to haunt him.

“She's not here. I wasn't trying to set you up,” you say, recognizing the dismay he can't hide. “Honestly. And I know whatever closure you find is yours and yours alone. You were right about that, too, I'm sorry.”

You twist your hands in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety. “I did this for me. Because I wanted to know what she tried to tell you, even if she couldn't say it aloud.”

You don't look at him, can't in order to continue. Doyoung feels like a live wire, exposed, two months of painful loneliness and a lifetime's worth of avoidance of this fact all surging through him in this moment. 

As much as he would prefer to leave he's not going to run like he did back then, when he'd ignored the hard parts to pretend like a friendship wasn't something more. Not with the stakes of losing this one.

“You once told me you were just friends, even if you couldn't be one anymore for her after you realized you loved her. How it broke you to be with someone you couldn't be with, who wanted something different.”

“Now you know. She didn't want to stay one, either,” you say. You look up at him nervously, regaining your confidence.

“I just wanted you to know that you were loved, Kim Doyoung. You still are.” 

You turn away towards the door, pretending not to have seen the tears dripping down his face under his glasses. He ignores them, too, not knowing what to say or do to make sure you never leave him again.

The spot never mattered to him, the word and it's confession forgotten in time. What changed that day was having you in front of him after so long, the way you were a reflection of him so many years ago, fighting to be by the side of someone who didn't know how to love you back, the right way.

He'd promised himself than that even if he couldn't say it, he'd show you.

“Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for interfering with your life, but that’s what friends do.”

You'd almost made it to the stairs when he'd wrapped around you from behind, the first ever time he'd held you in an embrace, unsurprised to find you shaking like a leaf as he rested a wet cheek against your hair. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.” 

You relax a little, squeezing his hand. In that small gesture everything is reset, everything is okay again. They won't talk about this for the next few years, even when Jungwoo asks how you'd come back into their lives so suddenly and without any indication that things had changed.

But they had. Deeply. 

“You can make it up to me by buying me breakfast,” you say, smiling up at him, wiping his cheek with your sleeve. “We have a lot to catch up on.” 

“Did I win?” you ask. 

Doyoung can only laugh, giddy, as you burrow into his side to smother him in kisses and teasing. You were put on this earth to challenge him, after all–always right there to match him in stubbornness and competition.

He presses his nose to your neck, inhaling the remnants of the scent you'd made together, one bottle for each, though you didn't have to know his formula was just a bit different.

“‘Tomorrow Morning’ has a nice ring to it, I suppose. It lingers well.”

“It was my answer, actually. I needed to see if I could break Saint Kim's vow of romantic abstinence before I made up my mind,” you say, smug as you move to get up. “Glad you were able to find out before your time was–”

You shriek as he pulls you down again, pinning you to the bed. 

“I still have a few hours,” he says, voice dangerous. “I'd like to hear you say it again.”

[mrsackermannx]

BAD DREAMS .ೃ࿐

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru

Summary: Gojo knows he shouldn’t. But when he wakes up calling out his name he can’t resist—he needs him.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/Tags: Smut, Degradation, Rougher Sex, Face-fucking, Multiple Positions, Switch Dynamics, Mirror Sex, Feelings, Hurt/Angst, Emotional/Comfort (this is them in their early 20’s), Not Beta Read, little OOC (wrote this for some fun).

Author’s Note: I’ve never written character x character much but I got inspired and wrote this for my angels. I love the headcanon that they saw each other secretly as the years went by.

Satosugu playlist here

Gojo Satoru’s apartment is sort of like you’d expect, endlessly and stupidly lavish but extremely cold and maybe a little empty. 

One might wander through it and see that its very interior was still waiting for someone to come home, much like the penthouse’s owner. 

The kitchen is modern and sleek, it all blends together cohesively, lights that turn on just by sensing movement. But it’s awfully large to cook in alone, it’s large enough you could envision one lover sat upon the counter with their legs swinging back and forth, whilst the other was clad in a novelty apron and stood at the stove.

A stupid one that said “kiss the chef” or something, Gojo always wanted to get Geto one of those when they moved in together one day. But it never happened.

Shoko brought him a bunch of ornate glass jars to store his candy, decoratively. But all those pretty jars lined up on the counter like that, in some kind of defensive line. They simply seemed to remind Gojo that there was no one to scold him for eating too much of it and not a real home cooked meal. 

No wonder Megumi couldn’t cook, he clearly couldn’t either. 

The large l-shaped sofa was so comfy Gojo slept on it more than his own bed, every corner of it was swimming in blankets and pillows. That way he doesn’t have to feel the empty space between him and the soft plump grey cushion. He doesn’t have to remember the chest he should have his cheek pressed against when he’s watching movies on the flat screen—alone.

Geto told him once that he hated the couch he had back home. Gojo wanted to give him all the space to breathe and be, he wanted their long legs to intertwine and enjoy the expanses of plush cushion together.

One time he even drunkenly said he’d have rather sat on milk crates, rather than his shoulders jutting into his fathers, or his mothers while he sat. He was always tall and broad, feeling like he took up too much space. He always wanted his own space although his room at Jujutsu High with Gojo felt like heaven on earth. They slotted their beds together most nights. 

The bathroom was probably the worst reminder. The shower itself was a room. Geto loved spending time just letting the water cascade down his back. Making that beautiful black hair of his heavy with water as the steam that rose danced before his spine and kissed the muscles of his back. 

The bath was large too, circular and deep enough for four people let alone two. It overlooked Tokyo, perfect for the placing of candles just beside it. Dark and slick and romantic. 

The bedroom featured a king sized bed in which the tall white haired sorcerer slept alone. 

But if the walls could speak, they’d reveal that the apartment and the owner were indeed waiting for a special someone to come home, but not in a final sense. In a sense that meant they were never finished with each other, that the bathtub had housed them both many a night, that sometimes Gojo clung to Geto as he used the stove. That most of the time they never made it to the bed, that the sofa really did do just fine.

It hadn’t even been a month, but the entire penthouse was waiting with bated breath. Tokyo’s landscape waited for the two lovers to feast their eyes upon it as they pinned one another against the glass, and as they watched at the lights of Shibuya with half-lidded eyes after, bodies entwined in the tub. 

Gojo was waiting, whether he knew it or not.

He clutched his pillow so tight the cotton burned the tips of his fingers, as he did everything to catch up to the person who was slipping from his fingers in his mind. “Suguru, don't! Please, just—don't leave me, you promised me,” he blurted out, his voice small.

It was always the same rotten dream, though it was because these feelings never went away. The emptiness never ceased, Gojo put black holes through curses without even blinking, whilst the black hole where his heart used to be enabled him to be as apathetic as was socially acceptable. 

Not that this applied to his beloved students, or even Nanami, either and especially not his first love. If anything it applied the most to himself. 

He tried to run but his legs were captured by low-level curses, they wound around his calves until the blood there ceased to flow. Until he fell and his teeth took the blow as they crashed into the concrete. He could make out wisps of long black hair, the familiar shuffle of Geto’s walk, the way his fists bunched at his sides. They bunched like that that day too.

Gojo always teased him about it when they were teenagers, it always ended up with Geto setting of Jujutsu High’s barrier with his cursed energy. Years later it also ended with Gojo pinning Geto to his bed, his smirk ghosting Geto’s lips. “Don't hide anything from me, Suguru. You don't need to—ever.”

He jolted out of his nightmare so quickly he instinctively shot out his arms to clutch the one person who could comfort him. But he wasn't there.

Instead he clutched the pillow to his chest, wincing at the familiar roughness of the cotton. Geto always told him to switch to silk, his hair would stop sticking up so much, he told him.

He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing down the strands and stroking his undercut just like Geto used to. “This—again.” He exhaled deeply, “No one knows about this but you,” he spoke softly to the darkness.

“No one knows about us either.” 

He caved in minutes. The false bottom of his nightstand drawer clattering as he groggily searched for the second phone he kept there. He held his breath as he turned it on and dialled the one and only contact.

It only needed to ring twice before the silky voice that crackled through the receiver sent shivers down his spine. He imagined this was what it felt like to call home, until Geto he never knew. 

“Dreamt of me, didn’t you, Satoru?”

He squeezed the deflated pillow in his lap. Geto always made his name sound like something so holy and special. He sighed in defeat, "Just—come."

“Okay. But first, you’re gonna tell me the part of me you’re craving the most?'

Following his obnoxious huff he opened his mouth to speak but Geto knew better, “No, no pointless ranting about the semantics. You know what I mean, don't you? You called me which means you want me, right now."

Gojo doesn’t bite his tongue like this with anyone else, instead he carefully nods in the dark. “That much is obvious, Suguru.”

Suguru swallowed at the suggestive lilt that overtook Gojo’s voice, his teeth burying into his lower lip. He inhaled so deeply it sounded like he was biting back a moan. Gojo grew hard in seconds. 

“So, my mind? My body? My soul? My touch?”

Gojo pinched the bridge of his nose, phone tucked between his shoulder as he gazed at the city before his window. “I didn't call for a philosophical conversation. I called to fuck, Suguru,” he bit, snappy as his cock throbbed in his baggy sweats. 

Geto clicked his tongue, “You still can't get off without me, huh?" He chuckled, a little mirthless. “Can’t, can you?”

He didn't need reminding.

“You…you know I can't,” he hissed. 

Geto’s eyes flickered shut, his head reclined against his pillow, imagining Gojo on his cock, perfect like he always was. He couldn't fuck anyone else, either. They were both cursed.

“Suguru?”

“Mm, yeah. I’m coming, okay." His voice was impossibly soft. Sending a lovesick herd of butterflies to attack Gojo’s usually composed stomach. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat. “I won’t.”

He laughed, his voice sweeter than sugar. “I know you won’t, I’ll see you soon, okay?" 

Gojo tsked at the fact he could hear Geto smiling, he didn't even need to see it. “Okay.”  

He showered, and then turned the lights down through the apartment so they wouldn’t be in complete darkness. Like they were a normal couple and not two lovers sneaking around behind closed doors. Just like in the beginning of all of this when they were too afraid to even touch each other again.

It feels like hours pass as he stares up at his ceiling, but it’s barely been one before Geto is knocking softly at his door. 

As soon as he opens it, Geto’s presence overwhelms his own, telling Gojo all he needs to know about where the night is going.

He’s barely cocked his brow before Geto murmurs, “Yeah? I need you too, did you forget?” 

He closes the door with a soft click, one large hand handling the sharp yet soft lines of Satoru’s pretty jaw. His lips work to slow Gojo down, to disarm him, to allow him to melt into his mouth like a soft centred candy.

“That's it,” Geto hums when he finally does, Gojo’s hands no longer clenched but wrapping loosely in Geto’s hair. “Let’s get you off the door, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gojo whimpers softly, letting Geto push him down onto the couch. His hands scour every part of Gojo’s chest and torso like a sculptor admiring his work. 

Then he grips his waist and pulls him in, kissing him like it's the first time in forever. It leaves them both breathless. When he pulls away he smoothes away the frown on Gojo’s lips with his thumb.

“Stop thinking,” Geto pants, “You don't need to when I'm here. I’m gonna give you what you want, yeah?”

He trails his finger down Gojo’s bare chest, kissing along his throat and teasing his teeth against his pulse point until he hisses. “Just wanna appreciate what’s in front of me a little,” Geto whispers, voice pitched dangerously low.

His fingers reach Gojo’s the throbbing erection visible in his sweatpants, his breath hitches until he inevitably moans out Geto’s name, breathy and needy. Geto daintily takes his chin between two fingers, smiling against his mouth. “I’m here to give you what you clearly need.”

“Shut up," Gojo rasps, tugging off Geto’s sweater and lurching to press his lips everywhere he can reach. His eyes flutter shut when he finally makes work of tugging all of Geto’s hair loose. The long feathery hair falls around his face and cages him in, tickling his throat. Geto laughs as he tries to bat it away, but his mouth goes dry when he sees the way his cerulean eyes are shining at him.

The sensation is so familiar—so like home it makes Gojo’s eyes prickle with tears. “Suguru,” he whispers, leaning close for a kiss. Geto indulges him immediately, their arms wrapping around each other, impossibly tight. “I wanted to see you,” he mewls.

Geto bucks his hips against Gojo’s experimentally, rutting his erection against Gojo’s until they break their kiss and Gojo’s tugging down both of their waistbands. He grins at the sight as he makes work of their pants.

 “What am I gonna do with you, huh? Not even a month and you’re this desperate.”

Gojo laughs, deep and elated. High on whatever Suguru’s saliva is made of. “Don’t act like you’ve ever ignored my call, Sugu,” he coos, grinning. 

Geto quickly closes the space, sliding his thumb into Gojo’s mouth. Shifting his hair to kiss his temple when he sucks obediently. “I won't, because I know I can't, Satoru.”

Gojo grins, continuing to tug away the clothing obstructing the access they want to each other the most. Geto cups his cheek as he does so, his eyes are tender but his voice is laid bare, filled with thick unfiltered lust. “Face of an angel, mouth of a I don't even know what…unfair is what it is,” he whispers.

“Unfair that I can't get enough of you, Satoru. No matter how much I try.” He sighs, “I was about to call you myself, tonight.”

Gojo smirks, throwing aside their remaining clothing. “Liar.” 

He switches their positions, and makes his way down Geto’s centre, kissing and licking without breaking from his eyes. “I’ll teach you something, about lying to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Go on then pretty thing,” Geto coos, watching Gojo’s cheeks flush violently at his words.

“Don’t act like I can’t take you, I am stronger, y’know.” He kisses and nips until Geto’s hands finally lay to rest at the nape of his neck. 

“I know you can take me. I’ve seen it. Not that it ever gets old. So give in and do what you’re dying to do.”

Gojo blushes even more ferociously, gripping the thick base of him. His tongue eagerly catches the sweet beads of arousal racing along the veins. Geto’s cock was so long and thick that only 

Gojo’s large hands managed to dwarf it.

He worked on him, carefully, licking and sucking and kissing on his cock, Geto cooed praises to him when he finally took him in his mouth. Gojo always managed to take his entire length, he was the best after all.

“Fuck Satoru, let me fuck you—dying to fuck you. Don’t let me cum!” He moaned, pulling Gojo’s mouth off his cock and delighting in the lewd strings of arousal and spit that broke and shone against his chin. 

“Already?”

“Satoru, you have no idea how fucking hot you look sucking me like that, it’s dangerous,” he purred, tugging him close. “You take it all like the good boy you really are.”

You’re nothing like me.

Gojo nodded, completely entranced and holding onto every word. Caging Geto below him with a lazy smile on his lips. This brief window was always so dangerous, the moment when Satoru’s eyes were glassy and half-lidded from arousal.

Their laughs rang through the apartment as they tripped over each other scrambling to Gojo’s bedroom. Grabbing for lube whilst their tongues practically probed the back of the others throats. 

It’s a quick working and arranging of their bodies, learnt and done so many times before.

It’s almost primal. The way Geto grunts, and Gojo moans just seconds behind, hips pulled up and arched impossibly. Geto’s large handprints leave indelible marks as he pumps his thick fingers in and out until Gojo’s whimpering incomprehensible nonsense. 

“Sugu, I’m ready, just fuckin~now, need it. Fuck me.” 

Geto tilts his face just to press a fond kiss to his forehead, pushing the hair out of his eyes just so he can enjoy every inch of his face. “I’m so lucky to get you like this, don’t think I don't know it.”

He presses another kiss to his cheek and he moans this time, simultaneously pressing the tip of himself at his entrance. “Make it up to me by fucking me,” Gojo chuckles, soon groaning at the stretch.

“God—fuck, you feel so good,” he drawls, turning to kiss Geto himself.

“Does it hurt?” Geto stammers, his voice too shaky to even speak. 

“No!”

Geto starts to move, rolling his hips as he sets a steady pace. “Y’know why? Because I’d never hurt you, Satoru.”

“Don’t,” he moans back, fists twisting the sheets under him as drool pools down the corners of his mouth. “Don’t, Sugu.”

“Y’know why?” He kisses his nape, fucking him even harder, his tip nudging that spot deliciously.

“Stop, Sugu,” he whimpers.

He drives himself deeper, gripping Gojo’s waist so much harder that he growls, “Stop this?”

“No, but, don’t.”

“I won’t, because I—I love you.”

It’s magical how Gojo comes all over the sheets from the words. Just like that. 

Geto stops, his cheeks burning so badly he hides his face with the back of his hand. Gojo shoves his face into his pillow, refusing to meet his eyes. 

He grins at the red tips of Gojo’s ears, grinding his hips against his until he moans once more. Passionate and loving. “That's what you needed to hear to feel good, Satoru? That I love you, because I do. I really do, you feel that, yeah?”

Gojo’s incapable of words, he can't think. He can’t even talk when Geto is fucking him like this. 

Geto moans, his lips against the shell of Gojo’s air as he threads their hands together. “I've always loved you, no one loves you like I do.” 

“No one ever has,” Gojo hisses. “But you, but you…” 

You just had to betray me.

“Next time m’ gonna fuck you till you cry for what you just—did!”

Geto grips the base of Gojo’s cock, jerking as he fills him impossibly full, until he touches the spot again that has tears of pleasure streaming down Gojo’s cheeks.

“Who’s crying now?”

He suddenly pulls out, missing the garbled sounds of his white-haired lover he tugs him, manhandling him until he’s pliant and on his lap like a tamed cat. “Watch yourself, or me. Watch me make the strongest crumble, give yourself to me Satoru.”

“I already give you everything,” Gojo groans, his hips quickly meeting Geto’s thrusts. 

“Give yourself to me until there's nothing left.”

Gojo doesn't even recognise himself, so he hides his erotic expressions in Geto’s neck, kissing and biting as Geto thrusts inside him until he’s shooting his cum all over the mirror this time.

Geto’s hands just look so perfectly placed when they’re tightened on his waist and pulling him off and on his cock like this. 

“Let it out, let it out. You’ve always been insatiable huh? How much more do you have in you? I know I could fuck you all night and you’d still want more.”

“I fucking hate you,” Gojo groans, repositioning them both so he can ride him. Geto moans as he watches Gojo eagerly stuff him back inside in their reflection.

“So you think you can face me?” Geto grins, cupping the backs of his thighs and fucking him even harder. Gojo can't even keep his eyes open, his lips parted, his cheeks no longer pink but instead replaced with an aggressive red. 

“No one takes me like you, Satoru. Always so fucking good for me, so perfect. You were made for me.”

We were made for each other.

Gojo fights back his moans until he can’t, not when Geto is saying all of the things that make him tick. “I was,” he whines back. “Wasn’t I?”

“You feel so fuckin good on my cock, no one feels like you, fuuck.” His voice cracks, his teeth drawing blood from his lower lip. “I’m gonna cum in you, fuck!”

“Sugu!” 

“Toru! My, my, my—love.” He shakes, groaning with his lips messily clashing with Gojo’s as he fills him deep.

Gojo whimpers into the corner of his mouth, the pet name making his entire body burn. “My love, my one and only. Satoru I wish, I wish…”

He’s breathless and spent but he’s pinning Gojo down again. Pushing him until his back meets his pillows as he slides in again. “I love you, Satoru. Tell me. Tell me you love me too.”

Gojo’s eyes well up, his teeth gritting as Geto fucks them both into overstimulation. “I won’t, I won't, don't you dare. Can’t ask me that.”

“No,” Geto leans in until their noses are touching, 

his hair caging Gojo in, luring him under his siren-like spell.

“Tell me, you used to tell me all the time.” 

“I used to say a lot of things.” Gojo moans, kissing him fiercely. “But I won’t say that, Sugu.”

“Then I’ll never see you again.” 

He yanks Gojo upright until he’s straddling him once more, gripping his hips in place and pounding into him until he falls wordlessly into his chest. Clawing and moaning from the overload of pleasure. “Fuck you, saying that shit,” he groans. “And then fucking me like this.” 

“You like to be fucked like this, you fucking slut.”

Gojo silences his obscene sounds into Geto’s shoulder. Moaning even more when Geto chuckles at how much of a mess he’s become.

“Give and take, we’ve always been give and take. You can fuck me like this next time, I’ll be anything and everything for you whenever you want. Just say it.”

“I can’t!”

Gojo can’t take this anymore, it’s too much, it all feels too good. He overpowers Geto with little effort, but Geto lets him do it anyway.

He shoves him onto the floor, and grips his cock, his smirk mischievous when Geto readies his tongue for it. He lets him slap it against his mouth before he finally takes it. Grinning around his cock as he takes the entire length of it.

“There’s the real Suguru, the exemplary student. The good boy who’s about to shut up and suck me.”

Despite his harsh tone he cups Geto’s face, ignoring the way his chest is heaving and still clawing for breath. No one makes his heart beat like this. He hates how he finds his heart going into a frenzy at anyone with long black hair until he realises it's not his precious Suguru. Not that he'd even tell him that.

“You always did look better with my cock down your throat.”

Geto hums amusedly, choking on Gojo’s cock as he does so.

“I know you love it too, helps you remember your place, doesn’t it? Thats it, fuck!” 

He grips Geto’s hair with abandon, fucking his face until ropes of his come spurt down his throat. “Take it all, had to shut you the fuck up, l hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

As soon as his breaths calm, Geto pins the cocky man below him once more. He has other plans. He straddles his chest, thumb running across his lip. He’s breathless too, voice spent from being fucked so mercilessly. 

“Could have tapped out,” Gojo speaks softly, that raptured submission returning as he gazes in awe at the beautiful man above him.

He coughs before he speaks, “I’d never do that, but you are going to pay for it. This pretty face will, anyway.” He slaps his cheek gently before he starts to jerk himself above his face. 

Gojo tries to feign frustration but he's turned on beyond belief, cock hard again. It’s so filthy, but it always was, they only ever did this when they were drunk or so horny for each other it turned them into animals.

Geto always touched himself so beautifully, so erotically. 

“Because I love seeing your perfect fucking face, painted with my cum. Makes you remember your place.” 

Gojo’s hands smoothed along his thighs, in wordless appreciation for the beauty before him.

“That the only man to do this will only ever be me, your one and only, yeah?”

His breath stutters as his orgasm approaches. Gojo finally nods, mouthing a feeble ‘I love you’ before offering his tongue. He groans as Geto’s come practically drowns him and soaks his tongue.

Gojo tries to swallow every drop, but before he knows it Geto’s dragging him toward the damned mirror again. He attempts to fight his grasp for a matter of seconds but he gives up, he doesn't care anymore. 

“The fucking strongest belongs to me. The only one that can handle you—is me. Look at yourself.”

He knows he's right even if he hates it.

“You see us? We’re yin, and yang. Me and you, we’re perfect together,” Geto pants, shifting the hair from Gojo’s eyes as if to emphasise his point, his own hair falling over Gojo’s shoulders.

The city lights shine through Gojo’s white hair, and over Geto’s illuminating the thick black silk falling over his shoulders 

“You’re mine, Satoru, and I love you. I will forever.”

Gojo cocks his brow but he leans closer, “You’re so vocal today, the good sex got you this sentimental.” He sighs, his grin full of play. “Might have to kick you out man.”

They find themselves wrestling until Geto is kissing Gojo’s forehead once more, his arms pinned and a stupid lovesick grin on his face.

“Listen, okay? I told you, I was about to call you too tonight. I missed you.”

Gojo laughs softly, leaning up to press a kiss to Geto’s cheek before speaking into his ear, “God, you’re embarrassing, aren’t ya?”

Geto glares at him before giving in. He pulls Gojo against his chest, grinning when he doesn’t resist. He curls around him like a cat, and Geto wraps them into a cocoon of blankets. 

Gojo falls asleep, fast. White lashes fluttering ever so often, lulled by the warmth and safety of Geto’s embrace. “Please don’t leave me,” he mutters, twitching in some kind of bad dream. 

Geto leans and kisses his nose, reaching for his phone to send a text home. 

Won’t be home for a few days. Only call if it’s an emergency.

“I wish I didnt ever have to, my love.” he nuzzles himself into Gojo’s neck and kisses, sucking until he whines in his sleep. He grins against the mark that flushes in its wake and he squeezes him that little bit tighter until Gojo can't help but whimper softly, even in his deep sleep. 

And then finally, he mutters the words. “Suguruu? Finally,” his mouth forms a little smile, “welcome home…I love you.”

“I love you too.”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

[listenheresweaty]

Reminder that Stirringjuice/Ven themself has said that TMC is not fetish content. Kister’s works are NOT an extension of what was described in the allegations document. If you don’t want to consume TMC content anymore, fine (best you don’t— not in a way that gives Kister money anyway), but don’t spread misinformation.

EDIT: after rereading Ven’s callout document and finally being able to access ALL the screenshots he attached, I have decided that I will no longer support him. I will not go back to supporting Alex Kister yet, but I cannot support a blatant ableist transphobe either. link to annotation doc: (not mine) https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vReErDatnpQ_h3W-WlqrmzmPN26-UyDwLVwBKmHV09WhVZtdZQM44HRxvoV0ZTz8Ho-NaBVKYxjNuha/pub

Things I will be addressing:

Why I do not support Ven (separate from other victims)

Stuff that Alex Kister DID do wrong, even if the allegations were exaggerated/faked/done out of malice

The allegations and victims themselves.

WHY I DONT SUPPORT VEN

First of all, this ⬇️ (scroll down its below the blue highlighted ss. Formatting issues sorry.). This is a ss of Ven’s (now deleted, now archived post) response to how many people are calling him transphobic for his transmisogynistic comments in his document, and how he had basically outed Alex. Instead of saying something like “it wasn’t transphobic — I had to out Alex— it was necessary for the victims/proof/whatever”, Ven just says that if Alex didn’t want to be outed or subjected to transphobia, he shouldn’t have been a “groomer” (Ven later says that he had misused the word “groomer”. Everyone that Alex had interacted with in a sexual or romantic manner had been an adult, and had fully explicitly VERBALLY consented.)

However. Even if your opponent is a bad person, you do NOT have the right to be transphobic. EVER. criticize them on whatever they’ve done wrong, hold them accountable in a balanced and civilized manner— etc. Being protected from bigotry/ not getting misgendered, privacy, legal counsel— these are all examples of RIGHTS.

When you start denying something based on whether someone deserves it or not, that “something” has become a privilege. By stating that his transphobia was excused because Alex is a supposedly bad person, Ven has stated that not being subjected to transphobia is a privilege. here’s the link: (takes forever to load the keep reading portion but it works for me) https://web.archive.org/web/20240317125855/https://www.tumblr.com/stirringjuicee/745117180204548096/alex-kister-and-actively-using-being-trans-to-lure

Screenshot of the post below, along with something from the callout doc (annotated by a tumblr user. The non-highlighted color text is the annotated bit.

—— ss from ven response (click. It IS An image it just looks like text)

—- now onto some more details.

Ven, or StirringJuice, made the first allegations document against Alex Kister. He had stated himself that he does not consider himself a victim, just a friend of the victims who wanted to spread the word. Ven starts the document off by describing his past relationship with Alex Kister. He also includes screenshots of text messages from Alex— which often contradict or have no relation with what he’s saying. This is why it’s important to look at the screenshots, guys! Most of the toxicity in Ven’s relationship with Alex stemmed from Ven’s refusal to honestly his boundaries or feelings. He told Alex that he was comfortable with the sexual comments, he told Alex that he was comfortable being just Friends with Benefits, and he told Alex that they were welcome to vent to him any time <- all of this is corroborated by the text screenshots that Ven himself posted.

In Ven’s text messages, we can see him suggesting that Alex gets a therapist. Great! Nothing wrong there. And then you actually look at the ss:

(Ven is the blue. These ss are linked in the callout document.)

First of all. You cannot force ANYONE to get mental help, regardless of whether you think it’s for their own well-being. If their behavior is harming you, leave. But even the worst people on earth deserve autonomy for these kinds of things. Ven literally states that he had FORCED Alex to get a therapist, and you can see him admit it in the messages above as well.

after these ss links (labeled part 9 in the doc), Ven hits us with this absolute banger:

“[Alex] then decided to go off his meds.”

Someone had already said this, but: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT TO OR ABOUT A MENTALLY ILL PERSON. EVER. REGARDLESS OF WHO YOU ARE, OR WHO THEY ARE. it’s an insult to every mental health community.

^ also, Alex gives a pretty good reason for going off his medication. Not that they needed to.

^highlighted text is Ven’s callout post. Purple text is a fellow tumblr user’s annotations. They have a whole post with these annotations. I’ll credit them when I’m done writing out my post. [clarification: the annotator uses “she/her” pronouns for Alex, Ven uses he/him. I use they/them because Alex was never publicly OUT as she/her before they were outed, so I’m not sure what to do]

Also: please go on the callout doc and see the “pt. 11” screenshots yourself. There’s a lot of them and I don’t want to add them here, but please go see them.

^Ven hears that Alex wants to start a new chapter with them (yknow, like redeem the toxic relationship they’ve had) and immediately assumes it’s in the romantic sense.

^Alex admits that they are not ready for a committed relationship, a good first step for smoothing over any toxicity.

^nothing else to add. Annotator did great.

^ text ss as listed under the “pt. 14” link

These are 3 out of 10 ss under the Pt. 15 link. Look at the text indicated to with the red arrow (drawn by me). Ven literally tells Alex that they “don’t understand anything ever.” They also tell Alex in a later ss (plz find it yourselves because I’m not posting all 10 photos) that they “don’t understand [their] own emotions.”

Maybe Alex was making an unhealthy decision by continuing to reach out to someone they clearly had an unhealthy relationship with. But these responses are borderline abusive, especially when aimed at someone who suffers from paranoia.

A huge chunk of the entire callout doc is Ven venting about his relationship with Alex. This relationship is not abusive, it is toxic on both sides. The fact that Ven put this much focus on these barely relevant details— even when the topic was the victims, not Ven himself— suggests that he did this out of petty vindictiveness. If the allegations are true, the victims deserved a BETTER PERSON and a BETTER FRIEND to share their story. Not someone who did it purely because it was en excuse to get revenge. If it wasn’t revenge, why add all these details?? (funny thing— the whole doc. Would be more believable if Ven hadn’t added all this stuff. He destroyed his credibility before even getting to the allegations).

the one below has more transphobia and general assholery than ableism.

^apparently once you are out of the closet, you are not allowed to go back or feel ashamed. Else you are lying and manipulative. Thanks, Ven.

I am done posting screenshots from the annotation document. Please, PLEASE read it in full. I will tag it in the comments. There are so so so many good points.

STUFF THAT ALEX HAS DEFINITELY DONE WRONG, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THE ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE OR FALSE:

(Orange text is annotator, black is original doc).

Venting to/ Relying on a minor fan for mental health support (I think it was Mitchie). That’s not good.

making allusions to suicide during their relationship with Ven. Joke or not, that’s unhealthy.

ALLEGATIONS/VICTIMS:

wont say much here because I’m getting tired. some people on Reddit have been pointing out that some discord ss (not the ones I’ve shown you, those were imessage ss) look faked because there is use of military time, which is not an option on discord apparently. Other screenshots seem to use different fonts as well, further indicating forged evidence. I have fact-checked none of this and can’t verify it (not that you should be relying on my word alone, anyway).

I do not support Mitchie, since they’ve been telling people to self-harm and/or commit suicide when they point out flaws in the callout doc. I don’t care what you’ve been through. There is no excuse for that.

As for the other victims.. I find their statements fishy. However, I will not disbelieve them until more has been cleared up.

[ma1dmer]

The Elder Scrolls - Miraak NSFW

i read a very specific smut fic,,,,,girl,,,,,,,

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he let's you stay close to him as he returns to his 'research' ,he’ll let you place your head on his lap and play with your hair as you drift off to sleep

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he loves your mouth, will trace his fingers over your lips before every kiss, or simply shove them into your mouth for you to wet, getting distracted by the warmth and the way your tongue circles each digit as you look up at him 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): definitely has a breeding kink, always growls about the possibility of knocking you up right as he is about to cum, telling you to be good for him and not let anything leak out

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): his imagination runs quite wild, has some fantasies that he sometimes brings up in the form of dirty talk but so far hasn’t actually sat you down to discuss about fulfilling them , some include using some magic on you, maybe some of the stuff he has learned throughout his time under hermaeus mora and some of fucking you as a group of his followers watch

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): he has a lot of experience, he is the first dragonborn , and even without the big title and ego, he has been alive for so long, this man fucked and still fucks

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): you on your knees or bent over some surface, your legs and arms restrained so he has full access to your body, his hands bruising your hips

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he is definitely more serious, he can be quite intense and he does enjoy the way he can make you nervous, he’ll chuckle about how you are scared but your body still reacts to him

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he is very hairy but keeps himself surprisingly tidy

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): he can be quite the charmer, he enjoys a bit of a classical courtship sometimes, playfully trying to woo you, wants to play the role of finally winning you over before he has his way with you

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): he’d much rather have someone else to help him but if he can’t , he likes to take his time , does some light edging on himself and thinks of how he'd like your next meeting to go, how he’ll have you scream for him 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): bdsm, praise and degradation etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): has no shame, after being in apocrypha for so long where privacy probably wasn’t much of a thing he just got used to being watched, would honestly not care if someone walked in on you

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): submission, he wants to see you kneel for him, wants you to expose yourself for him and plead, leave yourself at his mercy 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): not much he couldn't be convinced into trying at least once with the right wording

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): loves cock warming , loves having you on your knees simply letting you do your thing for hours before he remembers you are there and thrusts up in the heat of your mouth

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): it really depends ,he is definitely rougher, but whether he goes slowly or not is up to his mood

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): wants to take his time with you , he has nothing but time in his hand, hates being rushed

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): he generally knows what he likes but is more than happy to indulge your interests every now and then

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): he has a lot of stamina and a lot of pent up frustration to burn out

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): wants to watch you use various toys on yourself, things he bought or made for you, telling you exactly how to use them and constantly stopping you right as you get close to finishing because he wants to make you cum himself

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): can be quite mean with his teasing in and out of bed

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): he does not stay silent, he groans deeply and speaks a lot ,no reason to keep quite, he wants you to hear how much he is enjoying himself

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): he is surprisingly sensitive, loves when you rake your nails over his chest or when you drag your teeth over his throat, he always has to restrain you just so he can keep more of a semblance of control, otherwise he gets lost in the pleasure of your touch

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): i wish i could say he is compensating for something with that ego of his, but its big and it curves slightly

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he has a really high sex drive but has a very good grasp on his needs, always weighs his options, does he want you right now, or does he want to wait for later in the night so he can take his time

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): i don't think he sleeps very well in general, he'd never admit so but having somebody next to him definitely helps a lot

[mouschiwrites]

Good Morning/Evening!!

Could I request Dating Cole Brookstone Headcanons?

I see you are a person of fine taste, my friend!! It would be my pleasure to fulfill this request!

Ninjago - Dating Cole Brookstone Headcanons

I see him as a natural romantic

Like, he doesn’t even have to try

He just does stuff and it’s so perfect

Like, he’ll thoughtlessly pull you into a slow dance when his favorite song comes on

(Side note: he LOVES to dance with you)

Or he’ll “surprise” you with a fancy restaurant reservation and flowers (he really just forgot to tell you earlier and got the flowers because they reminded him of you)

Or he’ll spout the most heartfelt compliments at random moments

“You really are the most beautiful person ever.”

“…I’m just scrolling on my phone though? In my unwashed pjs???”

All this without even specifically trying to be romantic

He’s just being himself

His favorite kind of date is to go out to dinner

He likes trying new things with you, so one of you will pick an obscure restaurant to try out each time

Whether it’s palatable or not, you always have a good time anyway

If the food sucks, you bond over the horrible experience

“Wow. That was horrible.”

“Ugh, I know. Was that rice or shredded tire rubber?”

“Honestly, the latter would’ve tasted better.”

“Pfff—”

Talking over a table with the din of restaurant ambience is like your guys’ own love language

You’ll talk about anything and everything

Light topics, dark topics, deep topics, whatever comes to mind

He’s a really deep and reflective person, so your deep conversations are often the most meaningful

He’s also absolutely hilarious though, so joking around is a very close second

Speaking of, his love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

As mentioned before, he’s a natural at giving compliments

But he also uses the L word quite liberally

Definitely the first to say “I love you”

He loves cuddling

He’s a big guy, so you already know he’s optimally huggable

Doesn’t mind what cuddling position; he just likes to be close to you

If he had to pick a favorite, though, he likes to lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat

Whenever he has to go away on a mission, he gives you the biggest bear hug

He’ll lift you off your feet, squishing your faces together and peppering your cheek with kisses

The hug he gives you when he gets back isn’t quite so energetic, but it’s no less romantic

He’ll lean on you a little more, relaxing his form to fit against yours perfectly as he lets out a long sigh

He’ll rub your back absentmindedly while he murmurs how much he missed you

Those are some of his best hugs, but he also frequently just lifts you up in a quick two-second hug, sometimes even from behind

“Ack! Cole, put me down!”

“Ha, sorry babe. You’re just so darn lovable, how am I supposed to not hug you?”

“Don’t apologize; I just want to hug you back!”

Also big on touching

Not necessarily PDA (but he won’t object if you like that), just maintaining physical contact

Hand holding, an arm around your shoulder, pinky-locking, anything really

Even if it’s just touching shoulders

Likes to get creative with cute nicknames as well

His go-tos are babe, baby, sweetheart, and angel face/cakes

But you’ve also heard pumpkin, muffin, munchkin, gorgeous, sugar, teddy bear, cuddle monster, etc…

Plus some… interesting… original ones

“Hello, my lovely little dragon snackie!”

“Cole. I love you but what was that.”

He will ascend to the heavens if you give him literally any affectionate nickname

Gives you the biggest grin whenever you use it

Honestly he smiles whenever you say his name, but cute nicknames will really get him

I hope this was alright! Thank you for this splendid request, and thank you for reading! Take care you cultured folks <33

[tarotmundomonde]

Their feelings for you (February 2024 love)

12 piles to choose from in case you have multiple love interests or simply are curious about one or more than one's person's feelings for you in a romantic sense. Have fun!

pick a number 1-12 OR an emoji 💝 😳 🥵 🥶 😵‍💫 😵 🥸 💟 💨 🥺 🤠 🕳️

(ps. this reading is for practice, fun and entertainment as always)

1.💝 They feel like they've found something really special and that something is you. They actually feel you two are meant to be. It's something they cannot explain in words, they simply feel it. Just know that this person feels drawn to you like a magnet and they really want to hold your hand. If they can or could, they'd want to take you to a room, lock the door and show you, how much passion they feel towards you and how truly loving they can be. They really want to show you their love for you. Yeah, they are defitinitely sure that they love you.

2.😳 This person has caught feelings for you unexpectedly. So they don't really know, how to handle that, feeling a bit dilly dally. It's like usually they feel very balanced and grounded and then you appear and boom, their heart is skipping a beat. And it happens everytime they see you. And everytime they need to recompose themselves. To be honest, they feel like they are experiencing some unexplainable burst of emotions and it's starting to make them lose their footing a bit. Like it's becoming more difficult to just brush it away and to ignore it or rationalize it. So there is some kind of change happening in their feelings for you. In short, whether they like it or not, as for now it seems they are catching feelings for you and it's growing everytime they see you.

3.🥵 This pile screams "I WANT YOU". That's their feelings for you. So much passion, they simply cannot resist you. They want to touch you, to feel you, to kiss you, to make love and pleasure. They feel so much pleasure. If you are not in that kind of phase yet, they really want to charm you, to make those feelings reciprocated. They want to make it happen. They feel this slight longing towards you, like can't wait to see you again, can't wait to kiss you again. But the main message is they want you.

4.🥶 They want to break the ice. They seem to feel like it's awkward around you or somehow the communication is awkward between you two or something like that and they feel like trying to melt the ice. Depending on your connection and situation, either they want to cheer you up by cracking a joke or doing something they know would make you smile or the same but not to cheer you up but simply to break the ice. This pile comes through as an awkward chuckle. Like this person they feel that they want to try and make the mood lighter between you two. It's really like they wanna make you smile or laugh just so things wouldn't feel so awkward or to cheer you up.

5.😵‍💫 The unavoidable. This is someone, who has been running away from their feelings for you or somehow have been avoidant. But something inexplicable seems to have happened and suddenly they feel like it's time to put in the effort. For example, if you have some language barrier, they feel like they need to study the language, to work harder so they can come forward and have a proper conversation with you. Or if they've been avoiding contacting you, something happened and they just feel this sudden feeling that it's up to them to make things move forward. Like it's time for them to put in the effort and show you that they are serious about you. Nonetheless, it's becoming more clear to this person that you are in their heart and that other people have not succeeded in taking your spot in their heart. There is this feeling that next time they see you they feel like they no longer will avoid you or drag their feet but rather they want to put in the effort.

6.😵 They feel melancholic. Their feelings are quite intense, to the point that they feel they are going crazy. To be honest, looking at their feelings for you it looks like this person might not be available and yet, they can't help but want you. They also feel jealousy.

7. 🥸 This person wants to forget you and is trying to forget you by being with someone else. Looking at their feelings for you, there is determination to make you disappear from their heart by trying to replace you with someone else. In other words they are trying to replace the subject they feel those feelings for. So what it looks like is that they have lingering feelings for you. You are someone they don't want to think about and don't want to have feelings for, but you still exist in their heart space, kinda like a shadow. In other words, even when they are with someone else, their feelings for you are still there in the background, they are not gone.

8. 💟 If you chose this pile, it looks like this is someone you broke up with or in general an ex-connection. This person wants a reconciliation. In their heart they can't accept that it would be over and they want to talk with you. They want you back.

9.💨 This person feels very balanced and cery certain. They feel certain that they can find someone better for them. There is a sense here that in their heart they have friendzoned you or they feel like they could have a random hook up with you, but they don't feel that you are love partner material for them.

10.🥺 It looks like they can't understand their feelings for you. It's like it doesn't make sense to them. You seem to make them lose their reason? You make them want to talk. It seems where there used to be still waters, there are flowers blooming now. Their feelings for you are feelings that are foreign to them. They can't help but want to know more and talk to you more. They feel a weird ache in their heart for you. It's like they don't know, how to properly handle and express their feelings for you. Whatever may be the situation, it seems they just feel like their heart is out of control and they can't, yet, they just want to run to you.

11.🤠 They seem to experience a wave of internal impatience. It's like they trust and remain optimistic and feel like they should wait, but at the same time they experience difficulty in staying put and can't help but want to do something, like throwing a coin at you to catch your attention. They feel like they want to give you a nudge. For whatever reason, they seem to feel like they can't just trust and have good faith, like they can't just sit still and trust that something will happen. They seem to feel like trusting is not enough and that they need to give you a sign or something to make sure things will move forward between you two or to make sure that you would be interested in them. Depending on your situation/connection, maybe there is something they can't wait to give you or show you.

12.🕳️ Whatever may be the situation, this person doesn't feel like it's the right time to talk or make any decisions. Frankly, depending on your situation/connection one reason could be because you are not a love interest of theirs at the moment.

[soraviie]

them as boyfriends.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━  masterlist

━ about: fluff  ━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON:

Conversations! I am extremely chill about it but still insistent

Conversations about stuff!

Doesn't even have to be like here's the top 10 reasons why Auguste Comte was a cunt but like overall

Why do you enjoy doing some things and why are these things his hobbies you know

Why he knows that some of his habits are bad but he can't seem to stop them and so on

I always think that Namjoon is very concerned about doing the Right Thing, you know, being an objectively good person within a subjectively impossible world he probably worries a lot about "oh, was this thing I said perhaps going to rub you off the long way", "is what I'm doing with my influence enough, is it right?" "oh, you said it was okay but could it be that when I did this you wish I didn't and so on"

Wants to do right by the people he loves so open, frequent communication he views as an opportunity to improve and be assured that he's not an ignorant tool

A multifaceted individual so you get to see all sides - cute and cuddly, shy and embarrassed, the hoe side

Does absolutely wake you up in the mornings like "get up, sucker, we're going somewhere, get up"

Often says he's bringing you to a little something and it could be anywhere between a specific tree in a park and a booked-out art gallery during the night

Tries to echolocate you if he's out and forgot to take his glasses

He's insecure that he can't cook so he probably cleans a lot

Probably has read an article about weaponized incompetency and therefore tries to split chores evenly and keep them regularly done

He's actually torn up he can't do most things he would want like - wait for you after work or walk along the river freely

So he puts the extra effort in all he gets - lazy mornings, eating brunch abroad etc.

I can for some reason imagine him slow driving a bike at night and you're walking beside

Why is he not giving you a lift? He's scared he'll crash and you'll be hurt

If you can drive and own a car he will indicate that he wants to be driven not by asking but by sitting in the seat and putting a seat belt on in front of your eyes

When on tour or working late nights sends you short videos of the animals he finds along the way (think of that Instagram video of him harassing a crab on the way home from work)

Deep morning voice! Lord!

Absolutely the one on the list to have sex to relieve pent-up anger

Sleeps shirtless

Just get like ear plugs or straight-up knock yourself out because I just know he snores like a whole ass truck

If he's in love, really, I mean truly in love you're straight up becoming immortalized in the songs

Like he assigns a symbol that he associated to you whether a specific flower or a word or a concept but it's a little thing that keeps mentioned throughout

If it's a private track will ask you to moan for it to be used in a track

On like one day in a year when you convince him to be lazy, for sure, sits and watches TV with like a passive-aggressive frown and munches on chips really loudly

It's not even a bad show it's just how his face looks then

When meeting your friends, has an awkward "smile and wave, boy, smile and wave" stance

Definitely plays up his hotness once in a while - sleazy smiles, and those bedroom eyes, there are two wolves within him, a romantic and a player

If you're walking through an art gallery, for sure talks about every single thing he sees

The way you're on his Instagram is by sharing the photos you take, through them he can see the man you fell in love with and he becomes giddy over it

YOONGI:

So hear me out but when Yoongi is crushing he's like a boyfriend, when he's in a relationship he's like a married man with two kids and a mortgage

It's not that the spark is missing (guy can get you hot and bothered in a matter of seconds, you know what I'm saying) but it's literal comfort

Everything about him is comfort

He's like what men think men should be but so much better

E.g. fixes stuff - lamps, chairs, bulbs

Has plans on doing renovation

He never does it but he insists that when he gets the free time-!

"Next weekend."

"Yoon, you said it last weekend."

"Yeah, and eventually I'll do it. Consistency is key."

If he's home and you're there cooks meals 100%

For some reason, I always think he's really into cooking breakfast

It's more likely for him to cook breakfast than dinner because he would oftentimes order it in

Soft lighting in the apartment, no overhead lights

His type of touching is subtle

When you're watching say a movie, he doesn't lean into you wholly but like sits and keeps a hand slumped on your knee

Listen to this - fleeting hand holding

If you're keeping your hand on the table and he's near, he'll stroke your hand for 3 seconds take it away and repeat

Touches your pinky with his - it's like saying "hey"

Now hear me out, gossip

Jimin is for sure the no.1 gossiper but Yoongi is not too far behind himself

You're getting the freshest hottest brew about every single idol and producer he finds repulsive

Not too big of an outdoors guy but he'll do literally anything for you so if you want to go on like a few-day retreat, you sit him down and ask him:

"Is this something you want?"

"Yes -ㅅ-"

"Be honest! Are you really okay with going away this weekend and doing absolutely no work?"

"You'll be happy -ㅅ- yes -ㅅ-"

Hates it but you're happy so he's happy

I think he gets a little bit insecure about his partner not being to be able to do a lot of things so he spoils them a lot - trips and rest days and such

Is a hypocrite though

If you drink a lot of coffee nags the shit out of you only to drink seven cups himself

And here's the hill I'm going to die on - really strict when it comes to eating sweets before proper meals

He might be chill when you say you're not hungry, it sometimes happens you know, but will not! have it! for you to eat candy before dinner!

"What are you - my mom?" you sneer as he shOVES a pack of gummy worms into a deep, dark corner of a pantry where it most likely will never see the light of the sun ever again

"I'll call her," he warns, stirring whatever he was cooking that evening. "Don't test me."

Fights with him are rare and very diplomatic

He treasures you a lot so he takes a logical stance and flat out states "we both could say something hurtful, let's take a breather"

If you're in a foul mood and anNOYED at everything and itching for a fight, he'll cock an eyebrow and just say: "Is that really something you want to be spoken out there?"

Sometimes gets you cute plushies

You once walked in on him reading omegaverse fanfic and no, there is no backstory, nor an explanation given

Holds an incredibly harsh critique of snacks

Tastes a chip, hates it, discARDS the packet with a "d i s g u s t i n g"

You will absolutely hear a fuck ton of "back in my day" and "these are not Korean nuts, these are x nuts, they're no good"

Somehow I think he shits himself more before meeting your friends than parents???

Because he knows how to get along with older people but your friends who are convinced he's going to cheat on you, he's nothing but another over-inflated popstar stroking his ego? not a clue, he's a lost boy

He's so humble and helpful that, of course, he wins them over

Probably has driven your friends somewhere where they need to be, like a reception, probably offered his car for moving purposes (does anyone else help their friends move in and out of places?)

When on long car rides absolutely tries to gaslight you by saying the most impossible shit like:

"Of course, there is."

"There are no rivers in the Gobi desert!"

"But there are! Ancient people, how do you think they managed to travel all that distance? It's because they got to the river and that replenished them halfway."

Actually just wants to talk to you and this is an easy way to do so

dRUNK Yoongi just think about it and enjoy, he's so giggly and smiley and probably calls out for you with annoying frequency

Your nickname is an inside joke, many don't think it's cute at all but you know better and that's what's important

JIN:

Gets irrationally shy even after dating you after a while, say, you're changing and he walks in, for some reason puts a hand in front of his eyes??

Definitely covers his body if you're checking him out

"Can we please have some respect? Some decorum?" he whines, neck flushing at an alarming speed

Annoys you a lot, he's the annoying boyfriend

Tells the most ridiculous things, like:

"______________, I was in the bathroom and I did this," flicks hair. "And wow, I'm just so handsome. You must be a very strong person indeed to be able to bear it every day."

His confidence is a Schrodinger's cat - half true, half - farce

Somedays he wakes up and doesn't feel it at all and hides away from you saying he's ugly right now

Please assure him a lot during that time

If you work too much he's the best remedy for that

Jin is wise and helps you see how your time is the most important thing, that you don't have to prove your existence to anyone and can occupy space without proving your worth over and over again

Conversations with him don't often delve into deep waters but at the same time you don't feel unheard because he listens very attentively even if he doesn't share these anxieties and concerns

Does, unfortunately, give you secondhand embarrassment quite often

Has and will wear ridiculous outfits that have people turning their heads around

You're trailing with him, hand in hand, head low and Jin's ears too are flaming like gasoline on fire but who is he to prohibit himself from indulging things

Most likely to want morning sex, I will not elaborate

He has a special soft smile for when he feels properly cared for and babied

Appreciates being given flowers, hair tugged behind the ear

He doesn't give a fuck what's a norm, it makes him feel nice, fuck you, he'll continue doing it

If you find fishing boring, sorry you'll have to put up with it

"I guess this will be our thorn, honey, you'll just have to endure this for love"

He takes no shit, not even from you but in return never, ever prohibits you from enjoying things

For example, diving into ice-cold water in a lake is not his idea of a fun time but if you enjoy it, he'll be by the side shivering with a towel and a thermos

Definitely, 100% rehearses meeting your parents and quizzes you on his

It is no surprise at all when you meet that both of you know just the right words, the right gestures

Jin loves his family and to be put in a conflict between you and them is a walking nightmare

So he does his best to avoid that

You often eat at very random places scattered throughout the town and sometimes out of it

One day it's a luxury five-star restaurant in a penthouse, the next you're sitting on a wobbly chair at a marketplace, eating a small vegetable or meat skewer from a plastic cup

But Jin always knows how to bring a good time, so both times are just perfect

HOSEOK:

Okay so if this makes sense but Hoseok is the type of boyfriend who wants you to improve

So he wouldn't be super clingy or overly protective or madly jealous but he shows his care by reminding you to do self-care

Like skincare routine, morning and night he's there to ask you if you did it

Or whether you ate well, why not, why are you neglecting care in your life

I don't see him as overly romantic like big-ass gestures but really consistent care from the start

Now hear me out and don't tussle, he partially views you as a responsibility and a project

and befORE YOU GET PITCHFORKS LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING

He works hard, correct?

He's a strict teacher and absolutely works himself 100% for maximum improvement

And it's not like he's hovering over you like a helicopter parent, moulding you into a version of his liking I just think he wants you to be the person you really like

So obviously it depends on what your goals are but he's really quietly motivating you to do better for yourself

It may not sound most romantic but at its core he wants you to be happy and I think he realises that it doesn't always just means being loved by a close person

So he wants you to improve, feel better about yourself and feel better about the world in such a way

Because the world is a very dark place, it can't handle even more negativity

Kinky, 0 explanation iykyk

A hype man for sure

If you're ever feeling like you can't do something he'll convince you that at the very least there's not so much loss involved as you think

Handmade jewellery especially if he's been away for a long time

I imagine him sitting at a studio, taking like a 15-minute break and he's tinkering with beads, arranging them and stringing them into a bracelet tailored to your interests

Buys you clothes more than anything else say like a car or a house

He splurges reasonably

Though them triangle bags he had back in the day cost like 300 that's my whole rent homie

It's hard to read what he'd be like as a boyfriend but out of all most likely to feel like a friend with added stuff

Which isn't bad at all

I think he struggles between the view of love in the traditional sense he's been taught and interpreting it his own, more peculiar way

Buys subtly matching clothes

Has a private Instagram and definitely hypes you up there

If he's upset but not overtly mad, he'll lie in the bed and Complain using full VFX of Hobi sound effects

Somehow managed to friendzone you once

As an act of revenge, you did that as well and now has learnt his lesson

100% has inner demons but out of all is the most likely to not share it, above Yoongi, above all

He doesn't struggle with communication per se but struggles with understanding that he himself can have faults and he doesn't have to do everything alone

He holds people he loves in high standard hence why he's so insistent on self-care; on being the best you can be within your own eyes, so it makes complete sense that he holds himself up to the highest standard, cutting himself the least amount of slack

Makes you feel like you're the most hilarious person in the world but doesn't talk much at home

If you feel awkward at an event and pressured will leave immediately, I just have a sense about this

JIMIN:

Has a knack for jealousy but the type to end with you being railed the entire night with his jaw clenched

I know we all like his cute side but he can be scary

He can be standoffish and sharp he just mostly chooses to not be

He chooses the high ground though that doesn't always mean he wants to take one

So if you have an ex he particularly loathes he will be near poisonous to that person

But lets it go because it's not about them, it's about you and you deserve his undivided attention

He needs assurance a lot because I think he's convinced himself you'll leave because honestly, it's a hard lifestyle to tolerate in a partner

Touchy but listen to this his favourite is not hugging you but leaning into you

Because it can be so variable

Like cutely leaning onto you whining at you at a full volume or pressing his nose in your cheek with a smirk

I have a feeling he'd enjoy it if you have some temper

He hates fights, absolutely abhors them, and probably has fights because he didn't voice something in the first place because he didn't want to fight

But if you're mad at someone else? If you're angry and getting heated and being bossy?

He just ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

But he often has ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) he's in tune with his sensual side

Speaking of sensual, reads the most toe-curling, filthy romance books in his free time

I'm talking like casually sipping coffee and calmly listing through like a BDSM orgy

He's the type to try everything once, within reasons

Often when talking has a soft, whiny voice and holds a part of your body rubbing circles there

I can't imagine his flirty nature not getting him in trouble at some point

But he makes his commitment known in very intense ways

Like gripping your jaw, making eye contact and saying something along that he can't even sleep without you, you're in his bloodstream

Kind of corny but manages to make it sexy because it's Park Jimin

He wants to know everything about you - what you're thinking, why you're thinking it, what made you to be who you are now and who you want to be tomorrow

Desires to make eye contact

Steals more of your clothes than you do his

Drunk, kind of out of it dancing to slow, sexy songs is a MUST for him

In a way there are two parts to being loved by him which are very representative of his sides - one is cute and cuddly, wanting you to be happy, like an idealized version of kids being in love and the other one is hungry

He wants you in and out, if you're not his in the understanding that he knows you best, that he can please you physically and please you mentally by giving you comfort, he's not happy

Sentimental, probably secretly keeps tokens of yours from the beginning of the relationship

Has a copy of all your childhood pics, argue with a wall

The one true no. 1 gossiper, he knows everything about everyone like your workplace for example

He knows why exactly that co-worker of yours left for a two-week vacation and the reason is salacious as all hell while you could be sitting there - "I have a coworker by that name?"

If you're out and he sees someone being rude, will viOLATE them

His sense of humour could make a person suicidal fr

But unlike some, he uses his inside voice

Has things that annoy him in your relationship but I don't think he says it unless it's really bad

He lets small grudges pass hoping to preserve the balance

Because only the mere thought of you leaving terrifies him

Once Jimin ties himself to someone, genuinely, he doesn't want to let them go for nothing

If you're away for a long time, let's say going abroad or really busy with work, his emotions get the best of him and he gets quite upset

But he hides it and frankly somewhat succeeds

But you can also tell when you return home that he was missing you like crazy

He needs to be pampered then, reassured that everything's fine

Does everything you want even if it's not what he would usually do

If you feel like driving for a while to stare at the moon, he absolutely would

Seduces you over and over again

Partially I think the reason he changes up his behaviour so much is to make sure he's keeping you on your toes and you wouldn't leave

It's lowkey a phobia of his

It's so obvious he's dating you

You can just see the Love

Also if he would just stop glARING at strangers for bREATHING your direction, that would be great

Reminds you to do a lot of things but also needs those reminders as well

Often so tired he forgets to do basic things so you have to wrangle him to take a shower or brush his teeth before bed because he really works himself very hard :(

If you're on your phone when it's time to sleep will yANK it away like a mOTHER

Love to him means sticking together - always

TAEHYUNG:

bops

Oh, you're expecting an explanation?

You're not getting any :)

Very soft

Also very weird

Being his partner means being his interpreter at times

You two have probably developed a language of your consisting chiefly of sounds

Sends you a shit ton of selfies

Mostly stupid and often blurry

He's a blurry sort of guy

Has sent a selfie taken from underneath his nostril

You could be sitting at work and he sends you a wet, shirtless selfie

Cause he's a menace

Big enthusiast of having soft lights as well

It makes the atmosphere feel more intimate

Everything is about intimacy when he's with you

Emotional, spiritual, physical

Where Jimin is in love with love, Taehyung loves romance

So big, classic, romantic gestures are a part of the Kim course

Date nights are unavoidable even let's say you're in two different countries he'll find a way

Sometimes by spontaneously flying out, sometimes by arranging the most ridiculous zoom call known to man

Like the camera placed where you would sit across the table with a restaurant dinner in front

Buys you lingerie, jewellery and fancy clothes

Teases you about loving him

"Ah, ______________ your passion for me makes a guy shy."

Cue to you sitting like -_-

Cause by now you're tiRED

I imagine he does get on your nerves a lot but by weaponizing all of that infamous charm at this point you're convinced he could get away with breaching the Geneva conventions

Always looks at you like he's done absolutely NO WRONG

Even if it happened like 3 seconds ago

Gatekeeps you in a way

He wants you all to himself and he's afraid if you don't like his friends, you might end up not liking him as well

Really values your opinion of him

Has gone to a fortune teller to ask how your future would look like

When you're going through a tough time, he "lends" you his angel

Misses you like crazy when you're apart

And sometimes even when you're here

If he's miraculously drunk, you're not getting him off you

Fucking Clingatron 3000 over here practically treats you as a plushie when you go to sleep

If you're the more reserved type, he's simply over the moon trying to make you flustered

And if you're really cuddly, he invites it eagerly and joyously

Jump atop of him and he'll laugh head thrown back onto the bed

Absolutely the type to find you being angry quite cute, with the exception that you're not so mad you're breaking up with him

This is of course really annoying because what if you want to establish dOMINANCE

Well good luck with that

He'll just smooch you to pacifism

Is lowkey always horny

Has kinks but I do not have the strength to think about them

Every week attempts to cook a fancy meal which ends up being an inedible concoction tasting like an armpit sweat

Promises to not do it again but lo and behold next week!

Watches a lot of movies with you

Watches you if you're out

Really zones out when you're ordering or simply waiting for something

If you're both at home plays soft music in the background so he could pull you into dance at any time

Fresh flowers whenever the old ones wilt down :(

Brings you to a lot of hipster cafes late in the evening

Quite often says the most inappropriate shit at absolutely the wrong place and time

For example, you're about to throw the bins out and he casually lets it slide -

"What if we tried for a baby right now?"

Smiles at his phone when texting you

Recalling back to the finding you cute when angry, definitely smiles and chuckles to himself if you're being huffy and complaining about work or what some dumbass did today

Begs you to share food

The type to bump into you playfully when walking

If he's going to bed, you're going to bed (can't sleep without his plushie)

Increasingly ridiculous nicknames - honey, babe, dearest, flower, sweet bean, rice cake, jujubii (warps it to sound more cuter version of jujube)

Eats up every capitalized love celebration ever invented - white day, rose day, his own made - "our first kiss day"

Really sentimental in that way

I think he wants love to feel more like a movie than it necessarily is so tries his hardest to make that dream a reality

JUNGKOOK:

It is often and with an honestly worrying frequency that you think there is nothing but mii music behind those eyes

Zones out a lot

Stops mid-sentences

Sometimes forgets to listen when you're ranting

It's because he feels safe with you

He feels that he doesn't have to make perfect sense so his mind wanders a lot because he's very relaxed when with you

The type of guy who holds your legs crossed in his lap, one hand caressing your calf when watching a movie

Speaking of movies, yes, you probably have a whole list of tv shows to watch together

(which he absolutely cheats by squeezing in extra screen time)

But you know what he absolutely does

Plays the most horrible otome games known to man

I'm talking about the horse dating simulator, every and all butler romances in the app store

At first, it's just to make fun of it

But then naturally gets really competitive and complains quite hard if the butler he's supposed to be romancing doesn't like him

"Why are men so hard to please?" he growls, fingers gripping the phone so hard the knuckles are white. "I spent 45 diamonds on this dress and "okay" is all YOU CAN SAY?!"

Though you started the game together, he's the one to finish them because it's just slightly hard to develop a romantic interest in an anime pigeon for you but not for Jungkook

Does as he's told when it comes to chores - washing dishes, cleaning, laundry, does it all eagerly

If you're messy, nags you but doesn't go as hard as, for example, Hoseok

Before you stop by his apartment, 100% tried to make it more "palatable" for you

Meaning, shOVES those 7 mattresses of his lying around into a closet or something

Whilst he's pouring a glass of wine you hear a crash come from somewhere

"What's that??" you ask and he sweats, absolutely shits himself

"Nothing," he replies, voice squeaky

"Didn't sound like nothing..."

"...dON't even worry about it."

If he has to take out the bins and your high-heeled shoes are the only thing available, he'll be strutting down to the garbage like a Victoria's Secret model

Has switched those LED lights to red to try and dance sexily in front of you only to bump his crotch into the corner of a closet

You're 90% of his impulse control so if you're gone, expect to see him with one eyebrow upon returning

Has cried at least once about thinking how much he loves you

Turns up his hotness just to see what happens

Is HIGHKEY ready to go at any given point

Even if he's dead tired, he's like "just a quick, lazy sesh, okay 🥺🥺🥺"

If you're scolding him also does this 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Finds it absolutely hilarious and endearing if you're bossy

Obeys whilst giggling all throughout

Your ass is a source of comfort for him, it's not your ass it's OUR ass once you're with him

If you're close with your family, probably the one most likely to spend a lot of time with them (of course, only with you there cause he cannot handle that tension A L O N E)

When you first brought him to meet the fam, anytime you tried to leave he would look at you with a smile on his lips but wide panicked eyes, hissing:

"do nOT leAVE me"

"I need to go to the bathroom..."

"Hold it! for the love of gOD hOLD iT."

After a while, he's a bit more chill, the type to be brought along to every camping trip and cookout

Is probably used for labour by your relatives

No, does not send you memes, he's breaking the Gen Z stereotype as he's not attached to the hip with his phone

Makes a conscious effort to spend enough time with you

He can be weaponized to kill bugs, shoo away birds, glare threateningly at strangers

Gently wrestles you for fun

Really enjoys it if you take care of him, like put hair oil in his hair, massage his shoulders, cream his hands etc.

Doesn't like spending a lot of time hanging around somewhere so he whines in your ear

"Are you going to be done soon?"

"We just got here. I need to buy a new shirt."

"You have plenty at home and they all look great on you. Let's just go eat. There's online shopping for a reason."

Gets jealous a lot but never gets angry at you and quickly lets it go

Mostly pouts and fusses if he thinks you're being too friendly with someone

Sometimes utilizes you as weights whilst working out

Like makes you lay on top of him when he's doing push-ups

Adores if you try to manhandle him only to then show you how it's really done by taking a hold of your legs and hoisting you around his waist

You have had a talk about whether he'd choose Namjoon over you and the results of that debate were relayed to Namjoon himself who just looks at you both with a frown that says "what the hell are both of you on"

Gets lowkey combative if you have bad habits that impact your health like smoking, too much drinking, or not eating regularly

Health to him is very important in spite of you pointing out the hypocrisy of it

As he often fails to take proper care of himself

But he tries so he wants you to try your best as well

Makes a secret tattoo about you

Like your favourite flower, or a favourite thing

Similar to how Namjoon immortalizes you in a way, but on his flesh

Sings around the house but is too shy to give you concerts

Sneaks you into the studio, however, for you to express your opinion

Sneaks you into a lot of places

Like an afterparty or a press conference

A member will see you and wonder out loud:

"I think I saw _____ walking by."

"You're just getting old, seeing things," Jungkook replies trying not to seem too guilty

You can absolutely tell if he has a surprise planned for you

"Jungkook, are you planning to bring me on a secret date?"

"0.0 no 0.0"

If you're mercilessly destroying him at a game, he threatens to cry

Would get upset at you for something he dreamt

Glares at you over coffee cup:

"You said you liked Yoongi better than me."

"In a dream you Dumbo," you roll your eyes. "I'm literally making you breakfast."

He answers with a vague hum, then turns up his nose, all offended:

"Said you liked his hip thrust more."

Wants to adopt more dogs, so you'll have someone to keep you company when he's on tour :( and so that they could protect you in case of home invasion or stalkers

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[wordbunch]

SFW Alphabet: Frodo

a/n: anon requested, this is for all the frodo girlies out there - y'all are one of the pillars of this fandom, truly! i feel like (and hope) this is very cute <3 enjoy and be kindly reminded that all feedback/reblogs are so appreciated xxx and my drafts are almost cleared out - stay tuned for new things!

A = AFFECTION (how affectionate are they and how do they show affection?) He needs a little bit of time to get completely comfortable with being openly affectionate to you, but once he does, there is affection galore! In many little ways - running to hug you after being apart, making you tea, reading to you, questioning you about your interests. And he likes to feel you close at all times, whether it’s just pinky fingers interlocked in a public setting, or an evening cuddle session.

B = BEST FRIEND (what would they be like as a best friend and how would the friendship start?) He would be a really nice best friend, you would be able to confide in him about anything, you’d lean onto each other during tough times, but it would also be balanced out with a good amount of jokes, little adventures, and of course trading books!

C = CUDDLES (do they like to cuddle & how?) He is a cuddly person through and through, he will initiate it relatively often, but if you want to make him extra happy, you be the one who suggests a cuddle session. He likes to read with you while you cuddle, so a common position would be your head leaning on his shoulder and one of his arms around you, while he holds a book in the other.

D = DOMESTIC (do they want to settle down; how are they at cooking/cleaning?) Probably yes, he loves his home and he is comfortable there, but what would make it even better is if you stayed forever! Frodo is pretty neat and clean, maybe not the best cook, but at least he is tidy. If you like to cook, he will enthusiastically learn from you, or just hang around while you do it.

E = ENCHANTED (what was their first opinion/feeling about you when you just met?) He was eavesdropping on you a little bit as you talked to a friend of yours about something you were passionate about, and he found it so charming that he immediately decided he needed to build up the courage to go and talk to you, because you sounded so interesting. And he loves an interesting conversation!

F = FIANCE(E) (how do they feel about commitment; how quickly would they want to get married?) Commitment - yes, for sure! However he takes a bit of time to make up his mind about taking such an important step, and he wants to know as certainly as possible how you feel about it. He’d never want you to feel forced into anything or to regret such a big decision, maybe he even overthinks it a little bit.

G = GENTLE (how gentle are they, physically and emotionally?) Come on he is The Baby!!! He is so soft and loving towards you in all the possible love languages and he is absolutely the kindest little soul!!!

H = HUGS (do they like hugs, how often, what are they like?) Big fan of hugging, he will hug you at any given opportunity, he’ll literally run to you and hug you when he sees you after a few hours of being apart! His heart flutters when you do the same, especially if it’s in public, since his reputation isn’t exactly the most amazing - it means a lot to him when you show him off a bit.

I = I LOVE YOU (how fast they say the L-word) I think he falls in love pretty quickly but he would push the feeling aside, or try to, because at first he thought he doesn’t have much of a chance with you… wrong! Even after you begin to return some of his affections, he would put the “L-word” on hold, but eventually when he confessed it was super romantic - maybe a poem or a letter with rose petals inside of it while he waited anxiously somewhere behind a corner to see your reaction.

J = JEALOUSY (how jealous do they get and how they act then) Frodo is not jealous at all, he is literally too pure for that and he trusts you endlessly. In case someone is bothering you a bit too much, you can just give him a “save me” look and he will be there in an instant, more worried for you than jealous. Sometimes he will deem someone more suitable for you than himself, so he might grow a little quiet while pondering his insecurities, but if you kiss him on the lips in front of everyone, the negative feelings will dissipate rather quickly.

K = KISSES (what are their kisses like, where do they like to kiss you/be kissed?) He’s a little bit shy when it comes to kissing you and a little hesitant, so he appreciates it if you take charge when it comes to that, at first. Later on he will kiss you without a second thought, and he relishes in kissing you on the cheeks, you’re just so cute and precious (oops)!!! Maybe he won’t go for it in public, but if you kiss him on the lips in front of others he will blush FURIOUSLY but he will be unable to wipe the smile off of his face. Also he’s very respectful and will kiss you on the back of your hand a lot.

L = LOVE LANGUAGE (what is their love language and how they show you love) Acts of service and words of affirmation! I don’t think I need to explain the ‘acts of service’, but as for words of affirmation, he’s a nerd who reads a lot and has a wide vocabulary in more than one language - you’ll often find him lavishing you with compliments and sweet declarations of love. Maybe quality time as well.

M = MORNINGS (how are mornings spent with them) I think he could be a morning person! As much as he wants to cuddle with you a bit longer while you’re still asleep, he will most likely get up, open the windows, put some tea to brew so that you wake up to fresh tea. If he wakes up early enough, he will even go outside to pick you a few flowers to give you as soon as you open your eyes so that your day starts in the best possible ways. 

N = NICKNAMES (do they like to use cute nicknames for you/you for them?) Actually not so much, he likes to stick to the classics like ‘dear’ or ‘love’, and he likes it when you call him that as well.

O = OPEN (when would they start revealing things about themselves; everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Somewhere in between. You two build a solid friendship, and then a relationship, through a lot of talking about all things, and a lot of pretty good communication, and some things just pop up with time. He grows to trust you more than anyone and knows he can confide in you with basically anything, however big or small.

P = PATIENCE (how easily angered are they?) Literally never ever, especially not at you! He gets more annoyed than angry with things, and he will absolutely vent to you about anything. At some point he will stop himself and be like “sorry, did I burden you too much” but you think it’s kinda cute when he’s ranting about something.

Q = QUIZZES (how much would they remember about you – every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget most things?) He remembers quite a lot and he likes to learn things about you, about things you like, things from your past, things you love. He will ask you to elaborate on anything and everything and then listen to you with a smile on his face.

R = REMEMBER (favorite moment in your relationship) When he first introduced you to his besties!!! He was and is SO proud to be with you, and he had a feeling they would love you but he was still a little bit anxious because that’s just how he is. But of course you hit it off immediately, and before you knew it you could turn to Sam for advice, or have inside jokes with Merry and Pippin, and all that makes Frodo so happy - he is close to them, and you’re his special person, so his heart triples in size when he sees you getting along.

S = SECURITY (how protective are they; how they'd like to be protected and how they protect you) A moderate amount - he has a lot of respect for you and your independence, but at the same time he can be a little anxious. If needed be, he will stand up for you, or get you out of a situation as soon as you give him The Look, but he won’t necessarily step in if you seem to have everything under control. Sometimes you can be a bit too defensive of him, which is especially understandable after the quest, so if you shut down any rude comments he will be relieved, but sometimes reassure you that you don’t need to expose yourself for his sake that much. 

T = TRY (how much effort do they put into dates, gifts, anniversaries, everyday stuff) Frodo is a very romantic soul, and he will try to create special moments with you as often as possible, but still manage to keep you on your toes. On some extra special days, like birthdays and anniversaries, you can expect really well-thought out gifts (gifts, plural), which show that he really knows you and really listens to what you say and what you want. On other regular days, he will get you flowers in the morning, get you your favorite book for no special reason, or ask Sam to help him prepare food for a romantic picnic on a hill at sunset.

U = UGLY (some bad habits of theirs) He can be in his head a lot and he can zone out relatively easily, especially when he’s bored (he hates being bored so he often turns to his imagination). It’s not necessarily that bad of a habit

V = VANITY (how concerned are they with their looks?) As long as he’s clean and has clean clothes on, he is good to go. He will most definitely ask you for your opinions, and if he notices that you particularly like when he wears this or that shirt, he will make sure to wear it more often. Maybe he even likes to match with you in subtle ways!

W = WISH (something that they really want to do/experience with you?) He would love love love to visit Rivendell with you once more, but this time without any burdens or threats. It’s such a magical and comforting place, and he would love nothing more but to enjoy it with you in peace, listen to elvish music, take long walks and appreciate all the stunning nature. 

X = XTRA (a random headcanon for them) Not the best of singers, but he’s very talented with words and writes quite decent poetry. At first he doesn’t want you to see it, maybe only for your birthday or anniversary he might write you a little something. Obviously, you love it, and that boosts his confidence and encourages him to show you more of his works.

Y = YUCK (what are some things they dislike generally or in a partner?) He despises violence, obviously even more after the quest!!! Boy just wants to live in peace!!!

Z = ZZZ (a sleep habit of theirs) He quietly mumbles nonsense in his sleep on the nights when he’s extremely tired, and sometimes it can be super funny! Also it’s a habit that he pulls you closer in his sleep if he doesn’t feel you nearby anymore… adorable!

-

taglist my beloved @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorin-painter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth @moth-makay

@bubbleyukismile @kitexvi @herstudios

i hope i tagged everyone right cause my taglist is a mess oops-

[oletus-writer]

Can I request Norton NSFW alphabet pls? Im starving for Norton ijdhdbshs-

Of course.

Norton NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: nsfw

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

He’s pretty tired afterwards, and a bit gruff, but he’ll clean you up, tell you how good you were, and make sure you’re alright. Just because he’s tired doesn’t mean you’re not getting good treatment, but he’ll expect the same from you.

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

It has taken a while for Norton to like his body again after the incident, but one could say he likes his tits - he’s worked hard for his muscles, and, besides, they look good when you leave hickeys and marks over them. On you, he likes your hair, regardless of whether it’s long or short. He enjoys running his fingers through it when he’s kissing you, and pulling it when the two of you are having sex.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His cum is thick and bitter, and he greatly prefers to cum on the small of your back, in your thighs, and, if you have them, your breasts. He dislikes cumming inside of you because he himself does not like people cumming inside of him, and will give you the dignity of not having to wash it out afterwards.

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

He wants you to strap him to the bed, and relinquish all control to you. For you to gag him and pound him with your cock/a strap until he’s crying and shaking, and for you to videotape it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

He knows what he’s doing, to an extent, and is very good at bluffing, so it’s easy to think he has more than he does. He’s experienced in giving handjobs/fingering you, as well as some oral, penetrative sex when it comes to women, but is lost when it comes to men. He’ll rawdog you without preparation, which is good if you like it, but you better introduce safe words just in case.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary is good, as it is the classic, but he also likes wall sex and doggystyle, as he enjoys having power over you and being able to adjust your position so he’s able to hit all your sweet spots.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

If he’s messing up, he’ll get a laugh out of it, and may crack jokes if you’re nervous, but won’t make any of the two of you are in the moment. He’s rather serious, but is able to read the room and tell if you need to hear a joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

He’s not very groomed, and his hair is indeed black. He’s got a bit of sparse chest hair, as well as a happy trail from his belly button to his pubic hair, which is thick and curly. He does not mind if you are well-groomed or not, and does not understand why it would be such a turn off

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? are they romantic?)

While he’s not the most intimate, he can be if he likes. Kissed across your neck, whispering how good you are, how lucky he is to have you… there’s the insecurity of him not being good enough, but it’s at the back of his mind.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcannon)

He’ll rub one out when he’s stressed, or bored, and will do it quickly and effectively. He’ll probably jack off a few times a week or so.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Semi-public sex, role play, temperature play, spanking, and other things along those lines he enjoys. It spices up the sex, and gives all the more pleasure.

L = Location (favourite places to have sex)

He doesn’t mind, particularly, where the two of you have sex, be it the bathroom, table, in a closet, or otherwise, unless it’s directly in the public eye, he won’t complain.

M = Motivation (what turns them on?)

Act all coy around him, and he’ll be pouncing into the bait. He enjoys it if you dress up for him, in some nice lingerie, regardless of gender, and also likes it when you act assertive, regardless of your role.

N = No (what turns them off?)

Obviously, scat, and other things like that. He also doesn’t like waxplay and things similar, as he doesn’t like pain nor permanent scarring.

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

He’s good at sucking dick, if that’s what you mean, as for eating someone out, his tongue is versatile. He prefers giving, as he enjoys seeing the pleasure make itself present on your face as you squirm.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He goes hard and fast, and doesn’t stop until he’s gasping for air and your calling his name like no other. There is no way for him to be slow and sensual, until you wrestle him under you and worship his body, only then will he discover how nice it could be.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

He’s all for it, and will even suggest it himself, before or during a match, if the two of you don’t have enough time to do it properly. Unlike many, he’d be pretty satisfied after the quickie, as it has done the job of giving him and orgasm, but is also perfectly fine to have sex later in the day.

R = Risk (are they experimental? do they take risks?)

He’s a bit experimental, and will take some risks such as semi-public sex, but won’t risk it when it comes to pregnancy. It would be unfortunate for the child if neither of their parents wanted them.

S = Stamina (how long do they last?)

From being in the mines, Norton has quite the bit of stamina, and can last three rounds before having a bit of a rest, then he’s out to go again. He’s got other ways to relieve himself if you can’t last that long.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them?)

He sometimes runs his cold magnets across your body and follows it up with his hot tongue, but other than that, he doesn’t really have any sex toys, but is welcome to trying some out.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He’ll tease you, sometimes, but is mainly focused on getting pleasure from the situation. He’s a cocky and confident bastard, regardless of the amount of experience he has, and will occasionally tease you to see you squirm under him. While he would express that he doesn’t like being teased himself, he would be secretly enjoying it, as he likes to see you in complete control of him.

V = Volume (how loud are they?)

Grunts, some moans, and heavy breathing is what to expect when he’s fucking you. He’s not that loud, per se, but, as he has a deep voice, it carry’s a bit. If he’s being fucked, then he’s moaning, whimpering, and is a bit louder than usual.

W = Wild card (a random headcannon for the character)

He was pretty curious about waxplay when it was brought up in passing, and, when the two of you tried it out, he seemed to enjoy it. He is also into some light bdsm, such as bondage and sadomasochism.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

He has a penis length of 5.7 inches, or 14.5 cm, and is thicker than average. It has a long, pulsating vein on the left side, which is sensitive to the touch, and large balls.

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

He’s got a pretty high sex drive, feeling it perhaps multiple times a week. If you can’t keep up with that, he won’t mind and will masturbate, like he did before fucking you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

While he would be rather exhausted after sex, he’ll do his best to get you cleaned up before falling asleep. However, it is not a necessity, and he is able to grab a few sweets and continue on with his day.

[axelsagewrites]

hi there please can i get nsfw alphabet for aemond! Hope that’s okay and thank you!

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: slight bit of religious trauma/guilty, smut 18+ under the cut Word count: 1693

Masterlist Here

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

He can get pretty quiet after all is done but he never leaves your side. He’ll lay on the bed, pull you into curl into his side, and just hold you as he strokes your hair. He likes to kiss the top of your head and trace shapes onto your skin and just be with you.

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

This mans obsessed with your neck. He loves to kiss it, leave marks on it, hold it as he forced you to look into his eye. There’s just something about him holding your neck in his large hands that gets him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Aemond can get a bit possessive at the best of times so when it comes to sex, he always wants to cum in you. whether that be fucking you till he spills his seed inside you or watching you swallow it, something just gets him when he sees it. it makes him know that you’re really his.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is desperate to fuck you on the iron throne. He’s never done it, but he dreams about it, the cool metal touching his back and thighs as you climb into his lap, riding him on the throne till he cums deep inside. Its his biggest fantasy.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Aemond despite his reserved nature was a little bit of a whore before you. safe to say he got around a lot however unlike other Targaryen’s doing it with any whore or 100 different servants Aemond had a select few fuck buddies around the castle however once he met you, he stopped visiting their chambers. safe to say it has taught him a lot, and I mean a lot.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

He likes missionary but its anything but boring. He wants to be able to see your face as he fucks you into the mattress, holding you by your throat and being able to lean down and whisper dirty thoughts into your ear.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Aemond is pretty serious when it comes to sex. He looks like he has a war to win as he tries to chase your orgasm. He gets very into it, and he becomes laser focused on getting what he wants.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He defiantly takes great care down there. Likes to make sure its neat and trimmed at all times and always clean. This man is obsessed with good hygiene and for him he thinks hair is a part of that.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Usually, Aemond is more serious or kinky in the moment, but sex can also be romantic especially depending on the day. Your wedding day for example is filled with him praising your body, kissing every inch of skin, and intimate movements. He can be soft when he wants to be.

J = Jack off (masturbation head canon)

It’s not his favourite thing to do but he’s not opposed to it. However sometimes if he sees you in the gardens from his window, picking flowers or reading, he likes to discreetly watch you from the window as he pleasures himself with his hand, wishing it was yours.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He is not shy to kinks at all. Loves choking, leaving marks, and restraints. Defiantly has some ropes in his chambers for certain occasions. He’s defiantly a dom and usually a firm one but he can be a soft dom when he wants to be. He also weirdly has a thing for you scratching his back till you almost draw blood. He also defiantly wants to try out knife play but doesn’t want to scare you.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

While he’d love to fuck in the throne room he usually sticks to his chambers. Aemond may love to fuck but he still is a bit ashamed deep down and is terrified of the idea of getting caught. However, in private he doesn’t always stick to the bed. In fact, a lot of the time he fantasies about bending you over his desk or having you sit underneath it, sucking him off under the table.

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

He won’t admit it, but he loves a bratty partner. Modern Aemond would defiantly be obsessed with his academic rival and gets off on the challenge. If you back talk, correct him, or insult him just right instead of angry he just gets insanely horny.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Aemond wouldn’t sub. Its just not his still and although he acts tough and mysterious, he would just feel far too vulnerable to be able to relax enough to enjoy it.

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

He will stay between your legs from sunrise to set if you let him. His ego is boosted every time he managed to get you off with his tongue. Or even better if he manages to bring you to the brink over and over till you beg to be able to cum. Don’t get me wrong, Aemond will never turn down a blow job, but he also will never pass up the opportunity to fuck you with his tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to mix it up. He’ll either go painfully slow, teasing you till you feel like you’ll explode or go rough enough that the bed almost snaps and the headboard dents the wall. Its always one extreme or the other but no matter what you’re both exhausted at the end.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

While he loves to draw it out and tease you sometimes a quicky is all there’s time for and who is he to refuse you? modern Aemond would defiantly drag you to the corner of the library for a quickie. Prince Aemond however would make you both late to balls and dinners because he’d be fucking you against the door when you tried to leave before he got his fix.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He doesn’t usually experiment with location but will experiment inside your chambers. if you come up to him and ask to try a new position or introduce blindfolds, he is game to try. When it comes to other things, he’s more wary since he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he will study it for hours and then give it a go anyway.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man doesn’t last for hours; he lasts for days. Clear his calendar for the week and he’ll fuck till his cock falls off. He usually lasts for a while, something that can make quickies harder. He does need a little bit between rounds, but he will fill that time up with his mouth between your legs.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

On him, no, he’s very much sceptical of them. At first, he would be wary about his partner using them but wouldn’t tell them not to but eventually he’d wanna see what the fuss was about. He would try introducing them in the bedroom to use on you and he’d become hooked. Especially modern Aemond, that man would buy a top-quality vibe just so he could use it to tease you to tears.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

So much. Aemond never claimed to be fair though. This man loves to tease, whether in the bedroom or with words. Something about seeing you beg to cum just really does it for him. He also finds it cute to see how agitated you get.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a pretty quiet guy but will let out soft grunts, groans, and moans especially if your tongues involved. He’ll also deliberately moan when he’s going down on you, so his tongue vibrates against you. however, he also loves to talk dirty so he’s always whispering something in a low husky voice in your ear.

W = Wild card (a random head canon for the character)

He used to be pretty sex repulsed since he grew up in a religious family with a manwhore brother, so it took him a while to work through some religious guilt. This means sometimes Aemond will withdraw from sex for a bit, and you need to comfort him to remind him that he isn’t a bad person for the things he likes.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Definitely a grower not a shower but even still its pretty long, not quite as thick, but he knows how to use it.

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

Its pretty high. He defiantly uses sex as a stress relief so he could go everyday if you let him. However, he can also go a couple weeks without it if he has to without complaint but it’s not something he tries to do.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aemond struggles to sleep after sex. He can get pretty into his own head after sex and stays up all night worry if he hurt you or if he’s a bad person for it, so he also needs a bit of reassurance after. However even when he doesn’t get like that, he just doesn’t really wanna sleep after. Its as if sex wakes him up more than tires him out.

a/n: trying a slightly different layout for the posts

taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila