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#Yes I am still going on about Twisted Hearts what of it
charmandabear · 2 days
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Office Hours
Summary
When whining about season selection to your therapist turns into confronting the complicated ways that Astarion makes you feel, she challenges you to really explore what it is that you - or perhaps your subconscious - want.
Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2.6k Tags/Warnings: imagined D/s dynamic, light bondage, ascended Astarion lines, vaginal fingering, masturbation
Thank god this girl is finally getting into therapy, am I right? I don't have a ton to say other than now that the major conflict I had planned is winding down, it's going to be a lot more about exploration from here on out.
Once again, Zaria is out here killing it with these screenshots!
Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist
You massage your temples in an attempt to ease your headache. Season selection has been going terribly – every meeting just ended with everyone talking in circles. Today, it’s Alfira’s turn to make her case as to why hers is the best choice.
“I just think that it would do our students a lot of good to have this outlet to talk about their mental health,” she insists, bleeding heart that she is.
“I’m not necessarily saying I disagree with you,” you begin, gears in your head turning as you formulate your thoughts. “But isn’t Heathers, like, dark to the point of troubling?”
“Well sure, it’s dark, but what do you mean troubling?” Her eyes are big and round, and you try to imagine someone as tender as Alfira blocking a scene like “Dead Girl Walking.” It’s not easy.
“I’ve seen the way teen girls talk about the character JD, it’s a little concerning.” You fold your arms and lean back in your chair, studying Alfira’s expression carefully as it twists into a frown.
“I mean, sure, some of them think he’s cute, but I don’t think anyone is looking at him and thinking ‘boyfriend goals.’” 
“Are you sure? Have you seen the TikToks for that one song? What’s-it-called, the ‘open the door’ song.” Your fingers twitch towards your phone, fighting the urge to pull up the app.
“Yeah, ‘Meant to be Yours,’ I’ve seen them, and I think they’re fairly harmless. They know it’s not real, you know?” She fiddles with the pen in her hand, not taking her eyes off you. You squirm, uncomfortable under her persistent gaze.
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.” You look down at your notes, giving yourself a second to think. “Something about the way they talk about JD makes me feel icky. JD as a character makes me feel icky. Besides,” you add quickly before she gets that puppy dog look in her eyes, “I don’t know if building around a theme of ‘mental health’ is specific enough to be interesting. I’m not even sure I can think of a classical play that fits into that.”
“Perhaps Hamlet?” Lucretious says with a smirk, and you groan loudly as others in the meeting titter.
“Gods, please, literally anything else,” you whine. 
The discussion continues, going absolutely nowhere, until the clock ticks over and everyone starts to pack up their things. Another meeting gone, and you’re no closer to having a season for next year. You put away your notebook and Alfira comes up beside you.
“Just think on it a little more,” she implores. “The kids have talked a lot about wanting to do Heathers, I’m just advocating for them.”
“But do you think it’s a good, timely choice? You, the professor?” you ask suspiciously, trying to scope out her intentions.
“I really do, yes. I think there’s a reason why they’re drawn to it right now.”
You chew on your lip and look at her a little longer. Then you sigh and acquiesce. “Fine, I’ll give it another read. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, maybe there’s something I’m missing.”
“Thank you! I appreciate it, and I know the students do too,” she says, giving your arm a little squeeze. You soften, finding it difficult to perform your usual stubbornness with someone as sweet as Alfira.
Something is still gnawing at you, though, and you can’t figure out what.
***
You arrive at your therapist’s office a few minutes before your appointment. You sit in the waiting room, the white noise machine humming pleasantly. At 6:00 on the dot, Jaheira opens the door and waves you forward.
“Come in,” she says in her thick Russian accent. You walk past her into the office, which has a cozy, natural vibe. Between all of the plants and the bookshelves, you have no idea what color the walls are. You toe off your shoes and settle on the couch cross-legged as she sits across from you in an elegant red chair.
“So tell me, how are things going?” she asks, crossing her legs and letting her legal pad balance on her knee. You fidget uncomfortably, trying to figure out what to bring up first. But the season selection meeting is still so fresh in your mind, and you have so many thoughts bouncing around your head. Before you can stop yourself, you’re filling her in on all the details, including your feelings about Heathers.
“I just don’t understand why she’s so insistent on this musical, it’s not even really that good,” you grump, picking at your cuticles. She taps her pen to her mouth contemplatively.
“And this character that bothers you so much, JD? What is it about him specifically that gets under your skin? Surely you don’t feel this way about all bad guys in plays.” She tilts her head as she speaks and your eyes dart around the room, both avoiding her gaze and trying to gather your thoughts.
“I don’t know, there’s just something… Honestly, I think it’s the way these teen girls talk about him. I can totally see some of myself in them, too. I feel like if I were a teen when this musical came out I’d be foaming at the mouth for him.” You roll your eyes at the imaginary version of yourself you’ve conjured.
“Is that bad? To find the villain attractive?”
“It’s not just finding him attractive, it’s what qualities they find attractive. The toxicity, the obsessiveness, the violence. I don’t want them to take that into their real lives, you know?” Your words ring in your ears with double meaning and you quickly shut the errant thought down. Not Jaheira, though. She picks up on it immediately.
“We’re not talking about JD anymore, are we?” she asks softly and you fold your arms across your chest. You’re silent for a good long time, various thoughts and feelings barreling through your mind like a train, while she just watches you patiently. Finally, you muster up the energy to speak.
“I just… don’t like that I like it. Every time my body gets turned on by something terrible that he does, I feel betrayed. Like I’ve violated my own consent. It makes me feel sick,” you say in a very small voice, fixing your gaze on a small succulent on the coffee table in front of you.
“I believe you said last tenday that he thought it was all a game, correct?” she asks carefully, and you nod. She continues, “Well, what’s stopping you from playing along with him?”
You stare at her, that ringing in your ears coming back. Your stomach lurches, but you genuinely can’t tell if it’s from aversion or excitement.
“I mean, I don’t want to think of my relationship as a game,” you say with slight disgust. She shakes her head.
“Not the relationship, no, but perhaps other things. If you two agree on the rules ahead of time, find a safe way to tap out if need be, what’s to stop you from having fun?”
“What, like kink?” you ask with incredulity. It’s not something you had ever considered for yourself.
“You could call it that, but it doesn't need to be anything so formal. As long as you agree on your boundaries prior.” She looks at you with that penetrating stare again, like she can peer directly into your thoughts. “Can you trust this man?”
You genuinely don't know the answer to this question.
She doesn't let the silence linger for quite as long this time. She continues, “Try it on your own, first. Just fantasy. Give yourself permission to go as dark as you want. Just make sure you have a bottle of wine and a good friend on hand.” You immediately picture a smiley Shadowheart.
There's still something tugging at your mind, though.
“But doesn't it say something about my, like, feminist values if I want to get beat up in the bedroom?” You pick some lint off your sock so you don't need to look at her, but you steal a glance up at her anyway. She’s raising an eyebrow.
“What does it say?” she asks in that tone she uses when she's pushing back on one of your biases. You swallow your instinctive response and really think about an answer.
“I don't know, like I'm a bad feminist or something,” you finally mutter. Jaheira barks out a laugh.
“Please, what, do you think you're going to go to Feminist Thought Jail? That the Feminist Police are going to come and arrest you?” Her tone is snide but it makes you crack a smile nonetheless. She knows that you sometimes need a firm hand to keep your anxiety in line.
“Your homework,” she continues, glancing at the clock, “is to let yourself explore this fantasy, however you want. Whether it's just in your mind, or in writing, you can touch yourself or not, it's up to you.” Your cheeks redden slightly at getting “masturbate” as therapy homework. “Just make sure you're listening to your body. I think she knows what she wants more than that brain of yours.”
You take a deep breath and put your feet on the floor again, slipping your sneakers back on.
“Thanks, Jaheira.”
“You're welcome. It's literally my job. I'll see you next tenday, yeah?”
You nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You exit her office, ideas for your “assignment” bouncing around your head.
***
You get back to your apartment and kick off your shoes. You drop your bag and immediately head into the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. There’s absolutely no way you can do this stone cold sober. Your eyes flit between the fridge handle and the wine rack above it. Red or white? The image of Astarion licking your blood off his lips invades your mind.
Red. Obviously. Unfortunately. 
You catch yourself. You don’t need to be so judgmental. You like red, and if it adds to the experience because it makes you think of him, so be it.
Your desire to cringe is potent nevertheless.
You bring the glass into your bedroom and dim the lights in an attempt to set some sort of mood. You pull a candle out of a Bath and Bodyworks bag on your dresser, trying not to think about how much time you spent trying to find one with the right smell. You set the candle and your wine glass on your bedside table. You strike a match and watch as the wick catches light, the flame bobbing around like a chipper little parakeet. 
While staring off into space in the direction of the candle, you take a long, deep sip of wine. After a moment, you lie back on your bed and stare at your ceiling. Echoes of the fire dance across your vision. You take a deep breath, nervous about where you’re about to let your mind wander. 
You conjure up his expression from the night you saw Taming. That snide grin, fangs bared, blood dripping down his chin. You remember him closing his hand around your throat and something deep in your core constricts. You let your hand slide down your front, taking your time, and his words reverberate in your ears.
Little love, do you think you’re in control?
You unbutton your jeans and your hand slips below the waistband of your panties. You dip your middle finger into your slick and let out a shaky breath.
You insolent little brat. I will absolutely ruin you.
The thought brings a voiceless moan to your lips. Your ring finger joins your middle finger and they lazily run along your folds, spreading your wetness. 
Your eyes shoot open – you hadn’t even realized they were closed. You can feel the judgment, the anger, the frustration, all bubbling up inside of you. You take a deep breath, acknowledge it, and let your imagination take over again.
You visualize him smugly peering over his glasses at you, the round wire ones, and he points down to his feet.
On your knees, darling.
His voice in your mind is smooth like velvet, low with just a tinge of threat. You look up at him, your bound hands resting in your lap, a collar around your neck. He holds the leash.
Back in your bedroom, your back arches as you slide your middle finger into your cunt, just barely up to the second knuckle. You whimper at the thought of him pulling the leash tight. Your breath moves high into your chest, making your tits heave with the exertion. You move your other hand to your nipple, gently rolling it between your fingers as another needy moan works its way into your mouth. You savor this one slightly, lending it some of your voice.
The collar is replaced by his hand, his fingers tight on your neck. He pulls up on your jaw, bringing you to an upright position on your knees. He kisses you, rough and hungry, your hands twitching against their cuffs.
You let a second finger join the first inside your cunt, tilting your pelvis to get a better angle. Your jeans constrict your waist, and in a huff you shove them down past your hips and kick them off your feet. Your fingers immediately dive back into you and you groan, thinking about his hand yanking your hair back and exposing your neck to him.
In your fantasy you say something, anything, the words are garbled nonsense in your mind. But he laughs cruelly, a far cry from his high pitched giggle that you love so much.
“Don’t be stupid, darling,” he spits, and your legs fall open to let your fingers in further, the top of your palm coming into contact with your clit. Your hips cant into your hand, your throbbing pussy aching for more friction, more heat. 
“Fuck me, Astarion, make me yours,” you whine instinctually, his name sweet and bitter on your tongue. Your conscious mind recoils – do you want him to call you stupid? You’re already insecure about that as it is.
Fantasy, your subconscious coos. It’s just fantasy. You take a deep breath and give yourself permission to keep going.
He traps your naked body with his, caging you in without a means of escape. His eyes glint with something feral, like a predator, as he buries his nose into your hair. You squirm and moan for him, the line between fantasy and reality blurring. His fangs scrape across your jaw as his words spit rapidfire into your ear.
You precious little thing.
You’re mine, remember?
I shall lock you in a room and keep you all to myself.
You’re going to be wonderfully obedient.
Your fingers slide out of your cunt and you move their ministrations to your clit, rubbing in quick, small circles as his imaginary voice rattles in your brain. Your feet push against the mattress, pressing your hips into your fingers as you desperately chase release. Every part of you aches to be held down by him, his cold hands gripping your wrists as he fucks you senseless. His palm slapped across your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure. His fangs deep in your neck as his cock thrusts even deeper.
Your hand stutters as it tries to keep pace with your fantasy, yearning to feel every inch of him across your body. Your stomach tightens and your pussy clenches and you come in a crashing wave all over your hand. You continue stroking yourself through the end of your climax, eventually succumbing to stillness. The only sensations you feel are the slowing throb in your cunt and your breath wracking through your lungs. 
You let your hand linger in the sticky mess between your legs, turning your head to face the flickering orange light from the candle. 
What do you want?
You’re very good at asking me that. I’m not sure you’re good at answering it yourself.
So… what do you want?
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lackablazeical · 2 days
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Snippet 11 - Quiet Understanding
All the credit to NewFallenLeaves on A03 for this writing!!@ Shes such an angel I love her go support her
There's lots of tism in this one yall will love it
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Snippet below the cut!!!⬇️⬇️⬇️
The next time one of the youngest bunny siblings traipsed into Donnie’s lab, it was not at all within the parameters of any scenario that he had anticipated.
Mari came slinking in so quietly, even his sensitive hearing aids almost failed to pick up the sound. Her padded steps were so soft and careful, it was as if she didn’t even want to hear her own footfalls. He could even go so far as to say that she was as silent as any ninja, although Donnie knew the Miyamoto clan had no training in that style.
When his sensors did pick up on her presence, she was almost already right behind him.
He swiveled in his chair abruptly. She froze mid-stride. Her ears were trembling and her eyes were rimmed with red.
He knew practically nothing about the younger bunny twin, due to the fact that he hardly interacted with her. With minimal data, all he could tell for sure was that she was extraordinarily introverted, and for some reason enjoyed Raph’s tea parties. Why she would be coming to him unannounced, he had no idea.
“What’s the matter with you?” Donnie asked.
“You’re not sick,” said Donnie.
He tugged his goggles down over his eyes and activated a quick scan. It revealed an elevated heart rate, minor congestion in her sinuses, and some light inflammation in her corneas. Nothing that indicated illness.
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes welled, and she swiped them with the heel of her hand. “Yes I am. I need something…to fix me.”
“Fix what?”
“You make potions like mystics, right? Ishi-nii-san said so. And you made him better.”
Donnie resisted the urge to criticize her comparison of his science to the backward mysticism her culture subscribed to. “Your brother has quantifiable symptoms that can be tempered with the right admixture of medications. But I can’t create medicine for vague or nonexistent problems, so if you want something, explain it properly.”
She hesitated, and for a moment looked as if she might just turn and leave. Instead she said, slowly, “Riko was humming again. And when I told her to stop she got mad and called me stupid again.”
Donnie cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not stupid to ask someone else to allay their noise pollution.”
“But only simple people have to have quiet to concentrate. I’m not supposed to get so annoyed when Riko sings or makes noise.” Mari twisted the lacing on her tunic between her fingers. “Usually I don’t mind too much, but…today I was mean and I asked her to be quiet anyway.”
Donnie cocked an eyebrow. “Why is that mean?”
“Because she wasn’t even very loud like she is sometimes. But it still made my ears hurt and my head fuzzy and my tummy all shaky.”
“Oh. That.” Donnie swiveled the goggles back up to the top of his head.
“Can you make it better?”
“Of course not.”
He spoke little too quickly and bluntly, based on the absolutely crestfallen look that overtook her.
Donnie added, “But only because there’s nothing to fix. Aversion to auditory stimulation isn’t an illness that you take medicine for.”
He knew what it was like to feel overstimulated. And he’d read enough medical journals to understand sensory issues and how to handle them. It didn’t mean that Mari was deficient, just that she was more sensitive than most. She needed quiet and privacy more than noise and social interaction.
He watched as her eyes began to fill again. Oh, Hawking. Of course no one had ever explained this to her. From what he heard, the clan’s so-called ‘healers’ hadn’t even bothered to treat Usagi’s wounds when he was a child for fear it would hinder the mystic tattoos. With that level of incompetence, Donnie was surprised him and his siblings had survived for as long as they did.
“Auditory hypersensitivity isn’t uncommon,” said Donnie. “Adaptability is optimal in someone your age, and it’s just a matter of mitigating the stimulation to a tolerable level and practicing coping strategies for moments when extenuation is impossible.”
Mari blinked.
Donnie sighed. “Your body doesn’t like loud noises. That’s okay. You’re not sick, and you’re not stupid.”
“But Riko likes loud noises. And being busy. And being around lots of other people all the time…”
“So?” said Donnie. “Twins can be different.”
Her face fell, and he wondered what the problem was. He and Leo had never really been alike. He'd thought that sort of thing when it came to siblings and twins was obvious.
“Here.” Donnie tugged the headset loose from around his ears and plopped them onto her head. One quick twist adjusted the headband and tucked the speakers in close to her ears.
In true Donnie fashion, he hadn’t been able to resist enhancing his hearings aids to adjust volume and filter background noises. He spun the dial to what was essentially a ‘sound-canceling’ setting, and the fins retracted. (Strange to have that option for someone who was nearly deaf, but versatility was inestimable.)
Mari’s eyes widened.
“Quieter, right?” asked Donnie.
She nodded.
Donnie tapped a button that would emit a low wash of white noise. He watched with satisfaction as Mari’s shoulders relaxed and the faintest of smiles threatened to break through.
“Better?” Donnie couldn’t hear his own voice, much less her answer, but he could easily surmise what her vigorous nod meant.
“Stay here where I can see you.” He pointed to a nearby stool. “And if you break those I will make myself new ones out of your ears.”
She smiled and nodded again. Probably couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Perfect.
He turned back to his desk and flipped to a blank page in his sketchbook to begin the basic design. It wasn’t a staggering challenge, but recreating his tech to fit a rabbit yokai and grow with her would provide an interesting afternoon project. It should occupy him for a few hours, at least, and the way Mari immediately hopped onto the nearest swiveling stool and snagged a book on the evolutionary processes of insects told him she could entertain herself quietly for however long it took.
He would make hers smaller and lighter, of course. Fitted so they wouldn’t even be noticeable once they were in place, hidden under the tufts of fur around her ears.
He didn’t bother to ask what color she wanted.
How fortuitous that she already wore purple.
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ddejavvu · 4 months
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hey bbg i ADORE your writing! could i please get a bsf!james w no boundaries who sees you watching some tv 🧡🖤 if yk what i mean and he helps her out if that’s ok with you? thank you sm i love you *💋*
this isn't tiktok, you can call it porn! also, reader wears glasses in this, if you don't yes you do. also she uses her phone but also its set at hogwarts please don't pick on me or ill give up
this post is 18+, minors dni.
You'd used the fact that James was leaving in mere minutes to justify your lack of self-control. He'd stayed the night in your bed, something he does quite often, and something that means you don't get alone time before bed. It's nice to cuddle up to him, he's a living space heater, but a dull ache has been growing between your thighs the longer you go without relieving yourself, and you're at your breaking point.
He's in your bathroom, warbling a tune that he's made up on the spot, the lyrics all quidditch-based. He's got the game on his mind, five minutes away from having to leave for practice, and you tuck your phone to your chest as you type in the website your fingers know by heart.
You're doing everything right. You've got headphones in, you've got the volume low, you've got the brightness down, but you'd forgot about your damned glasses. James saunters in from the bathroom, a towel around his waist and water droplets still clinging to his chest as he fishes around at the end of your bed for his discarded pants, and it doesn't matter that the phone is angled away from him, he catches it in the reflection of your glasses.
"Oh, I could do that easy," He boasts, and you pause the video to look curiously up at him.
"Hm?'
"That," He points vaguely at your phone, and your stomach twists, "That whole legs-up-by-the-ears thing. If you wanted to, I mean."
"What?" You retort indignantly, like you can't still hear the woman's cries echoing through your head.
"I could fuck you like that, darling," James explains, his voice taking on a tone bordering on amusement, "Hello? The porn you're watching?"
"I- What," You blabber, but you know you're losing even as you mash your thumb against the phone's lock button, "I am not watching porn!"
"Right, you're watching Sesame Street," James snorts. He advances on you despite your flustered protests, reaching out to tap his fingernail against the lenses of your glasses, "I saw it here, nasty girl. Talk about a big bird. Mine's bigger, though. I'll show you whenever you wanna take me up on that legs-by-the-ears technique."
You're silent for only the few seconds that it takes to muster up a response that's equal parts scolding and casually committal, but as soon as you're able to find your voice, James gets his jersey over his head and takes his leave.
"James-"
"Sorry, love, it'll have to wait," He reaches out and pats your shoulder like he hadn't just offered to put your knee up against it, "Practice is starting soon, and I can't be late, I'm the captain. But afterwards, okay? Love you," He grins down at you, cheekiness alight in his entire expression, from the flush of his cheeks to his dazzling grin, "Have fun while I'm gone, y'little perv."
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saintobio · 6 months
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sincerely yours. (8)
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↳ gojou satoru/reader
when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 
genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 
tags/warnings. profanity, mentions of cheating, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationship, explicit smut
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series masterlist -> episode nine
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9:21 AM.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of your index finger drumming a slow and steady cadence against the table was nearly in perfect synchronization to the tick tock of the clock above the wall behind you. An icy, uninviting atmosphere was the best way to describe the current situation inside the conference room at this time of the morning, with the gelid detachment between the boss and her employees as you built a wall—an impenetrable wall—around yourself to keep the inner turmoil you had in your head. 
So, you listened. You succumbed to silence as a result. 
“I’d like to present this new idea that we, along with the ecommerce team, have come up with to increase engagement on our website.” Even as the marketing manager started to speak, you remained frigid. “We did go through some feedback that people have been posting online and they’re mostly saying that the current web theme is too plain and that they’re hoping to see a more engaging website, so we would love to propose some ideas that could improve Hearte’s overall online presence. We know that keeping the brand’s look consistent is very important, especially now that Hearte is still establishing its own name in the fashion industry, and we have currently done a phenomenal job with our brand style. However, as the online website is our visual storefront, not only is its functionality critical, but we also have to ensure that the web design is in line with our aesthetics.” 
9:26 AM. 
You leaned back on your chair with your arms crossed, looking up to speak to the manager from across the conference room. “Let’s keep the unnecessary introduction short and just go straight to the point,” you strictly announced, receiving curious eyes in return as it was their first time seeing you becoming all stern and unamused. Such an odd sight to see from a boss who used to have the brightest of sunshines reflecting on her smile. “What’s the proposal?” 
The marketing manager cleared her throat and moved her presentation onto the next slide. “Yes, Ms. Y/N. So… uh, based on the data that you can see on the screen, our online sales increased by 15% for the past two weeks, but we still have about 10% of shoppers abandoning their shopping carts. Earlier this week, we set up email campaigns and social reminders to decrease our abandonment rate and urge shoppers to return to their carts. While working with the IT team, we did some A/B testing to determine which version would drive our business metrics. We’ve also reached out to The Society Management and added Kendall Jenner to our PR list so that possibly, in the future, we can get her as a model for our landing page and attract the western market,” she continuously explained in a manner to convince you of how much effort their department was doing to increase Hearte’s sales, “But what we believe could bring a tremendous improvement on our website engagement is by introducing style guides. This will capture the interest of the audience now that they can mix and match some outfits based on their own style, and—”
9:32 AM.
Sigh.
“Ms. Ono, I have to be honest, but I expected more from you,” you cut her off by leaving a frank comment on her presentation, “Fashion brands have been doing style guides for years. You make it sound like it’s unique, but it’s nothing new. How sure are we that it will actually bring a dramatic improvement on our website engagement? I doubt most of them would even browse through it.” 
“Well, uh…” The marketing manager faltered, glancing at the head of the social media team for some help, which she didn’t end up receiving. “I think it’ll work the way we want it to as long as we introduce engaging copies that make buyers fall in love with the designs.” 
“You think?” You criticized her word of choice. “Ms. Ono, I gave you enough time to brainstorm with your team, so the moment you step inside of this conference room, you should have prepared whatever strategy you had in mind. I don’t settle for ambitious words like ‘I think’ or ‘I believe’. I want to hear a proposal that’s original, unique, and captivating. I want you to be a hundred percent sure that you know what you’re doing before you waste everyone’s time like this. Do you understand? Am I being clear? I want a proposal that would definitely get us somewhere and not just by assuming we will.” 
Were you being too harsh? They said that the fashion industry in itself was harsh, so what was so surprising about seeing you being strict, candid, and business-like? This was the nature of your job. This was normal. 
9:47 AM. 
Very timidly did Nobara raise her hand beside you to chime in on the discussion. “I know I’m not in the position to make suggestions, but…” She pressed something on her laptop before carefully sliding it to your side of the table, showing you what appears to be a classic early 2000s ‘dress-up game’ with a base model and a selection of outfits that were inspired by your designs. “I just wanted to show you this, Ms. Y/N. I do agree with Ms. Ono’s idea to introduce style guides, but maybe we can do it in an interactive way. I know the dress-up game idea may look childish and unsophisticated, but I was kinda hoping that we can just make certain adjustments so that it could match Hearte’s classy and simplistic style. We can have base models in different body types and skin tones to show our brand’s diversity, then we can have shoppers try dressing them up using the outfits on our current collection. That allows them to easily visualize how the pieces would look on a certain skin tone and body type.” 
The way everyone else in that conference table looked at Nobara was very obvious that they were expecting you to reprimand her for even having the guts to offer such a farcical idea. What does she know? They were probably thinking that. You’re just an intern. You knew they were saying that in their minds. On the other hand, you surprisingly liked her proposal and enjoyed the unique idea of introducing it to the website because her proposal actually did make sense. People would be curious, people would try it out by interacting with the website, and that means the engagement would rise up. 
“I like that idea. We can go with that,” you said, sliding the laptop back to her while nodding at the marketing and social media managers, “I need the team to discuss Nobara’s idea further and polish it thoroughly before we can start adding it onto the website. Make adjustments as needed and ensure that everything is still in line with our brand. If you notice any flaws with this proposal, you can flag them with me and I’ll review them.” 
9:54 AM. 
Just as you were about to wrap up the meeting, a certain someone entered the conference room in haste—panting out of breath with her long, wavy hair and creased red pants. “I’m so sorry, I’m late.” 
Her casualness made you clench your jaws tightly, fueling the fire to your already terrible day. You could no longer stop yourself from unleashing your rage as you looked up at her with a critical squint. “Ms. Hirai, what time’s it?” 
“It’s ten, I know. I’m so sorry,” she repeated her apologies and paid an apologetic bow to everyone in the meeting room, “I’m sorry, everyone. I was caught up in heavy traffic today.” 
You let out a silent scoff and ignored her compunctious act. “How long are we gonna keep using that excuse, really?” you questioned her, earning the intrigued eyes of your employees who were all sensing the sudden tension between you and your best friend, “As the fashion merchandiser and my second-in-command, you should’ve been here in this meeting with me, but where were you? You anticipated that there would be heavy traffic, yet you couldn’t be responsible enough in coming to work early knowing that we have a meeting? Or was it because you’re too busy doing other things so you’re no longer interested in showing up to work on time?” 
Akemi shook her head, contritely. “It’s… It’s not like that.” 
“Not like what?” Your icy stare bored into her. No trace of compassion was present in your eyes. “I’m sure you’re living a very blissful life outside of work and I’m glad you are, but is that also why you don’t bother with anything else anymore?” 
“Y/N—”
“Miss Y/N,” you corrected, “I’m your boss, so treat me like one.” 
Wide, chocolate brown eyes greeted you in response. It was clear that she was at a loss of words and could only repeat her meaningless apologies a thousand times. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Y/N. It won’t happen again.” 
“You didn’t even let me know that you’ll be coming in late,” you continued and ignored the pitiful expression on her face, focusing on her swollen red lips and her dewy, rosy cheeks. She must have had a really good morning to look like a cherry blossom on a spring day. Was she so preoccupied being all lovey dovey with your ex-husband this morning? Did she sleep comfortably on the same marital bed you used to share with him? Your jaw tensed visibly. “You’re just coming in whenever you want. You don’t respect people’s time. You don’t respect my rules. You don’t respect me.” 
Yes, you were overreacting by taking things too personally and it was the reason why you got up from your seat and bolted out of the conference room upon realizing your unusual outburst. You could hear the clicking sound of your stiletto echoing across the corridor as you stomped towards your office, swinging the glass door open and heading straight towards the ceiling-to-floor window to have some peace of mind. Peace? How ridiculous. How could you find peace? You couldn’t even grasp the fact that your best friend was acting like everything was normal. You couldn’t understand why she was rubbing her relationship to your face as if she wasn’t just a placeholder to somebody’s ex wife.
“Y/N?” Akemi’s voice cut you out of your toxic trail of thoughts—your mouth thinning with displeasure while you didn’t bother turning around to meet her gaze. Breathe. You had to breathe and think rationally. “I…I understand you’re really angry right now, but I was hoping we can have this much needed talk.” 
You could feel her reaching for your hand at the height of your frustration and your defensive instinct led you to angrily swing your arm away, accidentally hitting her cheek as you pivoted on your heel to face her. It took two seconds for your eyes to shift from glaring in frustration to widening in surprise after seeing the small cut your diamond ring left on her cheek. “Are you okay?” 
“Y-Yeah, no, it’s fine,” she insisted with her palm pressed onto the right side of her face. “I deserved it.” 
Good lord. What was happening to you? Despite having all these unspoken rage and unresolved conflicts between the two of you, you would still drop everything and be concerned for her. You would still let your walls collapse. You were the villain that couldn’t stick to being a villain. Why? Why did you feel this way? Was it because you knew she wasn’t technically doing anything wrong? Or was it because you were just projecting your personal frustrations onto her? Was betrayal really the issue here? Or was it the huge possibility that she could in fact be Gojou’s one true love? You had thought of this before, but the same questions in your head never stopped. And never did they stop from invading your headspace as you made your way towards the small fridge to grab an ice pack that you soon offered to Akemi, leading her to one of the couches while finally coming into your senses. 
Yet there was silence and nothing but awkward silence when you two sat at a safe distance from each other. 
“I’m shameless.” She was the first one to break the uncomfortable atmosphere. “I know you’re thinking that and I do agree with you. I really am shameless to even look you in the eye right now.” 
You sighed and looked away, only to keep yourself from the furnace of pain that you had been bottling inside. “Stop. You’re making me seem like a villain right now. I’m tired of seeing myself this way.”
She closed her legs and sat humbly, reaching forward to squeeze your hand. “You’re not. You’re not a villain and you never were,” said the same woman you accidentally smacked a few minutes ago, “I understand why you would feel a certain way towards me. I’d even understand if you hate me so much that you wanna murder me. I’m your best friend and I know about your history with Satoru, yet here I am seeing your ex-husband behind your back. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t plan it. I truly didn’t. Even though you’re not together anymore and I’m technically not homewrecking anyone, I’m still putting us—you and I—in a really awkward position. You didn’t deserve any of that and I’m very sorry.” 
At least, she was self-aware. But looking at the brighter side of things, you were getting calmer now that you were hearing her side of the story, though that didn’t stop you from feeling any less horrible. “I don’t really care who you date,” you claimed, adamantly, “And I most definitely do not care who Satoru chooses to date. We’ve been divorced for three years.” 
“It’s still not right that I’m seeing him.” She let her guilt speak up for her. 
And you let your resentment speak for you. “Then, why him of all people?”
“It’s…” 
“Complicated?” 
“Y-Yeah…” 
You decided to keep a straight face. “How did this happen?” 
Akemi looked as if you had just forced her to be on the hot seat because of the apathy on your visage. “It was a drunken mistake at first and we kinda just…”
“I’m not asking about when you two started fucking,” you replied, bluntly. Something you had never done before in your usual sophisticated vocabulary. “I’m asking when you realized you have feelings for him. When did you fall in love with him?” 
She had trouble finding the right answer. “It just happened. I d-don’t really know. Whenever you asked me to look after him, I guess the bond he and I developed from that made me see him in a different light.” 
You disregarded the pain in your chest and let the volcano explode on its own, because her answer only meant that she was already growing feelings for your ex-husband at the same time you were confiding to her about him. That was the worst part of it all. 
“Why do you like him?” you questioned further, “Despite knowing what happened while I was married to him, why did you still end up falling in love with him? If that’s so hard to answer, then don’t think about us or me or our friendship. Just think about the decisions you made for yourself. Why are you with Satoru?” 
Her gaze found the floor. Hesitance. Guilt. Shame. Those emotions were all dancing in her eyes in a complete roundabout. While she took a moment to fully reassess her decision, you weren’t sure if you deserved to still feel hurt when she gave you an honest answer. “When I met Satoru, I didn’t meet the toxic, cheating ex-husband that he was known for,” she said, slowly, “I met a man who holds such a high respect for his ex-wife, adores his son like his greatest gift of all, and values his marriage more than anything else in this world. I met a vulnerable man who isn’t afraid to open his heart to strangers. A man who gave me emotional support even when he’s the one who needed it the most. I… It’s hard to explain, but…” 
Was there really anything left to say? Her point was clear, and your silence while she was speaking was more so because you were trying not to let the tiny pricks in your heart affect you further than it already did. The fullness of her voice and the way her eyes shined when she talked about him were enough to tell you that your best friend had truly fallen in love and you would be cruel to take that away from her. Even from him. They would not have been involved in such an intimate relationship if there had been no attraction between them to begin with, so then… Why did it feel like you were being cheated on? She was no Sera, and he was not the Satoru that only used you for his corporate ambitions. It was just Akemi and Satoru—they were each other’s right person at the right time. The only thing blocking their path to a loving relationship was you. 
You. The irrational and spiteful ex-wife. The ex-wife who always played the ‘victim card’. The selfish ex-wife who wanted all the good things to only come her way. 
Well, god be damned, because you were beginning to confuse yourself with the version of you that wasn’t even remotely like you at all. She was just a mirrored image of yourself that you thought people perceived. 
“You can do what you want.” The moment you spoke again, you were already creating a huge wall between you and your best friend, making sure that there were boundaries that none of you should ever cross now that she had chosen to be with someone you had sincerely loved in the past. It may sound like you were letting go, but truth be told, you just didn’t think that you even had the option to hold onto anything. Satoru wasn’t yours and you weren’t his anymore. You were two individuals living separate lives. “If you wanna be with him, that’s your choice. I don’t plan on intervening. It just… just really surprised me that you didn’t have the decency to tell me at all.” 
Akemi nodded, apologetically desperate. “I understand how you’re feeling and I’m sorry. I really, truly am sorry, Y/N.” Her voice and her countenance did show the genuineness in her plea to be forgiven, but you were too numb to feel anything else. “I hope we can stay friends despite everything.” 
How could you even stay friends in a situation like this? 
First option was to keep pretending that their relationship wasn’t bothering you. Second option was to focus on your own relationship with Toji to the point where everything else just didn’t matter anymore.
Yeah, you thought. You could certainly choose the latter. 
“Our friendship isn’t my top priority at the moment,” was your straightforward response to her, “I wanna focus on my son and his relationship with his father. That’s all.” 
Any regular person would have thought: ‘Wow, Y/N. You handled that well.’ ‘You’re so mature.’ ‘You’re a lot calmer than we expected.’ The thing was, you really did think that you had been way too calm about it. In spite of the scene you caused at the conference room, or the dramatic exchange you had with Akemi in your office, you still handled it much better than one would think. In TV shows or movies, the ex-wife would have dragged the best friend to the ground, slapped her face, pulled her hair, started a nasty catfight, and called her all the terrible labels you could think of. Look, part of you wanted to do that. And the other part of you—the sympathetic, altruistic part of you—thought you shouldn’t do that. You would only look pathetic. 
Of all the negative things Satoru had made you feel over the course of your failure of a marriage, this aftermath was probably the toughest. 
You just weren't in the right state of mind to justify why. 
You also couldn’t justify why you had been looking for unhealthy ways to cope with stress and anxiety. If anyone from your family saw you standing at the smoking area near the parking lot right now, they would have given you an earful of how you must be out of your mind for even putting a cigarette stick between your lips. How exactly could tobacco be good for you? You would say, first of all, that nicotine does in fact cause pleasant feelings to distract you from unpleasant ones. You couldn’t find any other way to relax your mind any faster than one cigarette stick could. Besides, staying in the office and seeing Akemi around was getting too suffocating and you couldn’t afford to have your negative mood lingering in your mind for the rest of the day. One stick wouldn’t hurt. Another one wouldn’t, too. And another one should be fine, right? 
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 
The irony. You didn’t even have the time to recoil before the main cause of your stress showed up in front of you, frowning after he snatched the cigarette stick out of your lips. He was quick to throw it to the ground, stomp on it like he would do with your heart, and give you a questioning look that made you scoff at the ridiculousness of this situation. This could be a dream for heaven’s sake. Or a hallucination. There was no way Satoru Gojou would be standing right in front of you just as you were thinking about him.
“Since when have you been doing this?” he questioned again, holding your wrist this time to make you realize that his presence or this interaction wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. It would have been better that way, but the reality was, Satoru was there and he wasn’t the least bit pleased. “I know you’re mad at me and this isn’t the right time for me to chew you out like this, but…” he paused, taking your cigarette pack. “I can’t believe you’re fucking smoking right now, Y/N. Did you get this habit from Toji?”
Okay. Gojou could be way out-of-line sometimes, but this was the apex of it. 
“Don’t bring Toji into this,” you snapped back, shooting him a glare that could easily kill. “What are you doing here?”
You could see how deep his inhale was just by the loudness of his sigh after it. His face showed a combination of yearning, regret, frustration, and pity as if he was deciding which emotion should dominate him more. But among the multitude of emotions that were drowning him right now like a tidal wave, he looked all the more exhausted. Whether it was dealing with you, trying to make amends with you, or simply being around you—you could tell that he wanted to drop his constant need to care for you because it was beginning to tire him out. 
He didn’t really answer your question, and instead, asked one of his own. “Are you smoking because of stress?” he asked, trying to mask the sympathy in his eyes. “It’s bad for you. Set a good example for Sachiro.” 
You’re bad for me, you wanted to say. Why did it even matter to him, anyway? You were nothing more than just a mother to his child. Anything outside that role was completely not his business anymore. The fact that he was even within the vicinity of your office was ridiculous, because you were already having a bad day and his presence was adding further into it. “Don’t you dare talk about setting a good example to my son like you’re so righteous yourself.” 
“Y/N, come on.” He reached for your hand once more as if trying to show how much he cared or how worried he was with what you were doing to yourself because of him. “I don’t want you to—”
“Keep your fucking distance, Gojou. You’re not in the place to give a damn about me anymore,” you raged, withdrawing your wrist and breathing heavily as you tried to keep yourself from further exploding. You would have. You were so close to cursing him off, but you saw the flash of pure shock in his eyes, and that was how you realized what you just did. All these violent reactions, these unusual outbursts—these were not you. This was not the meek, soft-spoken ex-wife that he was once married to. 
“Toru?” 
Unfortunately, Gojou no longer had enough attention span to listen when he looked away, only to turn to his new woman with a genuinely worried expression painted on his face as soon as he saw her coming out of the building with a hand on her cheek. You realized that he was actually here to pick her up and was doing everything that a caring boyfriend would; checking every inch of her face to see how bad she was hurt and asking her what happened and whether she was okay. You didn’t know how to react the moment he turned back to you with his tired, yet passively accusatory eyes. “Did something happen?” 
You knew that his question actually translated to: ‘Did you slap her?’ With your thorough knowledge about his acquired trauma from physical violence, you felt the sudden need to clear your name, but you didn’t know if you should be grateful that it was already your best friend who did the part in doing such. “Nothing happened. It was an accident.” Her tone was almost begging before she started tugging his arm. “Let’s just go, please.” 
Satoru didn’t want to let it go, but decided that it was best to just leave it be as he glanced at you with a slightly detached gaze. “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” he reminded, referring to the dreaded New York trip together with Sachiro. 
A conflicted look from him and an apologetic gaze from her. That was all that you received before they got inside the car and left you alone and miserable in that parking lot. You watched his car fade into view with her on the passenger seat and him probably holding her hand as he drove through the street. Just when you thought you could actually stomach the sight of him and her together, it would be a big fat lie to say that it didn’t sting. It stung worse than the times he ran after Sera than to stay behind with you. Worse than when he used to treat you like a mistress rather than a wife. 
You must be going crazy, indeed. Who in their right mind would cry over her ex-husband in the middle of the parking lot? Why would you even shed tears when you were the one who wanted him to find someone else and move on? This was becoming a never-ending loop because you were letting yourself be affected by it. It shouldn’t be that way. Never. 
“Toji.” You were doing your hardest to conceal the weakness in your voice as you pressed your phone into your right ear. “I-I need you… right now. Please.” 
“Hey, I was just about to pick-up Sachi from daycare. Is everything okay?” 
Wiping your eyes, you looked at the dull skies wondering if the universe was trying to reflect all these emotions running inside of you. “Yeah… Can you come soon?” 
He didn’t really hesitate to answer, quickly understanding that he had to drop everything else right now and be with you. “Alright, I’ll be there.” 
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Satoru was conflicted, but he didn’t know what exactly made him feel that way. Was it because he saw you smoking in the parking lot? Or was it because he could tell that you gave Akemi a tongue-lashing after catching her half-naked at the penthouse a few days ago? Either way, both options were not very you. And he couldn’t understand why you were slowly starting to look less and less like the person he knew, which was confusing on his part because you had been adamant on telling him to forget about you. You were rigid on your decision to not let him enter your life as your husband for the second time around. He told you he still loved you, but you said you loved another. He told you he wanted to work things out and make your family complete again, but you said you were already doing that with someone else. Gojou knew his hands weren’t clean and the reason you may be acting that way was because out of all the women he could have been with, it had to be Akemi Hirai. Your best friend. Your confidante. Your business partner. She was a territory he shouldn’t have crossed, yet he did. 
But, at the same time, she was the only person who had been there for him during his lowest. She was the company he needed when his heart was the loneliest. He couldn’t even remember the amount of times she came to his aid when he was crying over his memories of you, memories that he could no longer hold onto. Akemi brought peace to his heart, and if there was anyone else he could be with, it would be her. 
It was becoming more and more clear to him how he felt about her. 
Although, voicing that out loud was a different story. Keeping it in his thoughts was for the best because he didn’t want to lead Akemi on. She didn’t deserve that nor did she deserve to feel like a substitute for someone else. He wanted to be a hundred percent sure about being with her before he could fully confess his real feelings for her. It could still develop through time, perhaps far better and more passionate than what he was sharing with her right now, but until then, settling for what they had at this moment in time was for the better. What was important was that both parties were clear about diving into this relationship. 
He wasn’t ready for commitment and she understood that. She was willing to wait for him. She was helping him move on in the least painful way. Where else could he meet such a person like her? 
She was gentle, motherly, sensitive, and intuitive. She was classy and sophisticated. She knew how to dress nicely. Her nails were always clean and pretty. Her smile was very charming. Her laugh, endearing. She was the perfect woman anyone could have. 
“Why’d you suddenly want to go to the mall?” she asked, intertwining their hands together as she looked up at him with her beautiful doe eyes. Her question made him cut out of his trance, remembering that they were strolling around the galleria. 
He touched the small wound on her cheek as if stroking it could make it heal faster. “Nothing,” he said. “Just a last minute idea.”
Truthfully, Gojou wasn’t sure why he had brought her there. All he knew was that he had a lot going on in his mind while he was driving through the city and the next thing he knew, he was already pulling up at the galleria out of his natural instinct. But since they were already there, he might as well buy her a little something. Anything. And then his eyes caught sight of Chanel as if the high-end boutique was pulling his feet with such gravity that it led him to go inside the store while hand-in-hand with the woman next to him. 
“Mr. Gojou, how are you?” 
Right. The staff knew him so well, especially for the amount of times he had been there with his ex-wife when you two were still married. 
“Are you looking for anything specific?” One of the familiar ladies that used to assist you approached him with a lingering stare towards Akemi. “Perhaps for your…?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, can you… uh,” he turned towards the rack of tweed sets, “Do you have any new collections?” 
“Yes, absolutely,” said another lady, “Right this way, sir.” 
It was easy to notice how the staff were exchanging glances at the sight of Satoru and Akemi together, but his mind was far too distracted by the nostalgia of being in that place alone to even care about his surroundings. All he did was look back at Akemi and encourage her to try out the newest collections that they had, thinking that she was oblivious about what was going through his head. “You go and pick whatever you like.” 
Although she was clearly not used to it, Akemi did eventually try on some of the outfits he specifically had chosen for her. They were Chanel’s signature tweed sets that he always found to be very elegant, and he definitely wasn’t wrong that they would suit her when she came out of the dressing room to show him how the clothes wrapped her small frame perfectly. 
He could see your smile through her face, your excitement when you tried the outfits on, and the shine in your eyes when you looked at yourself in the mirror. Except, Gojou had to remind himself that you weren’t her. That his mind was just messing with him. 
No, this was wrong. Why was he thinking about you while he was with her? 
He had to have some sort of distraction. Something so tangible that all of his senses would go numb. 
The one way he was able to overcome that dilemma was by sharing yet another steamy exchange with Akemi later that night. He couldn’t remember who initiated first, but it must have been the equal desire that they had for each other when they dove straight into a heated makeout session the moment they stepped inside his bedroom. One thing led to another. First he was kissing her lips, then her collarbones, then her inner thighs—devouring her completely with his lust-driven actions, doing the most by pleasuring her body using his own. 
She was a giver just as she was a receiver. Not that he didn’t expect her to be so experienced when it came to sex, but she definitely knew what she was doing without any guidance from him. Perhaps he just wasn’t used to it anymore. Perhaps he had just forgotten how it felt to have sex with someone who didn’t rely on him to initiate the next steps they should do. Fuck, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone stared at his eyes while putting his hardened member inside her mouth the way she did. She knew her power over him while at his most vulnerable state, ruining his masculine ego and destroying it with her own feminine pride. 
And in the midst of their intimate session, Gojou was zoning out while he was sliding a condom across his shaft, ready to enter her from the back. His mind was giving him a flash of memory, not a distant but recent one from two days ago.
“I still can’t believe you did that, Mom. You’re being ridiculous.” 
His mother wasn’t exactly showing the slightest hint of regret on her face despite knowing full well that sending the custody claim almost made you lose your mind. She was keeping a straight face as she sat on the barstool next to him, taking a sip of wine from her glass while he, on his own, was downing a glass of scotch. “She had it coming.”
Satoru sighed his frustration away. “Don’t do that again or today’s the last time you’ll ever see me.” 
“What are you talking about?” His mother frowned. “Who was there for you when you were trying to end your own life because of the lies she told you, huh? You’re feeling bad for her now, but did she feel bad for you back then? You missed three years of your son’s life because she was being too spiteful towards you.” 
He had never met someone more stubborn than his own mother, but maybe this was a clear sign for Satoru to realize where he must have acquired that one similar trait of his. After all, people always made it seem that he was more like his dad even though he despised being compared to his father. To say that his mother was a complete angel was a lie. But neither was he. “Whatever, just don’t… Just leave Y/N alone. She’s still the mother of my child and I don’t want us to keep fighting. At least, for Sachi’s sake.” 
His mother finished her glass of wine before turning the stool towards his direction. There was a minute of silence that passed between them before she spoke again. “I just don’t want you to get back with her, darling. You two are toxic together.” 
Funny, because he could say the same thing for her and his father. “Well, it’s not gonna happen now. Y/N’s gonna hate me forever.” 
“What, ‘cause she rejected you again?” 
“No,” he countered, shaking his head and chugging all the remaining liquor on his glass. “She knows about the thing I have with Akemi now.” 
Her mouth fell open, gasping as she did so. “Y-You… and Akemi? Are you together?” 
Satoru expected this reaction from her, but didn’t think she would actually be more fixated on his new relationship than the effect it would bring on her ex-daughter-in-law. “It’s not something to be proud of, Mom.” 
“Well, I’m proud of you,” she still stressed that fact, “It’s nice to hear that you’re finally moving on, Satoru. Y/N is not good for you, but I know Akemi will be. I like her and I know she’ll make you a lot happier than Y/N ever did.” 
“You’re still awake?” Gojou let out a yawn as he felt the heaviness of his eyelids telling him that it was time to sleep. He tried checking the time on his phone, but realized that he still had the photo of you and Sachiro as his lockscreen. He wasn’t planning on changing it anytime soon, but considering that Akemi saw it, he was expecting that she would have something to say, yet nothing came out of her mouth. She simply stayed silent while laying on his chest, letting him touch the slope of her naked back as she slightly raised her head to meet his eyes. He had already closed his phone and placed it back on the nightstand. “What, did I not tire you enough?” 
“Shut up.” She hid her reddened cheeks and smiled on the crook of his neck. Her hand was placed on his chest, fingers tracing his collarbones. “No, I’m just thinking about how you’re gonna manage New York and all.” 
Satoru’s breathing was still for a few seconds, keeping his eyes glued on the ceiling as he held her on your marital bed. “You’re scared that the infamous cheater is gonna cheat on you or something?” he joked, a distasteful one, but still meant to ease whatever was burdening her mind. “Not gonna happen even if we’re in an open relationship.” 
“That’s not it,” Akemi quickly replied, denying his claims, “I’m more like hoping that you’ll be patient with her. She gets angry a lot these days and we know we’re the main cause of it, so please. Please don’t try to argue with her, okay? If she says hurtful things, learn to understand her.” 
He wrapped his arms tighter around her smaller frame. Gojou was certain that he was about to doze off soon now that he had closed his eyes and let the exhaustion pull him into a good night’s sleep. “I won’t,” he spoke his words slowly, drifting off to dreamland, “I won’t make her angry.” 
“Okay.” He felt her lips kissing his jaw just before the both of them gradually matched the calmness of each other’s chest. One heart, one soul, two bodies.  “Good night, ‘Toru.” 
In the middle of his sleep, he mumbled, “Good night, Y/N.”
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On the other side of the city, you woke up in the middle of your slumber, facing the handsome face of your fiancé, Toji Zen’in, who had already drifted off to dreamland while holding you in his muscular arms. No wonder people were jealous of you for having such a refined man like him in your bed every night you go to sleep. The thing was, you had no reason to feel discontented with your life since you already had everything. You were wealthier than the average person, you ran a business that you were passionate about, you had an adorable son who meant the world to you, and you had Toji. There was nothing else you could ask for. And if by remembering Sera’s words back then, you would be selfish to ask for anything more because others didn’t even have half the fortune you had. 
So, in that sense, you should be happy. 
You had to be happy. 
You were happy, right? 
“Go to sleep,” whispered a half-awake Toji, stirring from his sleep as he held your waist tighter like you were his comfort pillow. “You alright?” 
Sighing inwardly, you traced the scar on his lips. “You’re so gorgeous.”
His lazy, boyish smile came into view. “I know that,” he joked, closing his eyes as if succumbing into a few more minutes of sleep. “Don’t tell me you’re turned on right now ‘cause I can go all night. Doggy. Missionary. Cowboy. Reverse cowboy.” 
Were you? Maybe a little. And maybe you had to have a distraction from your ‘source of happiness’. 
“That’s very naughty of you, Mr. Zen’in,” you replied, cheeks heating up from his vulgar words. Your hand was finding its way to his toned chest, while his were traveling to the curves of your waist and hips. You could feel him angling his body to make sure he had access to slide your underwear just a little above your knee, gliding his hand along your thigh before letting his fingers touch your sensitive bud. “T-Toji—”
A smirk appeared on his lips. “Hm? I thought you wanted this?” 
You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Y-Yeah, I…” There was no use holding back from moaning because his fingers knew how to move perfectly well, playing with your clit in circular motions before sliding two of them into your entrance. “...Fuck.”
“Feel good?” His hot breath tickled your neck, moving his mouth from your collarbones down to the valley between your breasts. “Wish you knew how delicious you are.” 
Another moan, much louder this time around, escaped your lips when he attached his mouth onto your breast, sucking the round mass with his tongue doing God’s work. You were so high into sexual desire that your back arched on its own, dominated by the pleasing sensation all over your body. You could barely even respond to him when he started asking why your mood had been so down when he picked you up after work or why you still wouldn’t tell him whatever happened back there. 
“It’s nothing,” you replied, disregarding the painful encounter you’ve had with your ex-husband and your best friend. “...Just work stuff.” 
As you closed your eyes, you could feel Satoru’s fingers entering deep inside of you, deep enough to have reached your g-spot and have you moaning wildly. It felt unreal. It felt goddamn out of this world. But since Satoru was familiar with every inch of your body, his touch alone could easily send you to seventh heaven. He was heavenly. He was saintly. That mesmerizing gaze of his paired with his sky blue eyes and messy white hair. His beautiful, beautiful face, watching you beg for him to do more. More. More…
“Satoru…”
The intense feeling suddenly stopped, awakening you back to your senses as you opened your eyes and saw the dark, animalistic gaze of Toji Zen’in. “What’d you say?” he asked in a deep voice. 
Out of panic, you slightly pulled away and shook your head. “N-Nothing. What did I say?”
“I thought I heard you say his…” he trailed off, pulling his fingers out of you and instead, placing a tight grip on your hip. “Did you?” 
“No, no. Not at all.” Your voice came in a hushed tone, looking at his eyes intently. “Why would I do that?” 
He let out an exasperated sigh, falling back into the bed with one arm under his head. “Don’t play games with me, Y/N.”
Desperation led you to climb on top of him, sitting on his crotch before encasing your lips with his soft ones. “I’m not,” you mumbled, kissing him again. “I never did. I promise.” 
Yet, despite your attempts at inviting him for an open-mouthed kiss, he had already lost the interest to engage in sexual activities with you. He didn’t say anything nor tried to argue about the shit that you said, but he did stay silent for a couple of minutes, simply holding you on top of him without another word to utter. It scared you to think what was going through Toji’s mind, but this was also all your fault. Why, in the first place, did you even let your mind imagine that white-haired toxic ex-husband of yours when you had Toji Zen’in in front you? 
Perhaps in this relationship, you were the toxic one. 
You were the poison that could kill the life out of the man who only wanted to love and heal you. 
“Toji, I’m sorry…” 
He held his breath. “Should I be concerned that you’re going on a trip with him?” 
“No, it’s…” Pulling away, you gave him a look of combined sincerity and denial. “We’re just gonna fix Sachiro’s papers, you know that. We won’t even be staying in the same room.” 
Fixing Sachiro’s papers. Dealing with his dual citizenship. Changing his last name to Gojou. Solidifying your son’s identity as the son of Satoru Gojou. That’s all there is to it. All the technical matters. 
“Is he staying at a hotel or are you letting him stay at your apartment in Manhattan?” he asked, although there was no hint of suspicion in his voice. Or at least, he must be good at hiding it. 
You chose to be honest. “I have to let him stay at my apartment,” was your answer, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Only because Sachi wants his dad around all the time. We’re just trying our best to co-parent.” 
Toji’s dry humor took over. “You sure you’re not gonna let him fuck you senseless?” His tone was laced with resentment. “And then you’ll come home to me crying about how he got you pregnant for the second time. You’d better kiss our marriage goodbye if that happens.” 
“What kind of person do you think I am?” you retorted, annoyed by his word of choice as if you were a cheating scumbag. “If he’s gonna get someone pregnant, that won’t be me.” 
His eyes sparked with curiosity. “What do you mean?” 
Deciding between telling and not telling, you figured that the latter would only cause more drama to bounce back at you like a boomerang. “He’s with Akemi.” 
It looked like Toji didn’t hear it right. “Akemi? How’d that happen?” 
“I don’t know what kinda relationship they have, okay?” you snapped, no longer wanting to keep up with this topic further. “I just caught them. They said they’re seeing each other, but it’s complicated or whatever—I don’t really give a damn. But he’s with her is all I know.” 
Toji went silent for a few minutes, unable to determine whether he should find the situation pitiful or humorous. One thing for sure though, was that he found it unbelievable. “That son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, smiling in disbelief, “So this is what’s ruining your mood these days, huh?” 
Your eyebrows furrowed in response. “It’s not.” 
“Your ex-husband slept with your best friend. Yeah, I’d be mad, too.” His comment wasn’t really meant to irk you, but he successfully did so. Minus the intention. “Getting mad is understandable, getting jealous is questionable. Which one are you?” 
Fuck it. “I said I’m not jealous. Will you stop now?” You sunk yourself under the covers, turning your back on Toji. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 
Now that he knew and you saw his reaction, you wondered what it would be like if Gen and Ian knew. Or if your dad knew. What would they think of Satoru? What would they think of Akemi? No, nevermind that. What would they think of you? Another fool in a deck of cards? Another game that was played with? 
You didn’t want to know. 
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Ideally, you and Satoru really shouldn’t have gone to this New York trip together as if your family was still intact, because as much as you wished that that was true, you were far from that. You were only playing house for the sake of your son, but that also meant putting you in a painfully awkward situation together as ex-spouses. He had a girlfriend back home and you had a loving and loyal fiancé who proved the whole word that he was loyal to you. And although your respective partners were supporting the whole co-parenting situation, you knew by yourselves that this was nowhere to near to being comfortable for them, too. 
“Everything okay?” You heard the familiar voice of your past, only to see his dull, blue eyes taking a peek at you. 
“Yeah,” you replied, almost inaudibly. You just boarded the plane while Satoru was talking to the pilot, and found your spot on one of the beds in his private jet. It took a few minutes for him to get to where you were now. “Why?” 
He shrugged, eyeing a sleepy Sachiro next to you. “Just wanna make sure you and Sachi are comfortable.” 
You didn’t know what else to say, so you just looked back at your peaceful son who was hugging his elmo plush like the cute angel he was. Even though he was growing so fast, you could still remember how he was just as small as a puppy in your arms when he was first born. The memory of it caused you to press your lips on his forehead, caressing his soft, white hair. At some point while observing the scene, your son’s father thought it would be a good idea to slide the blanket further up your shoulders, acting as though he was only doing it to keep Sachiro warm. And later, he sat on the reclined airplane seat, drinking the coffee that was served to him by the stewardess. 
It was crazy. 
Crazy that Toji could be lying next to you and you would feel nothing. But Gojou was meters away from you and your mind was on a never-ending race. 
Just before noon, the airplane landed safely at JFK airport and Satoru’s driver took you straight to Central Park Towers, treated like a V.I.P. by security just because your ex-husband was Japan’s third richest person and second most influential businessman. At times like these, you would almost forget the power Satoru held even before he was the chairman. You two were almost royalty. Now that he was leading the Gojou Group, his reputation only grew more despite the scandal of your broken marriage. He knew not to share his relationship publicly anymore nor did he expose Sachiro to any of his social media. It was a mutual decision for you to keep your son away from the spotlight knowing the scrutiny and the lack of privacy that would enter your lives once again—all the unnecessary noise, the unwanted comments, the unruly attention. Besides, for safety reasons, Sachiro had to be hidden from the public since he would become the sole heir to his father’s conglomerate, inheriting his parents combined assets that could one day make him the richest and most sought after bachelor in Japan. 
“Mamaaa!” A lively Sachi came running to you as soon as he entered the lobby of the apartment suites, his father following him behind. 
“Careful, baby!” you said, standing at the lobby while talking to your housekeeper, “You might trip.” 
Satoru decided to carry his son after noticing your worried expression and immediately walked towards you. He was all smiles as he looked at Sachiro’s cheerful blue eyes. “He seems a little excited, isn’t he?” 
“He lived here for almost three years,” you answered, signaling a quick ‘thank you’ to your housekeeper before guiding your boys to the elevator. “He must’ve missed the place. Did you, Sachi?”
“Yes, mama~”
It was a little bittersweet for your ex-husband, though. Especially the moment he stepped inside the apartment, looking at every corner and realizing that it was the same place you had lived in back when he was suffering from emotional distress on the other side of the world. This apartment was where his own child grew up in and he had no idea he had even existen then. Not only did that make you a terrible ex-wife, but it also made you a heartless mother. You had separated them and now you were taking him to the place where you had his son hidden from him. 
That wasn’t your intention. That was never your intention. 
“I’m glad you chose a nice place,” he complimented, acting as casual as possible. “Does your father own this place or?”
“Gen loaned it to me,” you said, holding Sachiro’s hand while letting Satoru follow you closely. You stopped at one of the guest rooms and urged the tall man to feel at home. “You can stay here for the meantime.” 
“I don’t wanna make things uncomfortable for Akemi.” He looked away, avoiding your eyes. “I can just stay at a hotel—” 
“Dada!” His mini-me tugged at his hand along with yours. You already knew that those puppy eyes would look back at the both of you. “Sachi wants Dada to stay.”
Frankly, you weren’t upset a while ago, but since he had to bring up Akemi and make it seem like her feelings were his priority, you lost all the will to be kind. Was their relationship that deep for him to act like such a loyal, righteous partner? Where was that same loyalty when he married you? “Do whatever.” 
Noticing the tension between his parents, Sachiro’s eyes started to well up with tears and that was all it took for you two to completely focus your attention back to your 3-year old. 
“Sachi…” Satoru tried to reach for his son, but you (spitefully) beat him to it. 
“It’s okay, my baby. Don’t cry,” you comforted your son, picking him up and carrying him in your arms, “Daddy will still visit you every day even if he's staying at a hotel.” 
Satoru, as guilty as ever, shook his head and wiped his son’s eyes. “No. I’ll stay here for Sachi, okay? Don’t cry anymore.” 
It felt like hours sitting on that enormous sofa, staring at the television screen even though your mind was miles away. You had already texted Toji good night and reassured him that everything was fine, but you still couldn’t stop thinking about what he was doing back home. Sachiro had fallen asleep almost half an hour ago, and how you wished you could also enjoy your slumber while snuggling under those heated blankets, but how could you? How could you be comfortable in the presence of an ex-husband who was coming out of his room, freshly showered in his low-waisted sweatpants and tight-fitting black shirt? Not to mention how he was obviously flexing his arms while drying his mop of messy, white hair with a towel. Ridiculous. A little seductive, but definitely ridiculous. 
“Still up?” His sky blue eyes met yours as soon as he looked up. 
You adjusted your position on the sofa and leaned on the corner, pulling a small cushion to place above your thighs. “Can’t sleep.” 
And the night went on just like that. You, sitting on the couch. Him, sitting on the other end as if going near you might suffocate him. It didn’t help that the silence was beginning to be too uncomfortable. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking of. Perhaps Akemi? Perhaps you? You doubted the latter. 
“I think…” You cleared your throat to escape from the awkward tension. “I think I’m gonna go for a night swim. You can go to sleep next to Sachi tonight, just make sure not to wake him up.” 
Satoru’s curious gaze trailed on you as you got up and tightened your robe. “It’s a little too late at night to go for a swim, no?” 
You couldn’t even face him as you responded. “I need to clear my mind off some things.” And by things, you meant him and this whole mess of a situation that you had put yourselves together. Two divorcees staying in the same living space wasn’t exactly a brilliant idea to begin with.
“Want me to join you?” asked Satoru, and he himself could not believe he asked that question. He may have asked it out of his innate care for you, probably worried for no damn reason. What he didn’t realize was how wrong his suggestion was, especially that you two were dating other people now. 
If only you were such a cruel person, how ironic would it be if you allowed Satoru Gojou to join you for a quick night swim? 
How ironic would it be for you to feel each other’s warmth under the crystal pool, getting carried away by the romantic lights that lit the city? 
How ironic would it be if the intense sexual tension ended with you doing things under the sheets, completely disregarding the fact that the both of you had respective partners who were overthinking this exact NYC trip?
How ironic would it be if, for once in your life, you became the cheater? 
Thankfully, you didn’t have the mindset of a cheating person. 
However, it was Satoru who took back his initial offer. “Never mind. Forget I even asked that,” he muttered, sounding annoyed more so to himself rather than at you. 
You offered a nonchalant shrug. “Okay.” 
And as you were heading to the poolside, you could sense Gojou’s presence behind even though he just very clearly rejected the idea of going on a swim with you. He was still the same confusing man that you married before. Only now, he was ten times worse. “Wait, Y/N.”
“What?” You turned around, annoyed at his push-and-pull behavior. At this point, you didn’t really care what he was thinking of anymore. All you did was to take off your robe, leaving yourself with only your underwear on before you slowly got down on the pool. 
Gojou, on the other hand, was ridding himself of his shirt and sweatpants to join you in the pool with just his boxers on. What even was this situation? You two had that same question in your head despite swimming at the edge of the pool to stare at the cityscape. “I only asked to join you because I wanted to talk. That’s all.” 
You wanted to laugh at how he was clearing his intentions to you. 
“Why do you sound defensive around me?” He couldn’t see it, but you were rolling your eyes as you leaned against the pool coping. “I never knew Akemi would be the jealous type.” 
Satoru looked surprised by your claim, seeming as though he didn’t recognize the kind of person you were anymore. You were never this unreasonably sarcastic nor acidic with your words during your marriage even at the height of his affair with Sera, yet you had just become the worst version of yourself. “She isn’t,” he muttered, finding his spot next to you, “But I don’t wanna give her a reason to be.” 
You huffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You make it sound like I’m gonna make a move on you or something.” 
“I never said that.” 
“You were thinking about it.” 
“Says who?” 
What is it about Satoru Gojou that makes him so irritating? Was it the way he talks? The way he thinks he’s always right? The way he acts like he’s such a clean person? 
“Please,” you retorted, bitterly. “Toji isn’t comfortable having you around me, either. Just so you know.” 
“Can we just—” There. His last string of patience finally snapped and his true colors came to show when he grabbed your wrist and made you face him. The spiteful Satoru. He was back, even just for a second. “Y/N, I’m not trying to argue with you here. I’m trying to talk to you like a civilized person. You’re the mother of my child and I respect you. I’d still care for you and will always protect you, but I want you to at least act like a fucking person around me. You’re a grown woman.” 
Wasn’t it bad that he, of all people, was basically telling you to grow up? Memories of your marriage and all the back-and-forth arguments that you had with him flashed before your eyes. He should be the last one to say such a thing. “You’re the one who’s been crossing the fucking line with me since day one, Gojou. Don’t tell me to—”
“And do you wish I had just killed myself for you to forgive me?!” The ridges of his neck became prominent, making his anger much visible now. He was staring down at you intensely, backing you against the edge of the pool, trapping you in between his arms. “I’d have probably done that. But you…You did unforgivable things to me and look how easy it was for me to forgive you.” 
You looked away, not trying to have this conversation again. Not trying to have your guilt eat your heart out. Maybe your behavior really had become too much and it was about time you take a step back and realize how ridiculous you had been acting because no way was this man trying to make a better point than you. 
“I slept with Akemi, I know. She’s your best friend, I fucking know. But I never did that to get back at you,” his voice bore so much authority in them. “I begged on my knees just to be with you again. Swallowed my pride just for you to be my wife again!” His breathing became ragged. “But you chose to move on. You said you love Toji. You said you’d be happier without me, so why don’t I deserve to be happy without you?” 
The inability to speak wasn’t because you were at a loss of words. The problem was choosing the right ones. Words that wouldn’t put you in a disadvantageous position. Words that wouldn’t make you look like an unreasonable person. 
“You wished me well when you first found out about Akemi and I. You said you don’t care who I choose to date even if that choice is her,” he said, much calmer this time. He was placing his forehead against yours, body pressed against each other. “If that was true, then why are you still so angry with me?” 
Your heart raced as you locked eyes with him. His eyes were the same kind of blue that reflected off of the surface of the pool. Anyone could easily get lost in it, but you knew where to place yourself in order not to. “I’m… not angry…” 
“Baby, you and I both know that’s not true,” he said with a serious gaze, lifting your chin with his hand. 
But you swatted it away, averting your eyes. “Don’t call me baby. You’re being ridiculous.” 
With a loud sigh, Gojou gave up and simply placed his forehead on your shoulder, letting you feel the weight of his head and the warmth of his breath. “If you were still my wife, I’d have kissed you right now,” he declared, breathing heavily as if stopping with all of his will to do what he just said. “I’d touch every inch of you, tell you how much I love you, carry you back into that room, and make more beautiful babies with you…” 
“Satoru,” you warned just as he pulled away, smiling despite the sorrow in his eyes. 
“…But I won’t do that. I’m not gonna do that,” he claimed and sounded like he was convincing himself rather than clearing it up. “Akemi doesn’t deserve a partner who can’t move on from his ex-wife, so I’m doing my best to forget about you.” 
Your breathing took a halt. You weren’t sure where those tiny pricks in your heart came from. Toji needed the same. He deserved a wife who wasn’t pining for her ex-husband. Satoru was just being true. 
“Then, forget about me,” you gave a barely audible reply. 
Gojou pulled away and kept his distance now, showing that he was indeed trying to stick to his words. “I will.” 
Why did it hurt when it shouldn’t have? 
“Good.” 
He looked at you with eyes that carried a million emotions. But what was most visible was him seeing the light, probably realizing that he truly was doing the right thing and that he was proud of himself for being able to resist you. Because then, that only meant he was only a few steps away from the path of moving on. That if he could let you go, then he could live a better life. 
It only made sense why he pulled that little stunt back there—being close enough to you was probably his way of differentiating how his body reacted to you versus how it reacted to Akemi. And now that he was able to determine whatever difference that might be, it would be easier for him to know what exactly to avoid. 
After all, you two would be spending the rest of your lives as a present mom and dad to Sachiro. Co-parenting was your only connection and the only way to make that work without falling for each other was to rid yourselves of any kind of attraction towards one another. 
Good for him. 
“Let’s be good parents, Y/N.” Satoru looked at you from across the pool. “Let’s set a good example for Sachi and show that divorced parents can still be good parents. Let’s not be toxic to each other, especially not in front of him.” His words were coming from his personal experience and as you knew the whole history behind the mess within his family, you were truthfully considerate of his words. His traumatic experiences were what shaped him to become the problematic man you once married, and he was doing his best not to let his own son be the same. “I’ll provide Sachiro with everything he needs and I’ll always be present in his life, so please let me have as much time with him as possible. I’m making up for the three years I lost with him.” 
You nodded. “I don’t have a problem with that. 
As the established relationship you had with Gojou became more professional and strictly transactional, the distance between you two also grew more and more. There was no longer any space for love and intimacy. There was only familiarity and acquaintanceship. 
“Go to sleep soon,” he said without sending another glance your way, climbing out of the pool and reaching for his clothes, “We have a long day tomorrow.” 
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Text
Gift of…..
Characters: Housewardens x GN! Reader/Yuu (with a little bit of the first year groups)
Summary: You may not believe this, have you been getting gifts secretly from the Housewardens? You are the only one who is lucky to have a armband from their respective dorms but….that one isn’t the only thing. You swore that you didn’t do anything.
Before the Gift
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It has been how many days since you live in Night Raven College, you are kinda like a Housewarden in the Ramshackle dorm and yet you are pretty much not paid enough by Crowley. As much as you like to complain, you can’t find yourself to do……unless you are finally pissed off…
Tho you do have to admit that it feels less lonely compared to how you were back on earth. Twisted Wonderland is still a mysterious place, even tho you didn’t ask for trouble they insisted to letting you understand more about their world. Lately Grim notice that you have been….distant lately, sure it was fun to stay in this world, but it feels rather….lonely….
Others got what they truly deserved….but what about you?
You had no magic at all but all you can do was tame the beasts, seeing how everyone was enjoying their lives it makes you think that you are the odd one who is feeling left out, there were times that you were also ignored form others. It was unfair truly, but you still kept that strong face of a forced smile, Grim, Ace, and Deuce notice that from you and tried to help but none of their attempts work. Just as all hope was all lost, they all had one idea….
It was their last resort, but they know that it was worth it.
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Riddle Rosehearts
You were minding your business alone in a different place, but when you saw Riddle coming towards you, you immediately thought you are screwed, but instead it was rather the opposite. Riddle decided to give you a small gift box.
"Riddle....what is..."
"It is a gift of course? You had any problems with that?"
Riddle was staring at you, tho you were trying your best to ignore about how you are actually feeling. It still concerns him to see that you are honestly sad.
"If you are still unsure, why don't you open it?"
"Is it okay?"
"Yes. Please, go ahead."
You decided to open the gift, inside of it was an armband of Heartslabyul and a few mini cookie bag. It surprises you and yet there was one more, there was a necklace that was in a theme of hearts.
You looked at Riddle surprised about all of this, "I-Its to repay you for your efforts in the dorm...." But you saw Riddle gently picking your hand up and give it a kiss, "I am thankful." He said as you can see his face a blushing mess, "If I see you being depressed, its off with your head....alright?" He asked as you nodded before you saw Riddle quickly walk away.
Honestly...that was really cute of Riddle when you think about it.
You were honestly stunned at the results, and yet...it honestly makes you happy.
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Leona Kingscholar
The next day, you were minding your own business relaxing alone and yet....
If Riddle isn't the only one who is planning to give you gits, you were soon surprised when Leona suddenly captures you into his arms the second he finds you alone.
"Leona?! What are you doing here!?"
"..."
There was no reply when you were in his embrace, and yet you did feel that his hug was sincere and gentle. Tho he doesn't even want to bother asking you personal stuff.
"You know herbivore. Your pretty relatable..."
You don't understand his words, "What do you mean by that?" And yet you saw his tail giving you a gift box before he lets go of the hug and simple leave you alone, leaving you all confused.
You don't even know where to begin with all of that and yet, you attention turned to the gift box before opening it.
It was a Savanaclaw armband, but there was also your favorite item inside the box. You were surprised and yet, it was pretty similar to how Riddle gave you almost the same gift, tho you were wondering why did he do that in the first place.
Does that mean you also have to give something back to him?
And yet you had a strange feeling that it somehow wasn't the first time, how did they know your like this item. It was strange and a bit creepy. But....then again...
It slowly feels rewarding when you think about it.
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Azul Ashengrotto
"Ah~ I found you at last~"
Azul found you when you were alone again at the garden, you were simply admiring the view when he appeared out of nowhere.
"Azul? Do you need something?"
"No not really, but I came here to give this to you~"
To your hidden guess, Azul gave you a gift box. "Think of it as our reward to you for helping out the Monstro Lounge~ I hope that you might continue your efforts~" Azul said gently holding your hand and giving it a gentle kiss, which does fluster you but at the same time....
"Azul...isn't it out of character for you to kiss my hand?"
"!!!"
Azul immediately backed off a blushing mess and was trying to explain himself as to why did he do that, tho you comfort him immediately by simply letting him know not to force himself to do that in the first place.
Even if Azul tried to defend himself for that case, but deep down he was also happy to know that you were not offended by his actions, its makes him happy to know that you still accepted him even if you don't understand him well.
Later on, Azul leaves and you decided to open the gift box, as you secretly guessed it was the Octovinelle armband, but that alone wasn't the only one. There was also a bottle of perfume that matches their scent which you actually like it, and an adorable picture of baby....Azul...
Floyd and Jade added that picture secretly didn't they...
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Kalim Al Asim
"PERFECT!!! I FOUND YOU!"
"?!"
Off to a fun start on a next day. Kalim found you and gave you a greeting surprise hug which you had to catch him in time. Tho you were surprise when he suddenly lift you up and twirl with him.
"I'm glad to see you at the perfect timing!!!"
"?"
It was almost bad timing for you tho....it was almost time for class and yet it should be fine since it was around 15 minutes for the classes to start.
"Say, Perfect..." You can see Kalim asking how are you, how are you feeling, and more even tho you reassure him that you were fine. But to Kalim he knows that you are not, and yet he did make some offers and you had to gently refuse him but you did tell him that you might reconsider it.
But when the bell rings that it was 5 minutes left till classes starts, Kalim cheerfully gives you a gift box but you were also not expecting a kiss on your cheek before he runs to his classroom. And yet it confuses you but you went straight to class a blushing mess knowing that you got a kiss on the cheek.
Later on while you were alone, it was the perfect timing for you to open his gift box it was a Scarabia armband with a small jewlery necklace that really looks expensive to wear....damn rich people....and yet...
What caught your eye was also a small plushie of Kalim and Jamil....that is honestly cute.
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Vil Shoenhiet
"Oh, found you, potato."
You turned your attention to Vil who found you when you were relaxing in the botanical garden staring at the leaves under the sunlight, “Hello Vil, do you need something?” You asked as he approached you, and yet he noticed that you look like a mess, and yet he noticed that you’ve been secretly crying.
“Sadly your face doesn’t match your own unique beauty.”
“My own beauty?”
Vil nodded before gently pampering your face, “Your own beauty has a smile, a sweet smile, kindness, and a caring self that you tamed almost everyone. Seeing you like this would worry others, mine included potato…” He said before gently fixing your hair, “You should consider taking care of yourself more.” And yet you can only stare at him before smiling gently and nod at his suggestion.
“A perfect reply.”
Tho you noticed that he place a gift box on your hands, “I’ll be going now, take care of yourself potato.” He said before giving your cheek a kiss before going away leaving you a blushing mess.
You remained speechless, cause not only your gift has a Pomefiore armband, but also a tiny lip balm that has a cute flavor that matches your lips.
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Idia Shroud
The second you were about to exit your dorm, your eyes spotted a floating gadget right in front of you.
‘This is a delivery from Idia Shroud.’
“Idia your using auto voice text to speech again…”
“N-No I’m not….!!!”
Yeap you can tell that is Idia but….why is he not using Ortho to talk to you instead?
“What brings you here? Normally you would ask Ortho to do the talking….?”
“No… It’s not the point…. Here, just take it. And don’t tell this to others!”
And with that there tablet floats away from you, Idia was trying not to lose his embarrassing composure but…. He did it just to check up on you. You are really sure that alone is highly rare for Idia to do that. No when you open the gift there was a mini controller with a few games he recommend and a Igynihyde armband, you are going to hide that from the others….
Tho part of you wants to poke fun at Idia, but the other part of you wants to hug him.
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Malleus Daconia
During the night while everyone is resting, you hope that Malleus appear out of nowhere.
Thankfully he was here and you two had a pleasant conversation, Malleus was having a good time talking to you over boring topics that he had not heard about it and yet, she does finds your voice soothing to listen to.
But…
“Tsunotaro….”
“Yes? Child of man?”
You then begin to ask Malleus about why is the Housewardens giving you gifts, it’s been five days and you see them checking up on you from time to time. Tho you also notice that Malleus is slowly mad at that, how could he missed this opportunity?! And yet….
“Is it because….I don’t deserve being…loved?”
“Don’t say that. You honestly deserve better.”
You looked at Malleus confused, “You saw how they give you something right? It is a sign that they all appreciate you, mine included. Seeing you in a sad state would make everyone worry especially me.” He said before gently holding your hand and give you a kiss on your forehead, “Please, always remember that we are here for you no matter what…” Malleus said as your eyes opened, your hands was greeted by a nice looking box.
Inside was Diasonia armband, but it was also a nice looking yarn that you were not expecting to find.
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After everything that was happening….you found it strange.
You check your phone to message your group asking them about the whole gifts and what not. and Ace decided to be honest here, they asked Riddle to give a gift for a random reason. You had zero idea how insane Ace was facing against Riddle like that, Deuce was also with Ace in this, they said that you actually deserve a gift.
They all know that you have been down lately, and the best they can do was to give you a gift in hopes to cheer you up. You might hate yourself lately, but in their eyes they see you as a solace from their darkest times aka golden hour. Jack and Epel even pointed out that you also deserve gifts and they went to their Housewardens for any advice, and yet as for the others….. You can only guess.
Ace and Deuce went to Riddle to talk about a gift, Jack and Epel went to Leona and Vil about a gift advice, but the other Housewardens…. You can consider it strange, and yet….
You can feel your vision blurry….are you crying?
You can’t help but send thank you messages to them, you wanted to repay them back but they literally said no need. It feels rather magical to feel….recognized for your own efforts, even Grim gave you a canned tuna as a gift. The best you can do was hug Grim and let your tears fall out.
Was receiving their gifts worth it?
It surely was.
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dcsiremc · 15 days
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these boots WEREN’T made for walking | m. izuku
cw: father! izu, reader and izu have two kids.
-reader and a pair of uncomfortable boots she begged for. if you all have seen friends, it’s based on that one time monica bought those expensive ass boots she could barely walk in lmao
“you’re not going to wear them,” izuku stated plainly, mouth forming a thin line as you held up a flashy pair of high heeled boots, much too tall for what you usually wear.
“am too. they can go with that dress i just got,” you smiled proudly, turning to scan the different sizes to accommodate for your own feet.
“that dress, yes, and what else?”
you paused your hand on one of the boxes, pursing your lips to think for a second but you were drawing serious blanks. you knew better than to look his way since he was probably raising those thick eyebrows of his, giving you that damned knowing look that always made you cave.
“what do you know about fashion anyway, deku?,” you huffed, squealing in victory when you saw they indeed had your size in stock.
it wasn’t that money was an issue, even if the boots were a whopping four hundred and fifty dollars, plus tax, but he knew you well. every time you got fancy shoes you wore them about two times max before chucking them somewhere in the depths of the closet to never again be seen with as a matching set. even you not wearing them wasn’t his biggest concern, you always chose shoes that hurt your feet, gave you horrible blisters and aches. it was a sad sight to say the least when he caught you limping around in his peripheral.
“i know that by the end of the night in those, you’re gonna be pouting for me to give you a piggy back ride because your feet hurt.”
“nope, you’re wrong,” you were busying yourself with pulling one of the boots onto your foot, zipping it up the calf and gaping in awe at the way it sucked you in like a glove, “these are extremely comfortable. i love them…god if i could marry a shoe.”
izu held up his hands in surrender, not that he was going to fight long on the topic of giving you whatever your heart desired. he aimed to please, liked watching you smile.
he had to give you your props, almost every day you had managed a way to worm your new boots into your outfits. you were stubborn, sometimes enough to even best kacchan, and you were determined to prove you could milk the money’s worth out of these boots. izu chose to pick his battles, even when he came home from a tiring day of hero work just to see you vacuuming the living room in heels. it was cute, really, how hard you tried to make your point, and he let it play out without rebuttal. truth of the matter is, you were starting to hit your peak, heels burning and ankles aching from the amount of times you had twisted them from tripping when your husband wasn’t around. you’d hate for the bastard to be right, he was always so smug when he was. so you put on brave faces and strutted around in your prize, until you were out of eye sight so you could wince in peace.
there were bruises forming on the knuckles of your toes, cramps taunting your soles every time you flexed your feet too graciously. it was getting about that time for these death traps to hit the back of your closet. you just hated the idea of giving izuku the satisfaction of his win, that and you didn’t want to put his hard earned money to waste. it was a constant nag in the back of your brain. you knew he’d never tell you no (not really anyway) and he had spoiled you heavily with the fruits of his labor from the moment the currency started pouring in. it was why you couldn’t help but ask for things, and he wanted you to have everything, even if he teased you about it being a ridiculous purchase. but anxiety was still a bitch. you had to show these shoes love, it was like- in your mind- being extra grateful for his generosity.
your final straw was a long walk in the park. foolishly you had slipped on the horrid boots, they went well with your attire. izu warned against it, told you it sounded like a dumb idea when you were going to have to chase your three year old down, but you only shut him up with a kiss, giving him a twirl to show off your outfit. park days were rare, but when the family could get a chance to go out, izu pushed for it. he hated extended periods of time away from you and the two little ones, aika and a beautiful baby boy, nix. he wished he never had to leave or at least that he could shrink his perfect pack and put them in his pocket for safe keeping.
it was nice outside, the coos of spring rolling in, flowers blooming and spreading their plumes of pollen into the air. you were taking a well needed rest on a bench, shaded by the bright green rooftop of a gazebo. your feet were screaming from the confines of your shoes, but you bit back complaints as you pushed the two seater stroller back and forth. your son was sleeping soundly, tiny fists clutching onto his teether for dear life. just a few feet ahead on the playground, your tall tree of a husband was pushing at your daughters back, sending her way higher than you would have liked on the swing set. the little one seemed to love it though, screaming in delight as perfect green curls flowed in the wind. she enjoyed his strength and his supernatural abilities, it only meant getting to be spun around or pushed high into the sky in a rickety swing set, a height many three year olds would probably have a fit at. though maybe it was just her love and admiration for her papa, she knew even at a young age, he’d never let her fall. nothing was scary when izuku was around.
perceptive as ever, izu cast you a look as if he could feel you staring. he greeted you with a dimpled grin and a wave to which you giggled. he was such a dork and it always amazed you how easily that switch could flip when he was in the midst of battle.
when aika grew tired of all the playground had to offer and was clipped into her side of the stroller, already dozing off and quiet, you and izu marked it time to head home. except, the long way home seemed like a hike through hell now that your feet were throbbing and swollen, still, you stood from the bench your thighs were glued to, outwardly whining. you stumbled slightly, catching ahold of your husband’s bicep with a huff.
“love, just take off the boots already.” his voice was stern, guiding you to sit back down, kneeling before you like a knight off duty.
you pouted, “i’m fine, ‘zu, let’s just go-“
“y/n. now.” he patted his thigh for your heel to be kicked up on, using his ‘father voice’ no less.
you did as told with each foot, watching as he careful undid the boots, sliding them off and tossing them into the stroller pouch. you slumped in relief, cool air from outside feeling so nice on your clammy skin. he sucked his teeth in disappointment at the sight of your battle scars, shaking his head at your stubbornness.
“i can’t walk home barefoot, babe.”
he gave a slight turn, offering his back to you, “don’t be dense. i’ll carry you home. hop on.”
it was probably a sight to see to others that the number one hero was walking the length of the sidewalk with a double stroller to his front and his wife clinging to his back like a feral koala. you had you face nuzzled in his neck, taking in the honeyed pine scent of his shampoo, legs wrapped snugly around his waist. he wasn’t even struggling, or breaking a sweat for that matter, just walking as if he was carrying nothing more than a backpack. another marvel of his strength.
“you know,” he started, voice vibrating through you, “i was only giving you a hard time about the shoes. i didn’t actually expect you to wear them so much.”
you absentmindedly toyed with the small chain around his neck, it seemed almost dainty on him, but it was so beautiful with the way your named was carved in cursive on the base.
“i didn’t want them to go to waste…you paid so much for them.” you didn’t mean to sound so dejected, but it was the truth, “i wanted you to know i actually do appreciate all you do.”
he chuckled softly, “silly girl. i know you do. just the way you should know i love gifting you things. i can’t think of a better use of my money.”
“still. it was an awful lot for a pair of boots.”
“baby. if i could, i’d buy you the whole milky way wrapped in a silk bow, even if it meant you would only look at it once. your happiness is the only repayment i need.”
your ears heated from his words, unable to respond. you chose to tighten your arms around him. so he continued to speak.
“gifts, money, hell- i’d give you every organ i have in me. nothing i do is transactional. you’re worth every penny.”
“you’re such a sap.” you choke out, cursing your hormones for the tears brimming your eyes.
“by association. i think that makes you a sap too, yes?”
“no. no just you, broccoli top. just you.”
you were totally a sap when it came to izuku midoriya.
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fruit bats: @neon-gothicc @bakubunny @bookcluberror @kunigamisgirl @dizazter-dragoon @jazzafayesworld @cherriluvs35 @dreamcastgirl99 @pastelbakugou @ladybirdk @i-literally-cant-with-this @darkstarlight82 @maddietries
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satormi · 24 days
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— JJK MEN WHEN YOU CAN’T SLEEP !
a/n: reupload from my old blog. jeehjajs i need them so badly.
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NANAMI knows you’re not asleep. if there’s one thing you know most about nanami, it’s how light of a sleeper he is. that’s why, even though you’re struggling to fall asleep, you try not to twist and turn around the sheets, though that fails. it’s only when you hear him clear his throat (even though he did it on purpose just to let you know that he was awake), you decide to gently tap his shoulder. he responds immediately, shifting to his side so he can face you. “yes, baby? what’s up?” he asks, raspy voice and all. although it’s 2 am, you can perfectly make out nanami’s beautiful face with the help of the moon light, via the sheer curtains in the room. you find yourself getting lost in his beauty and it’s not until he gently grabs your hands and intertwines it with his that you finally get the courage, (or at least attempt to), speak to him about your restlessness. but he understands – he always does. “i’m not feeling that tired either,” he winks, “let me make us some tea and talk.” you want to tell him that you know he’s completely exhausted, but he’s already pushing the both of you out of bed and to the kitchen. you figured that he may not mind staying up for a bit more.
it’s not until you tap TOJI’s shoulder for the fifth time that he blinks and slowly comes to his senses. poor guy, he can hear your mumbles but he isn’t fully able to process what’s going on because of how drowsy he is. at this point, you’re staring at him with teary eyes and all toji can do is deadpan, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “i told ya not to read the ending of that book this late y’know. if ya read it earlier, y’could’ve had more time to recover. ” he grunts. you sniff once and nod your head and all toji can do is roll his eyes as he brings you into a tight embrace. he can act irritated all he wants, but he finds it so entertaining that the book he recommended you to read really took this much of a toll on you. he read it on a business trip and thought you’d really enjoy it. boy was he wrong. “they didn’t end up being together, toji.” you wail, arms wrapping around his torso even tighter. “i know, baby. i know.” he sighs, planting a kiss on your forehead when you sniffle again. “toji, we can never break up. if i couldn’t handle the book’s break up, i won’t handle ours.” and he only chuckles, because honestly, why is this book putting thoughts like these in your head? it’s fiction, toji thinks, but then again, it’s you we’re talking about. “ya can’t get rid of me, ‘m in it for the long run, babe.”
if you can’t go to sleep, SATORU will definitely try to help or (for lack of better words) force you to go to sleep. when he feels you shuffling around, he’ll grunt before placing his body on top of yours, hugging you tightly before mumbling “sleep” in your hair. “i’ll try if you get off of me. you’re crushing me to death!” you say and he contemplates for a few seconds, but ultimately decides that you’re a really comfortable body pillow. from how he’s laying, he can feel your heart beating and your soft, steady breaths and it makes him wonder why he never thought of using you as a mattress before. “promise?” even though you nod your head, satoru can feel your smile on his collarbone which easily gives away that you’re not telling the truth. regardless, satoru still rolls off to the side and stares at the ceiling with you. “what’s bothering you,” he almost whispers, it’s soft and genuine and that alone is enough to make your heart throb at 2 am. it’s also really funny seeing his concerned look right now because he doesn’t know he’s overanalyzing the whole situation. you see, you didn’t eat dinner tonight. satoru ordered you takeout on his way home because he assumed you’d be hungry, but you weren’t, so you let him have yours.what you failed to realize though, is how hungry you’d be and now you’re facing the consequences. you finally sigh and turn your body so you’re face to face with him on the bed. “‘toru,” you bite back the laugh that wants to come out because of how serious satoru looks right now. you figured that you should tell him straight up to ease his mind of any possible negative thoughts he could be thinking. “i’m really hungry.” and gojo sighs, (you can’t tell if it’s of relief or disappointment so you choose the latter), and props his head up so his elbows are supporting him. “i am too.” “you ate your takeout and mine.” you mirror satoru’s actions, propping your elbow to get a better look at his face and he blinks at you twice. you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “do you want food or not?” with that, you roll off the bed before stating, “i’ll get the car keys!”
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skzdarlings · 2 months
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verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot
masterlist.
( READ ON AO3. )
You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?
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pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)
-
You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again. 
Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years.  You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face.   His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things. 
His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior.  He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light.  He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner. 
Then he turns his head and sees you.  You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind.  You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him. 
He smiles.  Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well.  Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection.  If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter. 
You clear your throat and march ahead.  He saunters up the path to you.  You meet halfway. 
“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 
He is the only person allowed to call you that. 
“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.  You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return.  You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him.  “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.” 
He laughs.  When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.    
“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks.  “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”
You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow. 
“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too.  “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not.  Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.” 
Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it.  You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin.  You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before.  You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week. 
It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.  
He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets. 
“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks. 
Another ringlet whips across your face. 
“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside.  “Of course not!  How could anyone ever get sick of you?”  What a preposterous thought.  Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself.  People adore him.  He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent.   You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers.  As if you could ever grow tired of him.   “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity. 
He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him.  The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him. 
“Are you sure?  I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.
You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth.  You push it away. 
“Yes, well,” you say.  “That much is true too.”  
He looks at you for a moment.  You can’t imagine why.  The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp.  Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape. 
Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you.  It is very unexpected.  You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion.  His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl.  He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear.  A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers. 
Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket. 
“Sweet?” he asks. 
“Excuse me?” 
“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket. 
“Oh.”  You look at the bag.  “Um.  No.”
“Are you sure?”  He shakes the bag.  “It’s your favourite.” 
“Oh.”  Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy.  “Okay. Thank you.”  You take a few and pop them in your mouth. 
He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar.  You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue.  Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin.  You try to ignore the heat down there.
“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away.  The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly. 
You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up. 
-
You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition.  You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length.  Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much.   He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand.  Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter. 
You return to his home and separate for the evening.  You to your studies, him to his evening work-out. 
You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym.  He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail.  There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom.  It should be gross.  You pride yourself on cleanliness. 
But good grief.  He is gorgeous. 
You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.  You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you.  He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed.  When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile. 
You duck behind your book again.  It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway. 
“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  You can hear his slow approach.  The towel is tossed somewhere. 
“A book,” you say. 
“Funny,” he says.  He is in front of you now.  You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head. 
“Hyunjin!”  You muster all the indignant attitude you can.  “That’s not funny.  We’re not children anymore.  Return my book at once.”
“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout. 
“Out of the question.”  You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel.  “You’re disgusting.  Look at the state of you.”
“Please?”  He blinks his long lashes at you.
You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips.  His smile does not diminish.  He waves the book in the air. 
You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly.  He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug.  He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex.  This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble.  You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor.  Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch. 
His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands.  He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice. 
“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head.  The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern. 
“No,” you say, petulantly.  “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.” 
He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything. 
“Poor baby,” he says.   “That sounds so disgusting.  Will a hug help…?”
“Don’t you dare—hmmf!”  He lowers himself and squishes you.  You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious.   “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”  
He giggles with boyish mirth.  It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes.  You look back at him, at a loss for words.  Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.  
Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll. 
“All right,” you say.  “That’s quite enough now.  There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later.  Go on, get.” 
He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead.  It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should. 
He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch.  Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite.  You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here.  Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out.  She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.
He did apologize for that.  He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately.   Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up. 
You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one.  You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle.  You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact.  Hyunjin really does get away with everything. 
Your nethers are getting ideas again.  The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin.  More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition. 
You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom. 
Oh dear.  You are very wound up.  Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight. 
You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out.  Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them.  Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.  
“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest.  His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot.   He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows. 
He looks sinfully good.  You hope you look casual.  Innocently awaiting a quiet evening. 
Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll.  Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie.  Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.
Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way.  You feel pretty and ready and wound up.  When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.
The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal.   Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded. 
Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you.  You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless.  It will always be Hyunjin.  Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes.  Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism.  Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him. 
Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything. 
You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you.  You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection.  With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy.  You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax. 
You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed.  You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video.   You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again.  You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts.  Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you. 
When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness.  You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far.  Nothing would have happened.  Nothing has ever happened.  
Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity.  He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.  
It makes you smile.  It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest. 
You text back a heart.  He replies, you never told me what you were reading.   He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question.   He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.
You fall asleep after that.  You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him.  This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way.  You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice. 
You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications.  You open your photo album and find your video from last night.  You click on it just as a message alert swings down.  You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger.  You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere. 
After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message.  The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it.  Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else.  He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you. 
But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply. 
Oh no.
You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash.  You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll. 
You slap a hand over your mouth.  For a long moment, all you can do is stare.  Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery.  Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet. 
You look in the mirror.  You look like someone electrocuted you.  Fitting, because that’s what you feel like. 
Your phone buzzes.  In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket.  You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.  
You pick up the phone.  This is probably what execution feels like. 
Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:
?!     
You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child.  The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply. 
That was an accident, you write.  Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop.  You continue:
Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin. 
Hyunjin, I am so sorry.  I cannot apologize to you enough. 
I assure you that was a complete accident.
I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.
An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply.  It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself.  You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode.  But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom.  Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall. 
Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…
I assure you I am not, you reply.  I keep these videos to myself.  I would never intentionally spring them on you.
There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again.  Maybe you should just explode after all.
I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply.  I cannot apologize enough.  If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately.  You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes.  You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever.  Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin.  He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.
His replies come flying in, one after the other:
Whoa whoa
it’s okay
calm down
pretty girl hey hey hey
I don’t want you going anywhere
You take a breath and calm yourself.  You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident.  You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality. 
I should be apologizing to you, he says.  He continues swiftly: 
I kinda clicked on it…? 
I didn’t know what it was.  But I stopped once I did
I feel really bad
See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3     
You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous.  You smile fondly at your phone.  The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause.  A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously.  Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint.   Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”. 
It made him feel bad.  Goodness.  Talk about an ego blow. 
The least you can do is soothe his conscience.  You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation.   You write, I don’t mind you watching it.  I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place.  I really am sorry.
The ellipses appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears. 
You start to wonder if you should check on him.  He is just one room over, after all.   But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now. 
The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec.  Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room.  Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle.  All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over. 
It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery.  You leave him to his devices.  In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion.  You get up to dress yourself for the day.  Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.  
Everything will be fine.
-
Everything is fine until it is not.   Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity.  Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference. 
Verisimilitude, you tell yourself.   Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine. 
You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern.  Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore.  Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.   
After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away.  You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion.   By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.    
You throw yourself into your academic distraction.   A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found.  No resolutions, no conclusions. 
Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated.  Even your dreams suffer.  You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress.  Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself. 
You wake from yet another nightmare.  Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers.  You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression.  You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens.  You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now. 
You sigh and leave bed.  It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you. 
It seems your friend had the same idea.  Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.   
“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain. 
“Hello,” you duly reply.
You are definitely awake now.  Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt.  His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming.  He is so effortlessly beautiful.  You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane. 
You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips.  He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes. 
“Are you okay?” he asks. 
It is a thoughtless query, no doubt.  The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter.  Are you okay.  Yes, how are you. 
But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days. 
You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years.  It is not something that comes easily to you.  You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct.  But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough.  You sniff and shake your head. 
“No,” you say.  “I’m not okay.”  
A single tear falls.  From you, that is practically a waterfall. 
Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled.  You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms.  Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady.  You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly. 
“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says.  “What’s this?  What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you say automatically.  You hate being a burden.  Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.  
But it is too late to spare your dignity.  Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours.  You heave a sigh. 
“A lot of things,” you admit.  “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.  It’s just stress.  My research.  You know how it is.” 
He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face.  He swipes his thumb across your cheek again.  Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers.  You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people.  You fall into his arms and all but collapse there. 
Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest.   He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you. 
You do not know how long you stand there.  Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls.  Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.        
“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids. 
You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly.   He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand.  To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom.  The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room.  It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes. 
While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space.  His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers.  The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers.  They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.
That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art.  It must be.  The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable.  But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance.  This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile.  Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you. 
“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me.  It would be embarrassing if he denied it.  It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it. 
“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser.  He is arranging pillows for you.  By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed.  He beckons you over.  “Come on,” he says.  “Like the old days.  It’ll make everything better.  I promise.” 
Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding.  You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized.   Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing?  It should be a compliment.  Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.  
You are not good with attention.  You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood.  Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse.  Attention meant derision.  If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them. 
When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door.  Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized.  At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.  
An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window.  You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog.  Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch. 
You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours.  You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.  
A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed.  A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet.  You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy. 
“Meet me downstairs,” he said.  He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.
You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself. 
The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there.  He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything.  You did not speak for a whole ten minutes. 
“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life.  “What’s yours?” 
You told him.  You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture.  He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.  
Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child.  It never occurred to him that someone might not like him.  He made friends so effortlessly.  His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age. 
His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm.  He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines.  You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.   
Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability.  When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised.  The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that.  It just meant you got good at sneaking around. 
You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this.  You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window. 
There are no interruptions now.  You lay down beside him.  You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him.  You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver.  He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.  
“Your research will be fine,” he says.  “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are.  You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”
You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver.  It really is quite unfair.  How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?
The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect.  “I’m not that smart,” you say.  “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.” 
You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance.  You burrow yourself deeper at his side.
“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him.  He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you.  “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug.  “You know what happens when people do that.” 
You find yourself smiling despite yourself.  Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you.  One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends.  You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands.  You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys.  The boy stumbled then swung back.  Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other. 
When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed.  You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin. 
“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound.  “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him.  “I hope you learned your lesson.  There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”
“There is,” he said, pouting. 
“No.”  You pinched his arm and he yelped.  “There isn’t.” 
“This time there was,” he said.  Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.” 
There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek.  He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes. 
“What was me?” you asked after a beat. 
“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said.  “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t.  So I made him stop.” 
It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you.  You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice.   You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession.  Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod. 
“Well,” you said.  “I am strange.  If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.” 
He smiled.  You smiled back.
You are quite certain you fell in love that day.  Curling up in his arms felt different after that.  You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well.   You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants.  Cliché indeed.  That story never ended well.  You could not abide by it.  It was better to repress and deny those feelings. 
You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest.  You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it.  Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed.  Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other.  He continues stroking your back. 
“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet. 
“Sorry,” you grumble. 
“So many people admire you,” he continues.  “I… I do.  I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best.  You know that, right?” 
“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again.  You sniff.  “And you’re not a dumbass.  Your opinion means a lot.” 
His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck.  You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer.  Your palm is over his heart.  You feel the racing thrum. 
“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well. 
“Yes,” you admit.  “The usual stress dreams.”   
“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck.  “I wish there was something I could do.” 
Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth.  That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances.  You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders.  You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you. 
Your hand leaves his chest.  Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you. 
All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck.  It is barely a caress. 
Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction.  Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you.  Your leg is still thrown over his middle.  You can feel how fast he gets hard.
Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch.  You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck. 
No.  It must be something else. 
Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect.  You force a smile and a weak laugh. 
“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say.  “I am going to look awful.  My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions.  You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight.  Do you promise?” 
He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner. 
He kisses you. 
His hand still cups your nape.  He pulls you close.  His lips are so full and his mouth so warm.  You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open.  It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you.  Unless he is in immediate need of CPR.  Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded. 
That is ridiculous.  It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark.  He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours. 
For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding.  He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth.  He swallows down your gasp. 
It feels like his hands are everywhere.  In your hair one moment then around your waist the next.  You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows.  When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up. 
A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short.   Is this real?  This cannot be real.  Can it? 
That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you.  You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone. 
Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours.  He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips.  Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed.  Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you.  It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties. 
Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you.  You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together.  You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you.  A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity.  It is a lot.  It is so much.  Too much?    
“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking.  “Wait.” 
He stops immediately, holding himself above you. 
He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours.  His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy.  There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline.  His heart is thundering where you touch his chest. 
“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.
You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control.  “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”   
It all happened so fast.  One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 
Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity.  He would never use and discard someone.  He would certainly never use you.  But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over.  You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on.  You do not work like that. 
You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together.  You cannot find two words to put together right now.  Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him.  Why is it so hard to say?  Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours?  It is always so hard to tell. 
You close your eyes and catch your breath.  He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath.  He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 
You look at each other at the same time. 
“I still want to sleep here,” you say.  You hope the words are enough.  You are not upset.  You still want his company. 
He nods.  “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before.  It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs.  You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard.   He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself.  You think he might be counting. 
You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling.  You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind.   You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred. 
You are asleep before fifty.
-
You wake to a predictable mess of hair.  You yawn and stretch and scratch your head. 
Then you remember why your hair is a mess.  Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room.  That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—
You look at his side of the bed.  The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm.  He must have just left.  Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest.  It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day. 
You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified.  How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person?  How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve?  How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands? 
At least the video you sent was an honest accident.  Verisimilitude will do you no good here.  There will be no pretending it did not transpire. 
You should have just exploded when you had the chance. 
You slide out of bed and cross the room.  You poke your head out the door.  The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running.  You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it. 
You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor.  Then you huff and stand.   
Something will need to be done.  Conversations will need to be had.  That is simply the rub of it.  If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue.   If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –
It doesn’t matter.  That will not happen.  You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day.  You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination.  He is very compliant.  If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do. 
You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time.  Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back.  You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt.  You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room.  You hope Hyunjin is still home.  You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed. 
But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day.  He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace.  His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful.  It leaves you slack-jawed.  He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up. 
You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”
A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp
“I’m taking some photos today.”  His gaze is very intense.  Or maybe it is the make-up.  It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you.  You look lovely, pretty girl.”
“Nonsense,” you say quickly.  “I look no different than usual.”
“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation. 
“Be quiet,” you reply.  He is already preposterously off-script. 
It makes him laugh again.  He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee.   He offers you some but you decline.  You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all. 
Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup. 
This should be easy.  You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.
“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it. 
Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door.  Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it.  Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you.   He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys. 
“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say.  “Lots of research.  Reading.  You know how it is.  I might lose track of time.  We’ll talk later, yes?  Yes.  Okay.  Goodbye.” 
He reaches you when you open the door.  You can see he wants to talk.  You know you should talk.  No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable.  But you suddenly cannot face him. 
You know you are being cowardly.  You know it is unkind because he might want answers too.  But you are not good and open like him.   You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors. 
You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you.  Your heart is still pounding.  You take a deep breath then turn to leave.  You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag.  Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools. 
You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest.  If only you were as cold-hearted as people said.  But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders. 
You pace in the hallway for a few minutes.  It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag.  You don’t even have your parking pass or library card.  With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment. 
Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in. 
You hurry to your room.  If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all. 
Unfortunately, you are a disaster. 
You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation.  Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying.  In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor.  It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time.  Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again. 
You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver.  You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—
You hear a creak.  You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers.  You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch.  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone. 
You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him.  He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous.  A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes. 
He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered. 
You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him.  He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more.  You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself. 
Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.
He touches his fingers to his chin.  Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation.  He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown.  His contemplation looks almost painful. 
You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something.  But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.
He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands.  He shakes his head.  He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say.  You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again.  He stares down at the screen. 
You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script. 
Then he turns up the volume.  
You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself.  Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it.  Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else.  So that was impossible. 
So why is he watching it now?
Because he is.  Unmistakably.  You know the sound of your own voice.  You know the sounds in that video.  You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him. 
He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside.  You can only blink, stupefied.  This does not feel real, just like that kiss.  Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs.  He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated. 
He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside. 
You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality.  Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.
He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door.   You make eye contact very briefly. 
Then you slam the door shut. 
-
You do the only logical thing.
You do not go to the library.  Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write.  You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship.  You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams.  You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets.  Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.   
The facts fall thusly:
You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself. 
You granted him permission to watch it.
He watched it. 
You caught him in a compromising position with it.
You made a spreadsheet. 
Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial.  But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented.  Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution. 
Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature.  You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin.   That courtship was an amicable affair and little more.  The break-up was cordial and tearless.  You shook hands then walked in opposite directions. 
A memory comes to mind. 
You and Hyunjin.  Starting university together.  Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.
One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away.  He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied.  It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.   
He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair.  It took some cajoling to get the story out of him.  His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase.  Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students.  You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not. 
“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said.   “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks.  That’s the only thing I have.  No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.” 
“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said.  “Plenty of people like you just fine.  They adore you, in fact.  And you are very talented.  It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”
“It’s not just one person,” he said.  He sat up to wipe his tears.    
You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss.  You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it. 
You put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly. 
“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up.  “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.” 
It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment.  Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds.  But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people.   He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces.  It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended.  You wished you knew how to express that. 
“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked.  “I care for you very dearly.”   
“You do?” he asked.  Even his voice sounded wet.  You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him. 
“Of course I do,” you said.  “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable.  You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that.  I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status.  Such is the nature of affection.  Why are you still crying?”
You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.  
Hyunjin has many layers.  You have always known this.  You told him as much.  You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you.  He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths. 
It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive.   It seems conclusive, though.  There is no shortage of sexual content in the world.  He could have watched anything.   So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction.  Possibly. 
You sit on your bed, staring at your phone.  You jump when it buzzes with a text alert.  You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin. 
I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.  
I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay..  Please just tell me
i deleted the video now.  and the message where you sent it.  I should have done that right away
I know you said you didn’t mind but still.  I should have just
just done it all differently
The messages come flying in one right after the other.  You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone.  Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it.  A shaky breath on his lips.
You look up, picturing him across from you.  You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand.  You never want to let go. 
Your phone buzzes again.  You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire.  Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.    
you mean everything to me.
He is still typing.  The ellipses in the corner flashes.  You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon. 
You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone.  You take a breath.  The decent and logical approach would be patience.  To study everything you have compiled.  To see if he concurs.  To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen. 
You are not someone who intentionally takes risks.  You are not wild and spontaneous.  You are not brash or confident.  You are not sexy.
Verisimilitude, you remember.  Act like it is true, maybe it will be. 
You type.  
Hello, Hyunjin.
His ellipses disappears.
It is true.  I sent that video by accident.  But I did grant you permission to watch it.
You open your photo album.  There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen.  It is not your most extravagant nor the longest.  You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything.  You could film it better if you did it again.  But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing. 
Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on.  You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting.  You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself.  He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment. 
You click on the video.  You send it with your next message.
This is for you.
You can keep it.
Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.
There is a long moment with no reply.  Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath.  You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.   
fuck.
are you trying to kill me
You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art.  A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now.  You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.
No, you write.  You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity.  You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations.  To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it.  It is only fair.  I was thinking of you while I made it. 
You wonder if he is still at the photography studio.  You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted. 
so you are trying to kill me, he writes.
and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....
You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones.  You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice.  The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through. 
I’m just teasing you baby. 
He knows you so well.  Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you.  You were so foolish to ever think otherwise.   Of course he can picture you like you can picture him.  You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body.  You feel safest curled against him and you always have.  The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.     
I see, you write.  Well.
Technically that was not wholly unprovoked.  It was very much within the context of our discussion. 
This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.
You send another video.  This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse.  You are wearing a sweater he bought you.  The gift was touching because there was no occasion.  He saw it and thought of you so he got it.  And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style.  He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.    
This video is not modest.  You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else.  You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath.  You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm. 
You send the video and wait.  His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:
fuck.
You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other. 
god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?
jesus we did all this backwards.  i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.
fuck I’m about to have my photo taken
hiding in the bathroom because christ
what are you doing to me
where are you right now??
After all that, you simply answer, In bed.  You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it.  Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation.  You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now.  This is new territory.  It is exhilarating.  You do not remember feeling this way with your ex.  He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you. 
Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory.  You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings.  Maybe he likes your hidden depths.  Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him.  He is romantic that way.  So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions.  Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him. 
Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment. 
Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart.  It melts at his next words. 
Please.   
Show me you want me.  want this.  want us.
Pretty girl.
My girl. 
Please.
Okay, you type.  You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant.  Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do.  This you want to do.  There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap.  You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself. 
Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.
You get an idea.  While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room.  He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does.  You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most.  It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product.  If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning.  You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room. 
You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant. 
You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket.  You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can.  You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality.  You pretend this is a video like any other. 
Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you.  He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably. 
You open your phone to a new message, a video from him.  The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red.  It makes it all the more erotic. 
You have never unwittingly clenched.  You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own.  But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video.  His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly.  He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper. 
Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them.  You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out. 
You turn up the volume to hear his breathing.  You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter. 
Oh Hyunjin, you write.  Your vocabulary otherwise fails.  There is no other word. 
Yes please, he writes.
My pretty girl.   
Say my name. 
Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural.  You are a little glad you were not filming yet. 
You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you.   You start recording.  With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket.  You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera.  The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains.  You skim down your body.  You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise.  Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself. 
It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this.  You have never been so wet in your life.  You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you.  Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.
“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this.  It feels so good to say it out loud.
You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends.  You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm.  You need it.  You need him. 
Your phone buzzes and you turn your head.  You open the message.  You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words. 
God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself
baby you are everything
I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things
god..
pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me?  will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.
You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close. 
It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again.  You frame your face and hit record.  You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel.  It is so much yet not enough.  You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue.  You want to taste him.  You want to choke on him.  You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away.  You don’t need to be anyone else.  You don’t want anyone else. 
You say his name again.  Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it.  You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath. 
As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets.  Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however.  As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again.  You need a proper conversation.  You need spreadsheets.  You need to do it his way and your way too. 
But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies.  Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful. 
Nonsense, you finally write. 
I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation. 
Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.
Then you’re all mine. 
You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket.  You take in a breath, the scent of him.  You type. 
I’ve been yours for a long time.  I can wait two more hours. 
Then… can we talk?
Yes, he answers quickly.  Absolutely.  I have so much I want to say to you.
Me too, Hyunjin.  
He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up.  He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again.  You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out.  You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind. 
When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder. 
You have two hours.  That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.
-
You tell yourself you will be resilient.  You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times.  Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem.  You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there. 
Except Hyunjin changed clothes.  It is not anything extravagant by any means.  He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp.  It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.
You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over.  He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back.  He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits.  He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 
He is so atrocious at keeping to your script.  Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating. 
“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. 
You sit there for a long time.  It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station. 
Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance.  He looks so rebellious and you look so meek.  He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt.  Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned.  The wind has never been your friend. 
You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all.  His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up.  You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats.  Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear.  You remember him doing that at the art gallery.  He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now.  You realize you have been such a fool. 
You lean in at the same time.  This kiss does not even pretend at patience.  It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest.  You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.  He makes a noise too, something low and needy.  He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss. 
You remember yourself, vaguely.  You break the kiss with a gasp.  Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair.  Your foreheads touch.  The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing. 
“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected.  “Um.  We should.  Go.” 
He nods.  But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat.  He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver.  He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse.  Then he finally lets go and leans back. 
“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home.”
Home.  You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival. 
Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table.  You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss. 
He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet. 
“Is this laminated?” he asks.  “You brought a laminator with you?”
“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly.  “What kind of question is that?”
He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on.  He listens diligently to your proposed contingency.  You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray.  You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance. 
You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult.  You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants.  You might as well have stripped down naked. 
You suppose you already have, halfway.  You swallow hard. 
“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly.  “The bottom line is this.  I desire you greatly.  I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard.  But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable.  I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic.  You are very important to me, Hyunjin.  I want us to succeed.  I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse.  That means no sharing a bed too.  When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us.  What are your thoughts?” 
“When will your place be ready again?” he asks.  He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful.  You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise. 
You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you.  You have known him for years.  You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish.  Present research dictates no. 
“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.   
He smiles.  It soothes your heart.  You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes.   You blink up at him. 
“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says.  “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work.  I’ve waited years for you, baby.  Six weeks is nothing.”
Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man?  He really is the universal exception to every rule.  You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it. 
“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin.  Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them.  Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile.  “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise.  But we will wait for the rest.”
He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while.  You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush. 
-
It occurs to you in bed. 
You have long since said good night and retired for the evening.  You pick up your phone and sigh.  You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist.  The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest. 
And you are wet.  So, so wet, and so, so needy.  Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman.  Then he kissed you like a scoundrel.  He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face.  He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night.  Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him.  If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later. 
But in the moment, it felt so right.  You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one.  He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath.  Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood.  He fiddled with that one undone top button.  You would not have resisted him tearing them all open. 
He did not.  He kissed you slowly.  He kissed you sweetly.  With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl.  Sleep well.” 
You could not find your voice.  You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically.  He smiled.  You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion. 
Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner.  You debate texting him.  It will open a floodgate.  You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.
Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?
Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow.  Why do you ask…?
I was just wondering…
If when I saw you was your first time watching it. 
The ellipses is there for a while.  Your heart is pounding in your chest.  You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days.  Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.
You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through. 
Honestly… I watched it more than once.  I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds.  then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.
You cannot help but laugh a little.  You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more.  Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat. 
I tried to answer.  I tried to flirt with you.  I tried to be funny.  It all sounded stupid.  Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god. 
god..
Baby what was I supposed to do?  if I resisted that they would have made me a saint. 
You laugh again.  You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time. 
Did you masturbate to it?  you ask.  It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query. 
You really don’t pull your punches, he says.  You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.
yeah baby, he writes. I did.  More than once. 
I see, you reply.  Okay, thank you, I was just wondering.  Good night.
The ellipses flickers again.  You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.
This is going to be a long six weeks. 
-
He is not wrong.  It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling. 
You spend the first week stealing kisses.  He is good to you, respecting your boundaries.  He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires.  He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you. 
This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor. 
You are watching a movie one night.  He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand.  You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace.  You are not watching the film, all your focus on him.  He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music.  Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either. 
Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly.  They flutter free with an exhale.  You touch his cheek and turn his face.  He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word. 
His foot thumps onto the ground.  You find yourself in his lap.  You do not know how you lose your head around him.  One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating.  Someone should study this phenomenon.  You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic. 
You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck.  He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow.  It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching. 
It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze.  It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease. 
You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze.  He cups your head with both hands.  He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them.  When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close. 
“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word. 
He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat.  It makes you melt against him.  Your body really has a mind of its own these days.  You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch. 
He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped.  You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free. 
He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you. 
It makes you dizzy.  Your mouth opens and your eyes close.  You slowly rock back.  You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him.  But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice.  The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again. 
“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh.  Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart.  You realize are going to come like this.  “Oh.  Ohh.”
“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms. 
You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder.  You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain.  You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did. 
Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms.  You somehow push yourself upright.  You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites. 
He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.  
“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it.  Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so.  You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest. 
His heart races under your palm. 
You think you need to see him come too. 
You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour.  You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands.  Literally.  You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced.  It is another reason you cannot rush into things. 
He does not rush you.  You arrive at the moment in your own time.  And in this moment, it stops mattering.  His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter.  You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you. 
You trail your hand down his chest to his belt.  His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face.  His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow.  You nod and he lets you go. 
You get his belt open with a little struggle.  You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.   
He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile.  You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him.  It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours.  He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand. 
The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after. 
-
The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines.  You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done.  You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project.  Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships. 
You go to your favourite café.  You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner. 
Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public.  Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad.  Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend. 
But he is still your Hyunjin. 
He just puts his tongue in your mouth now. 
The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery.  It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement.  It really is for the best.  For now.  You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready. 
Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling. 
You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you.  It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down.  It feels like a lifetime since then.  You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real. 
But it is real.  You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks.  You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply.  His jeans are blue today.  You are in a long skirt.  It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you. 
You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh.  When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back.  A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.
He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh.  “What do you want, baby?” he asks. 
“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame.  His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts.   You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.
He clearly likes what he sees.  He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost.  His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch.  He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his. 
“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing. 
“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder.  “For what?” 
“Just… so… ready…” 
It sounds ridiculous to say out loud.  He must agree because he laughs incredulously.  But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him.  Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin. 
“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady.  “What should we do about that?” 
You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers.  It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once. 
Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out.  He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe.  He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt.  You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you. 
You come so hard your knees buckle.  Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you.  He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms. 
You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied.  He puts you down gently.  And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard. 
“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt.  You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all. 
You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral.  You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair.  You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions.  He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously. 
He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you. 
And that is just week two.
-
By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule.  You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely.  When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day. 
To be fair, sometimes you do just talk. 
Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy.  He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare.  You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back. 
Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it.  You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt. 
“So,” he says.  “About the townhouse?” 
-
When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess.  You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating. 
Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags.  He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion.   He gets you some water and makes you drink.   It helps, marginally. 
“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement. 
You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again.  You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt. 
Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected.  They are the first thing to get a good dusting. 
It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out.  Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside. 
You wake with a start in the middle of the night.  You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves.   It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar.  You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment.  When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are. 
Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap.  Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed.  The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight.  You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company. 
You search around for your phone.  He left it on your bedside table for you.  It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early.  You text him an apology.  You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep. 
You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space.  You miss the comfort of another person just one room over.   No, not just another person, but Hyunjin. 
hey it’s okay, he texts back.  you were tired.  you should go back to sleep it’s late
I am unfortunately wide awake now.
Yeah me too. 
Why are you so awake?
Thinking about you. 
If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way.  You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now.  You type a reply. 
Oh?  What about me? 
You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not.  You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text.   You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious. 
That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep. 
Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous
About sleeping with you
You expect any number of answers, but not that one.  You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind.  When he starts typing again, you decide to wait. 
I know it sounds stupid. 
We spent all this time waiting
And god I want to.  my girl
I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down. 
Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral.  You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary.  Do you not think I would do the same for you? 
The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this.  His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.
Of course I am, you reply.  I always am. 
You hear a laugh.  It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor.  You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room. 
Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.
This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.
You frightened me half to death.  I thought you left. 
Ah sorry baby..
Do you… want me to come upstairs?
That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own.  You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin.  You want him with you, and beside you, now and always. 
Yes please, you write, then wait. 
His footsteps creak on the stairs.  The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal. 
You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light.  It is facing upward, illuminating him.  Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features. 
You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together.  You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things.  You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on.  You think you will do that one day.  You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first.  Maybe you will send him a video. 
You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it.  He gazes back at you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts. 
His face is bare.  Your hair is loose.  There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment.   You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime. 
He tips his head as he looks you.  You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life. 
He turns off his light.  The room is plunged into darkness.  That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current. 
“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly.  You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder.  Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you.  Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you. 
“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says.  “If we were.  Strangers.  If I was seeing you now for the first time.”  He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair.   “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways.  I think I will again.” 
“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves.  “So I will have to speak plainly with you.   I love you too, Hyunjin.  I always have.  If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”
He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing.  You need no other light.  You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip.  You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.   
“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says.  “Because I’d really rather make love to you.”  He swoops down and kisses your forehead.  “My friend.”  He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly.  “Baby.”  Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.” 
“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do. 
And of course he kisses you.
He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down.  You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely.  You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him. 
You gasp when he tugs your hair.  He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name. 
“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist.  “Show me what you want, baby.” 
You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans.  Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body.  He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself.  You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything.  It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head. 
For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves.  You and him, old friends turning into lovers.  You and him, established lovers, finally coming together.  Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again. 
“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body.  He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you.  It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth.   “Say it.”
“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head. 
He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you.  You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries.  When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting.  He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes. 
“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt. 
He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees.  You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock.  You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you.  You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back. 
When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.  He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine.  He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him. 
He does know you well.  The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up.  You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly.  He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you.  Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust.  He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control.  It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all.  You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his. 
“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you.  “That good, baby?”
You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there.  He laughs, eventually lifting your head.  Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine. 
He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours.  A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better.  It feels good, it feels free.  You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. 
“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another.  Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.”  And thrusts again.  “Mine.”  And again.  “Always.”  Again. 
You seek his hand blindly.  He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you.  When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once.  You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better.  You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy. 
When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control.  He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck.  He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy. 
You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed.  You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking.   You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you.  You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you.  You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck.  He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that. 
“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words. 
“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy.  “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs.  “Can decide in the morning.”
“Okay,” you say.  And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”
He smiles.   You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all.  Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart.  You are actually excited to learn. 
You give him one more sleepy kiss.  It is early morning now.
You fall asleep together at the start of a new day. 
826 notes · View notes
the-travelling-witch · 4 months
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summary: a pouty demon has become part of your nighttime routine
pairing: mammon x gn!reader
warnings: fluff with mentions of insecurities (skin/appearance related)
obey me! masterlist
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“Babe, how much longer are ya goin’ to take?” Mammon whined from behind you, his pout reflecting in the large bathroom mirror.
“I’ve only just finished with cleansing.” Turning off the faucet, you gently dabbed a towel over your face, watching the demon with affectionate eyes. “But everything else shouldn’t take too long.”
“Why d’ya have to do all of this anyway?” Apparently not content with your answer, he stepped closer to you and cut himself off with a yawn. “Just come to bed.”
You’d think that, as a model, Mammon would understand the importance of skincare but, to your annoyance, he was one of those guys who seemingly splashed their face with water and still had the perfect complexion.
Could demons also be god’s favourites? One glance over his shirtless form definitely swayed your answer towards ‘yes’.
“No, this is important. Especially if you keep sitting me down for a bowl of spicy late-night ramen,” you sighed. By now, Mammon had closed the gap between the two of you, his arms comfortably circled around your waist and his cheek squished against the top of your head. “Besides, I finally want to be free of these blemishes and look good too.”
Immediately, Mammon stood straight and held you a little tighter. The angelic eyes looking at you through the mirror were earnest and genuine as he spoke with a bewildered tone, almost as if what you had said never occurred to him.
“But yer already so pretty! How could ya get any more stunnin’ than this?”
That was what you loved about him. Despite his usually tsundere behaviour, he never failed to compliment you with his entire heart behind it. Having someone so sincerely tell you you were beautiful, while you wore an old shirt of his as pyjama, had no makeup on and had your insecurities out in the open like this, it made you start believing it too.
A thought that was kinda terrifying.
But you had no time to go teary-eyed or worry about whether you were starting to become too conceited or delusional. Not with this demon around. Before you could say something, Mammon had already swooped down, snowy hair obscuring part of your vision, and planted a sweet kiss onto your cheek. Both the surprise of his action and the visual of his face scrunched up in disgust as he tasted the toner on his lips made you laugh, shushing the voices in your head.
“That one’s on you, I already told you not to do that when I’m doing my routine,” you giggled. Then, you twisted in his hold and returned an equally affectionate kiss to his cheek. “Thank you so much though. Hearing that means a lot.”
“Don’t look at me like that! Just hurry up, so we can go to bed!” Though he averted his eyes, you could still feel the heat radiating off his face and you suppressed another laugh. He really was too cute for his own good.
Even though he’d complained a lot about the lengthiness of your little ritual, he still attentively watched you work, offering his concerns about the colour of a hot pink serum (“Should ya really be puttin’ that on yer face?”) and having his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you casually mentioned one of your creams could bleach clothes or hair.
“Well, good thing your hair is already white and you’re already shirtless,” you joked as you finished putting on your moisturiser before turning and looping your arms around his neck. “Because I plan to cuddle you all-night long.”
“Ya’d better! Yer the only human who’d ever make me, the Avatar of Greed, wait, ya know,” Mammon huffed. Contradictory to his words, he had already swooped you up princess-style and set off towards the bedroom.
“Mhm and I am so glad you were generous enough to give me so much of your time. Maybe this,” you put a hand over his heart as he gently lowered you onto the mattress, “is made out of gold after all.”
“Now yer just bein’ cheesy,” Mammon snorted as he crawled under the black sheets with you and pulled you close, the same way a tide would always reach for the shore again and again. “Ya should get some rest before ya say somethin’ even more stupid.”
“But I was just about to confess to the best thing that ever happened to me,” you hummed. When he sceptically raised an eyebrow, you looked him deep in the eyes and smiled. “I love you, Mammon.”
For a fraction of a second his eyes widened in shock before he shut them tightly as he inhaled. When he opened them again, he mirrored your fond smile as a slender finger traced the side of your face.
“I love ya too, treasure.”
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mcu-coworkers · 9 months
Text
You?
Summary: What you thought was your love story ended up being one cruel summer.
Word Count: 1k+
warnings: None really other than angry Miguel :I
A/n: amidst writing a part 3 for another story I got inspired by doctor strange and gave it a bit of a twist. Hope you guys like it!xx
Parts: One^ Two three Four
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You had never seen Miguel so angry before.
Sure he was always short with everyone and never smiled other than to laugh at someone.
But when he did laugh, even if it was at someone, your heart couldn't help but skip a beat.
There were days when he’d call you into his office and ask you to update him on the spiders and the sectors they were handling and sometimes, if he was in a good enough mood, he’d ask about you.
Despite the mood swings, and his constant frown you wanted nothing more than to stand by his side and be there for all of it.
Peter B. though you were crazy for having feelings towards the coldest spider in the spider society but all things considered, he was probably right.
Only a crazy person would fall head over heels for someone who gave no sign of reciprocating feelings.
You had hope you’d get through one day.
That day definitely was not today.
You’d been caught up on a mission for the past couple of hours so you never responded to any of the comms. When you arrived back at HQ you were horrified by the mess.
You tried to ring Miguel but no luck, then you tried Jess, Ben, Gwen, shit, even Hobbie and still nothing.
Finally you were about to try Peter B. when he popped up behind you.
“You’re not gonna reach them, and honestly,  I   don’t think you want to.” he said as he held a very active May Day in his arms.
“What happened here?” you asked your voice barely above a whisper.
“ I  ‘d tell you but maybe it's better if you just watch.” he said, pulling up all the camera footage.
And holy shit.
Suddenly you felt a lot worse about ignoring those comms from Miguel.
“Shit.” you cursed under your breath.
“Yeah, listen  I   should get going. Miguel will be back soon and  I  ‘m the last person he’ll want to see.” he said, opening a portal.
“Bye Pete, take care of yourself okay?” You said with a soft smile as he slowly disappeared into the portal.
Looking back at the paused footage you didn't know what to think.
You understood Miles, but you also understood Miguel.
But still, seeing the way he handled this and how out of hand he got made chills run down your spine.
You didn’t even want to think what would’ve happened had he gotten through the shield of the go home machine.
Lost in thought you never heard Miguel enter the room.
“Where the hell have you been?” you heard him yell as he walked up to you.
You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of his tone.
“On a mission you know that Miguel” you said trying to not anger him further.
“ I   called you to come back, so where the fuck were you.” he wasnt letting up.
“Miguel  I  got the guy  I  -” you tried but he cut you off.
“When  I   say come back that means come back am  I   fucking clear?” he said, looking down at you.
You’d never felt so intimidated by him before, not even on the first day after being recruited.
“Yes sir.” was all you could manage to say.
Finally he stepped back and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.
“Lyla pull up the records of the go home machine and tell me where it sent him.” He said turning his back to you.
You could hear the distress in his voice so you thought of a way to help.
Walking up to him with caution you put a hand on his shoulder, “Miguel, Maybe you need to take a step  back let someone else handle it.” you suggested.
“Yeah? Who?You? Thats a fucking joke. You could barely handle a stupid villain, you’ll never catch this kid.” he snarled, shrugging your arm off.
Taken back by his statement you felt a heavy weight on your chest.
“Miguel-” you tried but again you were cut off.
“What are you gonna say some inspirational shit? Tell me you're here to help?hm?” he asked, turning back to you.
“Yes, Miguel, I am here for you, always. But this, this is mania. Some things can't be fixed by yourself. ” You said the weight on your chest felt heavier.
When he stayed quiet you took it as a sign to keep going.
“Maybe this is a sign to consider stopping, look at how much of a toll this is taking on you.” you urged the man was grasping for straws at this point if they didn't find Miles he’d be lost.
“This is my life's work, there is no me without the multiverse.” he exclaimed, turning away from you.
“There are so many things that give your life meaning, that could give your life meaning.” you suggested, realizing what that last part sounded like you felt your face heat up.
Shit.
He stopped his pacing and turned to you, “Like what? You?”
Suddenly you felt your world come crashing down. You had nothing left to lose.
“Yeah. Me.” you said barely above a whisper.
“You care so much don’t you? You think  I   want your pity? That  I  need you?”he said aggressively.
“ I   have never pitied you.”you snapped back.
“Good, because  I   don't need it. And  I   don't need you.” and with that he turned back around leaning on his desk.
You had nothing left for him. Or the spider society.
“Goodbye, Miguel.” was all you said before you walked out of the room and opened the portal to go home, for good.
“That was a bit rough for someone you like, don't you think?” Lyla asked, watching Miguel as he looked over to the door you walked out of.
He decided to focus on one thing at a time, Miles now you later.
He knew you’d come back and when you did, he’d fix it.
If there was something he could fix in this fucked up world it was the mistakes he made with you.
“The files Lyla.” he said changing the subject.
Sighing, Lyla gave him what he wanted and left.
She didn't have the heart to tell him that you left your watch and your suit at HQ.
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smooth-perceval · 4 months
Text
“Stop acting like the grinch.”
Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader
Summary: Max pushes reader away, but reader is too stubborn to leave him alone- and soon find outs the truth.
Warning: swearing, max being a bit of a dick, forgiven very easy, reader being stubborn, fluff, angst?
Key: Y/N (Your name) Y/L/N (your last name)
Word count: 715
A/N: this is short and rushed please don’t hate me! It’s busy season and I forgot how busy I get at Christmas!!
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Me and max hadn’t spoken in a few weeks or so- something about needing space over the holidays to focus on training…
Every year without fail for the past 4 years we spent Christmas together, it was our sworn vow in our friendship- Christmas never gets missed. Maybe except this year… Well unless he tells me to leave him alone then I’ll have to just walk away- right?
“Max! I know you said you need space… but I got all my decorations!” Kicking the door with my foot, I juggled the boxes in my arms.
“Max? You in- I should’ve texted before coming over I’m sorry.”
Nudging the door once again, I then sighed dropping the boxes to the floor hearing what sounds like a possible few broken ornaments.
“Max?” Hands on my hips I stared at the door. “Such an idiot Y/N… he’s out.” Mumbling unholy words to myself I prepared myself to carry the boxes back down to the car.
“Y/N?” With squinting eyes, messy hair and slightly red face- peering through the slightly opened door was Max.
“Max?” Mouth slacked I stared at him like a deer in headlights.
“Hi-” it felt lovely to see him again… I missed him deeply.
“Hey… what are you doing here?” Furrowing his eyebrows- he opened the door a little more.
“To decorate?… like last year- and the year before…”
“Y/N- I said I am focusing on other shit…”
“But max- we do this every year.”
“Not this year… you need to go.”
“Max-”
“Don’t Max me. Just go…”
Deflated, my shoulders slumped. I thought it’ll be easy to just turn and go- but truthfully I wasn’t giving up the fight that easy.
“Stop acting like the grinch.”
A little smile crept on his face before he quickly wiped it away.
“You’re still here.”
“No shit Sherlock. Let me in.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll wait out here… decorate your front door or something…”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Silence… he didn’t shut the door we just stared at each other.
“And if this is the most I’ll see of you- then merry Christmas and happy new year.” With my hand now against his forehead I pushed it back slamming the door shut on my own face. And true to my word, I started decorating his front door- making do with what I had, a little tinsel around the door- a doormat In front.
I went to tie some balbals around the handle- when the door sprung open again.
“Y/N.”
Leaning forward I wrapped the balbals around before rummaging through the bag again.
“Y/N.”
“What Max.”
“I’m sorry…”
“I know.”
“I just-”
“You just?”
“I’m not busy- I lied.”
“You lied?… why did you lie?” A little insulted I took a step away from him- like he twisted a knife in my heart. “I realised I am in love with you- and that has scared the shit of me.”
“You’re in love with me…?” And the knife was untwisted, heart was kissed better and floating back in his arms.
“So much it hurts.”
“Max…” shushing me he looked up pulling the tinsel down from the door
“So if you’ll have me- I’d like to celebrate this Christmas a little differently from the last.”
“How so?” With a sly smile on his face, he threw the tinsel around me pulling me in. “I’ll show you-”
And there it was the first time ever in 4 years- we kissed. And it was magical. I couldn’t describe the kiss just- I knew I wanted this forever. The tinsel around my waist, max grip on the tinsel wrapping it around his hands the closer he pulls me in.
“Max-” mumbling I pulled away- his eyes still closed as he pulled back slightly humming as a response. “Can we watch the grinch?”
“Seriously…”
“You was a dick.”
“Because I love you!”
“And now you’ll watch the grinch while we decorate!”
“I guess I will.” Rolling his eyes he grabbed the bag of decor, as I picked up the rest.
“Oh and max-” turning around he looked down slightly at me.
“Merry Christmas.” Whispering to him- I leaned up kissing his lips delicately- leaving him with a cute smile on his face.
“And a happy new year.” He whispered back returning the kiss.
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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 3 months
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eventually, you get used to war. your heart doesn’t flutter when you hear yet another air raid alarm. you don’t even rush to the shelter anymore. you don’t flinch when your windows shake. you don’t feel shit when that gut-wrenching thing of a whistle hovers above your rooftop; nor do you feel frightened when it lands — loud, and horrific, and explosive, ruining homes, fates and lives.
and then, on a random day — it finally fucking strikes you.
your heart didn’t flutter the last time you heard yet another air raid alarm. you didn’t go to the shelter. you didn’t even flinch when a fucking missile landed less than a pitiful mile away from your house.
you got used to war.
a real one — exceptionally sick, and murderous, and twisted.
i haven’t felt safe in almost two years now and i’m used to it. i’m used to danger. i’m used to death. i’m used to seeing it. how incredibly fucked up is that?
anyway. my point is. russia is a terrorist state. please go look up what they’ve done to ukraine in the last two days. yes, the new year’s eve didn’t stop them much. as didn’t easter. or christmas. or any other day, really.
for those concerned about me: i am safe (well, only technically, since you’re not actually safe anywhere in ukraine, but still).
i am simply tired, sad, and heartbroken. please spread some awareness. thank you for you attention.
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toournextadventure · 10 months
Text
oblivious
Summary: You've been Vada's roommate for a while now and she still has yet to notice that you have feelings for her. You hoped accepting a date with someone else would force her hand. In a way, it did
Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: swearing, smut 18+, weed and alcohol mention Pairing: Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader (no pronouns used) A/N: I'm still getting the hang of Vada's personality so y'all bear with me, but I'm workin on it, I'll get there
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“Honey, I’m home,” Vada called out, stopping you in your tracks on the way to the bathroom.
You couldn’t help smiling at Vada’s ridiculous phrase that she had started using whenever she got back to the shared apartment. If you were being honest, you couldn’t remember when she had started it; it hadn’t been too long after you had first agreed to rent an apartment together with her friends Mia and Nick. All you knew was one day she practically crashed into the apartment, said her now-famous tagline, and it stuck.
The best part of it all? She only ever said it to you. Never to Mia, never to Nick, only to you. It made your crush on her grow each time, even though you certainly didn’t need the help. Just the words alone had your stomach twisting into knots in the most delicious way.
And that little dumbass didn’t even know what she was doing.
“Don’t you have another class?” You asked with a tilt of your head. It was a bit too early for her to be home, especially on a Tuesday.
“Skipped it,” she said with her cheesy grin that never failed to make your heart race. “Why take Lit when I can have you teach me?”
“That’s not how it works, V,” you chuckled. “I can’t give you credit.”
“But you can- are you getting in the shower?”
There it was; the attention change. It happened a bit sooner than usual, but you weren’t entirely surprised. At first you had been confused at Vada’s change of topic and attention at such a fast pace, but now it was expected. At least she looked cute.
“Yes I am,” you said with a nod. “Did the towel give it away?”
“It’s Tuesday,” Vada said, completely ignoring your attempt at teasing her. “You don’t shower on Tuesdays.”
Ah. So she did pay attention to a few things.
“I got asked on a date,” you shrugged.
“A date?” She asked incredulously. Rude. “With who?”
You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Know that guy from my Fluid Flow class? Jacob?”
“The one with the stupid lip piercing?”
“It’s not stupid,” you said with a huff. “But yes.”
“You agreed to go on a date with him?” Vada asked incredulously. “What happened to your standards?”
“It’s not like I’m getting asked on many dates,” you argued.
“But him?” She continued.
“Well who else should I go with?” You asked. “You?”
Vada froze, her mouth still flopping open at the revelation of your plans for the evening. You wanted her to tell you not to go. To say that yes, you should go on a date with her. Maybe you were being a bit cruel to just not tell her, but you wanted her to say something. Although in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have expected Vada Cavell to pick up on all the signs you had given her.
Which were numerous.
She shifted her weight and looked down at her feet. You could see her scuffing the toe of her shoe into the floor, a nervous habit of hers. Part of you got hopeful; she was nervous, maybe she would finally say something. Hell, you would be happy if she simply said she didn’t want you to go.
“You should go shower,” she finally said, and you felt your heart drop. “I’ll help you pick out what to wear once you’re out.”
“Right,” you said with a sigh.
The entire time you were in the shower you were seething. No, not quite seething, you were disappointed. You knew it was a bit unrealistic of you to expect Vada to know how you were feeling, especially about her, but you couldn’t help it. How could she not see that you wanted her to ask you on a date? Yes you should just do it yourself, especially at this point, but you weren’t going to risk anything.
Your father would’ve just told you to task her on your own. You were the one with the feelings, you should ask. And he would have been right, you knew that, but you didn’t want to ask. What if Vada didn’t actually like you that way? She acted goofy with Mia and Nick too, so you couldn’t use that as justification for your hopes.
By the time you got out of the shower and finished getting ready, Vada was already waiting in your room. She was hanging her head upside down on the bed while scrolling through her phone. Her brows were scrunched in an adorable frown from whatever she was looking at. The minute she noticed you standing in the doorway, she smiled wide and sat up.
“About time,” she said as she stood up and went to your closet, “I’ve got the perfect thing for tonight.”
“Perfect as in “I’ll look great” or as in “it’ll get me laid?” Because there’s a difference,” you said as you sat down on the bed and waited for Vada to come out of the closet.
Ha. You might be disappointed, but at least you were still funny. See? That was what Vada was missing out on and she didn’t even know it!
“Perfect as in “he’d be stupid not to ask you out again”,” she said with a grin as she turned around to show you what she had picked.
“Vada that’s,” you exhaled slowly, “that’s the most mundane outfit I’ve got.”
“Which is why he’d be stupid not to ask you out again,” she said, tossing everything your way. “I won’t look, promise.”
“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled to yourself as you nonetheless stood up and got dressed.
Part of you was thankful Vada had picked out a regular outfit; at least it was comfortable, and that was always a plus. Did you think Jacob would ask you out again? Absolutely not, he was a frat boy, you knew he wouldn’t ask you out again the moment you decided you weren’t going to put out. At least you would be comfortable when you were rejected.
“How do I look?” You asked, and Vada turned around so quickly she nearly fell.
The moment she actually managed to focus on you, she fell into what looked like a daze. Her jaw dropped and her eyes were looking you up and down. And for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. Say it, you mentally urged her, tell me to stay. You played with your fingers and watched her with hopeful eyes.
“You’re so getting laid tonight,” she whispered.
“Yippee,” you said with another huff. She was getting a lot of those out of you tonight.
“You’d better get going,” she said as she practically pushed you out of your room toward the front door. “You don’t want to be late.”
“Thought you didn’t like Jacob?” You asked.
“I don’t, but I wanna watch a movie,” she said, now opening the front door. “And you’re not invited.”
“Well that’s just rude,” you said.
“Have fun!” Vada called out as she shut the front door in your face.
You just stood there in complete shock. Had you really just gotten kicked out of your own apartment by the girl you were quite possibly in love with? Simply because she wanted to watch a movie? It was so on par for Vada that you honestly weren’t even surprised.
The door opened again and you looked in, hopeful that Vada had changed her mind. She stood in the doorway and looked at you again. Please ask me to stay, you silently begged her. But then she pushed something into your arms, which you scrambled to hold onto.
“Forgot your phone and wallet,” she said before slamming the door shut again. “Have fun!”
“Oh fuck me,” you grumbled, but nonetheless put your phone and wallet in your back pocket and left the apartment.
—---
Life sucked. It sucked and it was out to get you personally. You could get over the fact that it had started raining on the walk over to the restaurant. Then there was the fact that you had gotten lost at least three times, but that could also be forgiven. And your phone dying? Well, that was also shitty even though you had forgotten to charge it at home, so it happened.
But then you got to the restaurant and sat at the bar, like you were supposed to, and waited. And then you ordered a drink and waited some more. And some more. And wouldn’t you know it, an hour and a half and three drinks later, you were closing your tab and heading back to the apartment. The apartment that you had been kicked out of by someone who was supposed to pick up on your cues.
There was just enough alcohol in your system to have you thoroughly pissed off by the time you got back to the apartment. You could smell the weed from out in the hallway and knew Vada was either high as a kite or well on her way to it. Normally you wouldn’t care; she was respectful with it and was, honestly, pretty adorable under the influence.
Unfortunately for Vada, it just wasn’t your night.
You unintentionally slammed the door shut behind you when you entered, leaning back against it to get yourself back under control. The music was loud and obnoxious and the smell of weed was giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact you got stood up. Actually, maybe it was just everything.
“Nick?” Vada’s voice came from her room. At least she wasn’t smoking out in the living room like you had initially thought.
“Just me,” you called back before exhaling slowly and walking further into the apartment. The sloshing sound of your wet shoes on the floor was horrible.
“Y/N?” Something fell to the floor with a hard thud. You looked down the hallway until you saw Vada practically falling out of her room, hitting the opposite wall fairly hard. “You’re back early.”
“Yup,” you said, popping the “p” for emphasis.
“So… did he like your outfit?” She asked as she stood up, her hands instantly going to play with the hem of her shirt. Wait… was that your shirt?
“I don’t know,” you said before finally tossing your soaking wet wallet and hopefully-dry phone onto the couch. “He never showed.”
“What?” Vada asked incredulously, her sleepy eyes suddenly widening.
You huffed. “He stood me up, V.”
“But… but he asked you,” she said in a soft voice.
“It’s whatever,” you said with a sigh as you made your way into your room with Vada hot on your heels. “He wasn’t exactly the one I wanted anyway.”
“He wasn’t?” She asked. You didn’t bother turning around to look at her as you started digging in your closet for something dry to put on. “Then why did you say yes?”
“Because I was hoping a certain someone would get the hint,” you grumbled. Truthfully you didn’t care if she even heard you or not. She was high, it was not the proper time for this revelation to come out.
“If they didn’t get the hint then they’re a complete dumbass,” she said after a moment of silence. You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly once again. “Because they’d be stupid not to ask you out.”
“Yeah they would,” you agreed quickly before grabbing a t-shirt from your closet. “Don’t look.”
You checked over your shoulder to see Vada on your bed, dutifully covering her eyes with both hands. Why did she have to actually listen? You were standing in the middle of your room, soaking wet, about to take your shirt off, and she wasn’t going to look? Dammit, Vada, lose your morals!
“Anyone would be lucky to date you,” she said while you peeled your wet clothes off. “And if they don’t realise that then they’re an idiot.”
“Keep talking, Cavell,” you mumbled to yourself; you knew she couldn’t hear you.
“If I ever had the chance to date you, I certainly wouldn’t screw it up,” she continued talking.
Now that had you slowing your movements, taking your time to finish kicking your pants off. It left you in your shirt and underwear, but that wasn’t on your mind. You slowly turned to look at Vada, who still had her hands over her eyes, as you went over her words.
Did she really think that? Was that the sign you had needed to know that she actually liked you back? Yes you had been playing this game for around three years at that point. And yes, you should have said something ages ago, even your dad had said so. But was she admitting that she liked you?
“Who said you didn’t have a chance?” You asked slowly, your eyes still glued to where Vada was playfully swinging her legs over the side of your bed.
“Who said I did have a chance?” She asked in reply. “I’m not stupid, I’m not your type.” You stepped closer to the bed. “Your type is a bunch of nerds who are way below your league.” You sat down on the bed beside her. “Which you should change, by the way, you can do so much better than all those other-”
-you leaned forward to capture Vada’s lips with yours, silencing her rant. It wasn’t a long kiss, you didn’t want to give off the wrong idea. Or maybe you did, you weren’t sure yet. All you knew was she was going to keep talking until she either fell asleep or you silenced her, and honestly, a kiss was the best way. It killed two birds with one stone.
When you pulled away, you watched as her hands pulled down her face and she looked up at you. Her eyes were still bloodshot and you could still smell the weed on her clothes, but she was looking at you clearly. There was a slight flush to her freckled cheeks, and you would have kissed her again if it meant she would stay looking just like that.
“You kissed me,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” you said with a nod and a poor attempt at hiding your smile. “I did.”
“I thought you liked someone though?”
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Are you serious?”
“What?” She asked as she sat up. “Are you serious? What about that person you like-”
“-I like you, Vada,” you practically shouted. She fell silent, something she didn’t do often. “You’re the other person that I like.”
“You- you like me?” She asked with wide eyes. “Me?”
“For fuck’s sake,” you groaned, “yes you.”
Vada nodded slowly as her eyes fell to a spot on the bed, close to where your hand was resting. You could practically see the gears turning in her head, going over this new revelation. Part of you was upset at yourself for telling her such a thing now, when you were grumpy and a little tipsy and she was high and unexpecting. Terrible timing, really.
“I thought I was the only one with those feelings,” she finally said, slowly so as to get her thoughts out properly. Something you adored about her. “That you weren’t interested.”
“Vada, I’ve been dropping hints for the past year,” you said with a soft sight. Not a frustrated one, simply to break the tension. “Even Nick and Mia knew.”
“I didn’t want to assume,” she said without looking at you. “I didn’t want to risk not having you around just because I caught feelings.”
“You don’t just catch feelings, you know,” you said as you leaned forward a little more so you could force her to look at you.
“And you really do like me?” She asked, looking up into your eyes; suddenly, she seemed a hell of a lot more sober. “Like, for real?”
“What is this, high school?” You asked with a snort. “Yes, Vada, I like you for real.”
“So does that mean I can kiss you again?” She asked, perking up at the mere thought. “Because your lips are really soft and I think I could kiss them forever if you would let me-”
-you leaned forward and kissed her again, immediately cutting her off. But this time you didn’t pull back; you leaned even further into her, your hand moving to rest on the back of her neck. She grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled until she was laying down and you were leaning over her.
“Wait,” she mumbled against your lips, “you like me enough to have sex with me, right?”
“Just shut up, V,” you groaned as you kissed her again.
She didn’t argue.
You weren’t sure if you should blame it on the alcohol, or the weed, or the revelation of it all, but you weren’t in the mood to be patient. Night after night you had dreamed of having Vada in your bed, teasing her until she was a mess underneath you. But now that you had her, you just wanted to hear her fall apart.
Clearly she was in the same mood as you because her hands quickly found their way under your shirt until they brushed against your ribs. It tickled and sent a shiver down your spine, which you felt her smile about. You knew it wasn’t a competition. That didn’t stop you from placing your knee between her thighs and pressing up against her.
“Oh shit,” she groaned against your lips as her nails scratched against your skin.
You kept your knee stationary as she grinding against it hesitantly. Even through her boxers you could feel how wet she was; it wouldn’t take long before she left your thigh wet too. You started kissing your way across her jaw, leaving small kisses below her ear before moving down her neck.
Her hands left a fire in their wake as she moved them up, quickly sliding them up to your breasts that were no longer confined by the wet bra you had been wearing earlier. You both inhaled sharply when she brushed her knuckles against your nipples; her hips stuttered for only a moment before resuming.
“Hang on,” Vada whispered into your ear, and you stiffened before sitting up.
Had you done something wrong? There hadn’t been much, but what if she had decided she wasn’t okay with it anymore? It was fine, you would respect it and wouldn’t do anything else, but fuck. Fuck, maybe you had just pushed it a little too fast. You knew you should have kept your cool.
“Take it off,” she said as she pulled on your shirt lightly before struggling to get her own shirt off.
Oh. Oh right.
“Never hesitate to free the titties,” she said with a cheesy smile.
“Never say that again,” you groaned, only smiling when your shirt was hiding your face.
“I just know how to appreciate a- holy shit.”
You watched Vada’s jaw drop - again - once your shirt was finally off. Her eyes were zeroed in on one thing. Well, two things, and even though you felt a little self-conscious, you knew it was just Vada. No, not just Vada, it was your Vada. Who was still halfway in her shirt and clearly too distracted to continue.
“You’re such a horndog,” you mumbled as you leaned forward to help her pull her shirt the rest of the way over her head.
“I hit the jackpot,” she whispered.
“Just lay back down,” you said as you pushed her shoulder lightly and watched her fall back onto the bed, her eyes still glued to your breasts.
“I can still touch?” She asked.
“Yes, V,” you chuckled, “you can still touch.”
“Oh fuck yes,” she whispered before pulling you back in for a kiss.
Just as you figured, her hands instantly found your breasts again. Each touch sent a tingling sensation down to your core. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentally teased Vada earlier for being so wet. Even though you had no proof yet, you just knew you were going to be soaked if this went on much longer.
While Vada continued focusing on her newest obsession, you just let yourself feel her. Her skin was so incredibly soft and warm. It was exactly what you had expected from her. The muscles in her stomach tensed underneath your fingers before relaxing again. When you brushed your knuckles against her hip, she giggled into your mouth.
“I’m ticklish,” she said.
“I can tell,” you answered with your own smile and another kiss.
“You’re just being too soft,” she continued. Oh Vada. You kept moving your hand. “Soft touches tickle.” Your hand effortlessly slipped past the waistband of her boxers that were far too big. “Especially on my hips-”
-she stopped herself with a moan when you finally managed to rub your fingers over her clit. Oh god she was wet, you almost struggled to stay in the right spot. But when you heard her moan again, her head thrown back against your mattress, well it was worth the struggle.
“Fuck you’re good at this,” Vada managed to gasp out when you circled her clit again.
“Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up,” you mumbled before leaving kisses on Vada’s neck. Her hands tangled in your hair as she pulled you up into a real kiss.
“Did you have a martini tonight?” Vada asked.
“Seriously?”
“You taste like a martini,” she said, her breath coming out in huffs as you continued to slowly circle her clit. Not enough to get her off, but fast enough to keep building her up.
And then it hit you. Oh. Oh, Vada was nervous. You had both talked of your personal exploits and experiences so you knew she wasn’t a virgin. Yet she had always seemed a bit bashful about the whole thing. It all made sense now; she was simply nervous.
You removed your hand and tried not to smile at Vada’s whine at the loss of sensation. But she quickly shut up when you grabbed one of her hands and slid it under your own underwear, doing your best not to moan at the feel of her fingers on you. And just as you had expected, and much like Vada, you were soaked. Embarrassingly so.
“Holy fuck,” Vada groaned against your lips before leaning up and capturing your lips.
She bit your bottom lip when you replaced your hand and continued circling her clit. Usually you would tease, but with Vada? Right then and there, when you were so humiliatingly sensitive and probably wouldn’t last very long? No, you wanted to make her cum until she was seeing stars.
And as you moved your fingers faster, you knew it wouldn’t take long. It was in the little pants and moans she let out, the squirming of her hips, the spastic movements of her fingers. Not that you could judge, you were losing your rhythm as well, doing your best to keep your composure even as she continued to turn you to putty under her fingers.
“I’m close,” she panted. 
Thank god, you thought as you rubbed your finger in faster, tighter circles. Unlike Vada, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk, knowing the second you opened your mouth you would let out a moan that would haunt you for the rest of your life. It was only a few more seconds before Vada pulled back, her eyes squeezed shut as she stilled beneath you. Her fingers continued moving, and you felt your own orgasm wash over you. You let out a groan as you rutted against her fingers to chase the high, only letting yourself fall beside her when the feeling had dissipated.
“Holy shit,” Vada whispered. “We can do that again, right?”
“Oh my god,” you chuckled as you lifted your hands to cover your eyes. “We just finished.”
“But we can do it again, right?” She asked.
You rolled over onto your side and looked at her. At the sheen of sweat covering her half-naked body and left her practically glowing under the singular ceiling light in your room. The rise and fall of her chest that was slowly but steadily returning back to normal. The absolutely stunning smile on her face that had your chest feeling warm and your stomach swarming with butterflies.
“How about we shower and then sleep,” you suggested. “And maybe we can do it again tomorrow.”
Vada turned her head to look at you, her smile still present although looking a little more mischievous.
“Can we do it in the shower?”
“Never mind, I’m going without you.”
“Wait, hang on!”
You smiled to yourself as you quickly shut the bathroom door behind you, effectively locking Vada out. She stomped her foot - which you could imagine perfectly - before walking off. You half expected her to stay gone until you heard more shuffling on the other side and something slid under the door. With a half-cocked head, you picked up the piece of paper.
No boobs? :(
“Not anymore,” you called out through the door, to which Vada replied with a groan as she finally walked away, presumably to your room.
As you got in the shower, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you should thank Jacob for standing you up. He had accidentally made a fantastic wingman.
1K notes · View notes
cursedcola · 1 year
Note
Ok ok so you know the thing where it's like 'hey trust exercise' where person A runs up to person B and jumps in their arms? The one that became a meme with the hot coffee....
that. just that. Could you please write something for it using characters from twisted wonderland? Thank you!
A/N: I do know the thing lol. I think this is a super cute idea and will have some fun with it hehe...Sorry if it's not too long. I am writing this in between classes just to have a little mental break :) I also think this will work better with baby headcannons so I can do more characters. Since you did not specify any characters, I will be self indulgent. Prompt: Trust exercise! Do they catch you? Format: Baby headcannons huhuhu Characters: Everyone. Literally Everyone. I feel inspired for some reason. Warnings: None :) Tooth-ache fluff. Also not proofread. Likely grammar/spelling errors
Heartslabyul Dorm
Riddle Rosehearts
Catches you by a millisecond.
The moment he sees you running he instinctively drops the books in his hands
Yells for you to stop and puts his hands out in defense
Instinctively opens them when you jump and boom. Catch
My man has noodle arms. They instantly start to shake and you get dropped on your bum
Half-angry that you put him on the spot, and half-humiliated for dropping you. He is left shell-shocked for a moment before the fuse is lit
"What on EARTH were you thinking? Must you behave so childishly all the time?! Sometimes I wonder if you WANT me to have a heart attack....*sigh* come on. Get up. Are you injured at all?"
He thinks it's silly for you to test his 'trust,' like that. Don't do it again. Next time just talk to him.
….secretly relieved that he caught you.
Trey Clover
Arms are open before you even jump
The moment you started to speed up, he knew what would come next. It flusters him, and his ears burn but he lets you have your fun
Wraps one arm around your back and the other holds one of your legs around his waist. Nice and secure :)
Laughs a little bit before setting you down carefully
"Well, that was an excitable greeting. Maybe warn me next time, okay? What if I was holding something?"
Shakes his head in disbelief that you'd test him like this. Oh well. Its over now Best for him not to think on it.
Learns that Cater showed you the prank on Magicam, and makes his tea extra sweet. Revenge > cavities.
Cater Diamond
Does not catch you. In fact, he side-steps you.
You're quite literally sprawled on the floor and he's just standing there all smug. What? Don't even look at him like that. There's no way he could have caught you without toppling over
Cater prefers to not have a face full of dirt, thank you very much
He knows what you were trying to do, and also purposefully chose to 'fail'
"Hmm~ Now why would you use such a silly method to test me? Don't we take enough exams in class (Y/N)? You're no fair..."
Despite the taunts, he holds out a hand to help you up. He'll clean your face a bit with a handkerchief and leave a cheeky peck on your cheek before going about the rest of his day
Ace Trappola
Tries to catch you. Does not succeed.
In his defense, Ace is never on full alert. Especially during the school day.
You started running at him and he full on panicked. A genuine scream to stop tore through his throat, and he held his arms out
You, in fact, did not stop. Therefore you both fell on the ground with him on the bottom
Ace is not happy
"What is wrong with you?! If my back's broke then the medical bill is on your shoulders, not mine!"
When you explain to him, he still is pissed but does feel bad for yelling at you
"...well, whatever. You don't need some stupid test to know I'm trustworthy anyways. I prove it every day, right?"
....right? Please say yes or else he will overthink this hardcore later.
Deuce Spade
Catches you on instinct.
The moment you start running he assumes something is wrong, and opens his arms to give you a hug. When you jump? Well, that's just an extra step
His feet slide back against the ground and he wobbles for a millisecond. However, he's steady. He wraps both arms around your waist firmly, and leans back to get a look at your face.
"What's wrong?! Why are you in such a hurry?!"
His eyes flicker anxiously between the direction you came from and your face
He's relieved when you tell him that everything is okay, and that you just wanted to see if he would catch you
"Don't scare me like that! I was seriously worried!"
He's still holding you, and becomes bashful once the adrenaline dials down. He mutters a quick apology while gently setting you down. Avoiding eye-contact, he excuses himself and promises to hang out later. For now, be still his beating heart
Savanaclaw Dorm
Leona Kingscholar
Yes. You don't give him enough time to think through the situation, and so he acts. Albeit a bit roughly.
The moment you jump he's reaching with one arm, startled. It wraps around your waist and hoists you over his shoulder. The other hand reaches for his wand, and he's on high alert.
Says nothing. Just grunts upon impact and scans the area.
You'll have to pat his back a few times to be let down, and it is needless to say that he is not pleased with your joke
His eyebrows draw downward with his classic scowl, and he's lowkey disappointed in you. He thought you more straight-headed than to do something like this
"You- ugh. Whatever. I caught you, so I win, right? Happy?"
Deems scolding you more trouble than it's worth. Last thing he needs is for you to get mad at him. That'll just give him an even bigger headache.
Ruggie Bucchi
Does...not. He knows that you're coming. He heard the footsteps a mile away. He simply is a snot-nosed little arse
You're running at him from behind, and the moment you get near he steps to the side. He does his little shishishishi laugh when you face plant on the floor.
When you don't get up, he crouches down and pokes your head.
"Hey, you alright? That was a pretty harsh fall. I can't imagine what caused it,"
Laughs again, but feels a bit bad if you don't reciprocate. Okay. You got him. He's sooooooo untrustworthy. An utter fool, if you will.
With a tsk, he grabs you by the elbow and eases you up.
"Yup, yup. I'm cruel, I know. Let's go get a snack, alright? It's on me - and by me, I mean that it's on Leona shishishisi"
Jack Howl
This boulder doesn't even flinch. Like clockwork, he's startled but instinctively readies his stance. You quickly land safely in his arms, and are back on the ground in a jiffy. Almost as if you never tried to tackle him in the first place.
He holds you at arms length with an eyebrow raised.
"Uhm....are you good? What was that about?"
He doesn't understand how catching you proves that he is trustworthy, but if it makes you happy then he'll do it as often as you'd like. Just give him a heads up next time, ok?
Won't admit it, but he liked holding you. Even if it was for a fleeting moment, it felt right. If you ever asked for a piggy-back ride or to be carried, he wouldn't be opposed at all. The realization embarrasses him greatly.
Octovinelle Dorm
Azul Ashengrotto
Does not, and is extremely ashamed. He does not fail tests, academic or otherwise!
He’s not weak. This man has a very healthy diet and regularly exercises. He is confident that he would have succeeded with no issue, had you not startled him. Our little cephalopod here gets flustered very easily. Only by you though.
Normally he can hide it but you 100% startled him. Can you even judge? One moment all was peaceful and the next thing he knows you’re barreling towards him. All giddy and like “catch me, catch me!” …ugh. His heart couldn’t take it.
What’s worse is that Jade caught you in his stead. He’s appreciative that you were not harmed by his lack of reflex….but the humiliation. Dear gods.
He demands that you do it again. Leave him and then try again another time when he isn’t expecting it…which is impossible since he will be on high alert 24/7. Azul fails to understand that the purpose of the test is now null, and that it tests for impulse
“A-again! Go on. Get a running start and do it again! Into my awaiting arms!…do not argue. I will not fail this time so give me another chance,”
His ego requires it, so just do it. He can’t stand the idea of failing and that image of Jade carrying you is lingering in his mind
Floyd Leech
Catches you easily. Nothing startles this guy. Well, okay, some things do. Nothing that’s physical though.
He hears you yelling for him? Well that’s just a normal day in his life. You’re running his way”? Awwwwwwweeee his little Shrimpy is so excited to see him! That’s so rare!
He’s running to meet you half way. It nearly makes you halt but the test needs answers!
He hooks his hands under your arms mid-air, and spins you around at arms length before bringing you in for a hug. All the while he has a giant grin on his face
“Did you miss me that much??? I guess I haven’t been giving you enough attention…not that I’d mind it if you do this every day hehe~”
He doesn’t care about the test, so long as you do it again. You won’t be leaving his arms any time soon si get comfortable
Jade Leech
Another to catch you easily. He does it flawlessly, like catching a balloon or a feather
He hears your approach and chooses to ignore it until the last moment. Then he turns effortlessly to capture you bridal style, set you down, and return to what he was originally doing. If anyone’s in shock, it’s you.
Then he’ll finish up and turn to you as if nothing even happened. While his gentle smile and hand on his heart are unknowing - the smug crinkle of his eyes says otherwise. He is highly amused, not in your little stunt but in the reaction he managed to create
Caresses your face with one of his gloved hands and asks how your day has gone. Once answered, he leans down to plant a light kiss on your cheek before leaving
“Oh, I almost forgot. Please be more careful in the future. Had it not been you, I would have reacted much differently to someone ‘attacking’ fufu. I love your enthusiasm dearly, and am always happy to hold you. You need only ask,”
Scarabia Dorm
Kalim Al' Asim
Sunshine meets you half way. He sees you running at him with a mega grin and instantly knows what’s going on. Social cues be damned, he wants to be loved
More like it’s you catching him. He just can’t help himself. He jumps at you before you even get a chance to do the same.
His arms go around your shoulders in the biggest hug imaginable. He knows better than to throw his whole body weight on you, so he settles for merely hugging and swaying your body from side to side
It’s sickeningly sweet how giddy he is. He pulls you at arms length before peppering light kisses along your cheeks
“I missed you so much! Can I have another one? Please?”
Oh! A test? How fun! He’ll take this one many times if it means you’ll hug him more often. He passed? Yippieeeeeee
Jamil Viper
Catches you, begrudgingly. He’s known about the trend and was frankly expecting you to try it. He just didn’t know when.
Jamil is no fool. He could let you fall. It would be funny. Maybe even make his day.
But then you’d be upset with him. He really could do without that. Not if it could be prevented
So the moment he sees you rushing towards him, Jamil knows what to do. He quickly sets down whatever he’s doing and takes position
With an oof and a momentary scowl from discomfort, he’s got ya. One arm around you’re bum and the other your waist. You wrap both of your arms around his shoulders, and with a sigh he just lets you koala hang for a moment
“Are we done now? Not to be rude, but my arms are tired and I would prefer that we not make a spectacle of ourselves”
He asks if you had fun. You did? Well, he supposes that it can be done again. In private only though. No more pranks.
Pomefiore Dorm
Vil Schoenheit
Does not catch you on purpose, and then insists that you do it again.
You see, he did not want to encourage your childish antics, so he purposefully pretended that he was not strong enough to catch you
A lie, obviously. He is very strong despite his pretty boy exterior. Instead of calling him out for it, you play along. A mocking sigh of resignation flies out as you not so subtly comment on his lack of strength.
Oh, you're absolutely right, Vil! I'm sorry for over estimating you...hmm, perhaps I can try again with Neige-
"You will do no such thing. Now, I am going to walk away and once I turn the corner you are going to run at me. Is that clear?"
Epel Felmeir
Catches you! Listen. My boy here spent his entire childhood lugging around crates of apples, cutting down trees, and running through fields. There is no way that he lacks the stamina to catch you. Maybe he can't hold you for an extended period, but those cinnamon stick arms are built for catching
He jolts when you scream his name, and he loses his composure. The moment you jump he lets out a string of curses and drops everything to catch you
The impact sends Epel teetering, and he fall son his butt with you on top of him
"O-o-oi! What'd ya think you're doing?! I nearly split my tailbone!"
Is slightly saddened that he couldn't keep steady. If only he was stronger like the Savanaclaw students...
Rook Hunt
Catches you with grace. There isn't much to say here.
Our princely hunter need not predict your movements, or pay attention to your plotting. Where's the fun in that?
Non non, what a sight for sore eyes. Rook swoons the moment you call his name, and his pupils basically turn to hearts when he sees you running towards him
With a laugh, he opens his arms wide and catches you in an instant. He shifts you into a bridal carry, and dips you down to plant a loving hiss on your nose.
Bonus points if you kiss him back along where his freckles would be without makeup. Oh this man is dying
"Mon coheur....what a wonderful surprise! If you were to greet me like this every day for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man indeed,"
Ignihyde Dorm
Idia Shroud
Catches you
On accident :)
More like you just fall in his lap, but it still counts? Kind of
He was in his room, multitasking both controlling his floating tablet around school while also playing the latest MMO
Just when he started to wonder where you might be (normally you find his tablet during study break) he hears his door burst open
Startled, he whips around in his chair to see you running at him. He lets go of the computer mouse and keyboard on impulse. Right when you jump and basically straddle him in his chair
Idia.exe has stopped working. From the sudden entrance, to the physical contact, to your giddy rambling about...something? He can't hear past the buzzing in his ears and just nods along
Hyper aware that you are sitting in his lap still. Attempting to control himself...and failing.
"U-uhhh, can y-you please move? Like, off of me? I c-can get you a chair,"
You comply, and he calms down for a second. He's not complaining but why would you -
an internet trend? Ortho told you to?
....Idia doesn't know if he should thank his brother or scold him.
Ortho Shroud (PLATONIC!)
Little Ortho meets you half way! You do not get to jump because he sees your arms open for a hug and does not waste a moment
With you basically being one of his best friends (and hopefully second sibling. Ortho is rooting for his big bro to win your heart!) he loves your hugs
When you ruffle his hair after letting go, his eyes crinkle into the cutest little upturned crescents and he laughs
"You know...I bet brother would love one of your hugs! You should go surprise him!"
Diasomnia Dorm
Malleus Draconia
Child of man, what a wonderful surprise?
You are fulfilling this man's fantasy. You know the phrase 'looking through rose-colored class'?
You're running towards him and he's watching like it's an early 2000s AMV on Youtube
Or like a Tik Tok edit. You know the ones
Drops everything. AND I MEAN EVERYTHING
It is like this man loses all sense of his surroundings. Lovesick fool.
Opens his arms wide with a soft smile, and when you jump he barely flinches. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and legs around his waist. One of his arms holds the small of your back, and the other your rear. He...well, yes he is aware and is doing it on purpose. Our prince isn't uhm...well, he is a man. A gentlemen, but still a man nonetheless.
"What a welcome greeting. Are you comfortable? I would like to remain this way for longer, if you do not mind"
He holds you tight with his head comfortably buried in between your neck and shoulder. Malleus lightly kisses the fabric of your uniform blazer, before returning to his prior activities like nothing is amiss
Lilia Vanrouge
...I guess? It's complicated.
You come at this bat from behind in an attempt to surprise him
He's not that old, y'know. Lilia senses you trailing him the moment you begin. Then again, he always knows when you're within a five mile radius.
What? Is it really so bad for him to seek out the object of his affections? Anyone else would do the same. It's not like he's being a creep about it...you just have a unique presence.
He is also well versed in internet trends. Lilia can't help but humor you. He walks around unknowing and occasionally snickering. Some question what he finds so humorous, and he waves them off with a cheeky grin
He senses your intent to attack, and doesn't turn around when you call his name. You jump at him from behind and koala hug his back
If it weren't for the hands holding your calves, you'd think him ignorant.
'Lilia? Lilia~ Hello? Are you already deaf so soon-'
Faster than you can comprehend, he spins you around to face him and pecks your lips
"Why hello there, my dear. Care to finish that sentence?"
'....no'
Sebeck Zigvolt
Does not catch you. He initially thought you were aiming for Malleus, and stood in front of his superior to protect him
Oh he should have known! Betrayal! You have betrayed him!
...why are you calling his name? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?
Oh seven it's one of your pranks again, isn't it? Whya re you always doing such-
When you yell for him to catch you, Sebeck does so without a second thought
but he fails. His offensive stance wasn't fit for taking the imbalance of weight, and he couldn't get a stable grip on you
Gravity pulls him forwards on a path where his weight would crush you
So Sebeck quickly wraps one of his hands around the back of your head, and flips so he takes the impact instead
"Have you gone mad?! I genuinely cannot fathom what is going on in your brain anymore. Who put you up to this? What if you had been injured? What if you injured Lord Malleus?....stop laughing and listen to me!"
Silver
Do not startle a man with a sword.
Once again, do NOT startle a man with a SWORD.
Silver catches you. Easily. He also thinks it is absolutely adorable that you trust him enough to do so.
It's just that you could have warned him. Y'know, considering that he is armed and trained to draw his weapon at the slightest sign of a threat :)
Lucky for you, Silver is high-key vigilant since he has a tendency to doze off to dreamland. He sensed your presence but couldn't pinpoint where...
Imagine his surprise when you jump down from above :) The hell do you think you are, his father?
On instinct he reaches out and catches you in a bridal carry. Your rear knocks against the sword hanging at his side, and with a grunt he places you down on the floor to check for injury
"While I love spending time with you, can you please use the door next time? For my sanity?"
2K notes · View notes
inoreuct · 5 months
Note
would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?
YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS
the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.
he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.
but he does.
and it gets worse.
zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.
and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.
still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.
…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.
sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.
his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.
his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”
sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”
he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”
the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.
he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”
sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.
his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.
zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.
“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”
sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.
"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.
this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.
"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"
"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"
zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."
sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."
"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."
"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."
"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"
sanji grits his teeth.
"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"
"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"
"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."
sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."
"what did you mean, then?"
he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."
the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."
it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."
it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.
"hey."
he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.
"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.
he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—
"look at me."
"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.
"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."
he can't.
he does.
zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"
sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—
"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."
the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."
just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.
he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."
"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"
"yes or no."
"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.
"yes or no."
sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."
he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.
"you are everything i want."
the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—
"yes or no."
zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.
"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.
sanji breaks.
"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.
a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.
he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.
the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."
you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.
"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.
"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."
the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.
the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.
he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.
but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.
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sister-lucifer · 1 year
Text
POV: Leviathan has a wet dream about you while laying in your lap. 
Leviathan was always the shy one, always a bit anxious around crowds or strangers, but there was a secret side to him only you ever got to see. The truth? 
Leviathan was big, fat pervert. 
And he had a habit of letting it show at the best of times. 
When he had asked to lay his head in your lap, your heart swelled with joy (although not as much as his when you agreed to let him). He’d snuggled in quickly, and couldn’t help but let out a sigh when you placed a hand on his head and combed your fingers through his hair. Your head scratches were always the best, and soon he found himself drifting into a peaceful sleep. 
It wouldn’t stay peaceful for long, though. 
At first you didn’t notice anything; the room was dark (as Leviathan liked it, it was easier on his eyes), and the sound from the TV distracted you from the first small mewls. 
Then you felt the small shifts in the bed beside you. When you looked down he was still, but once your vision was focused elsewhere you felt it once more. 
You glanced back at him, staring for a bit longer this time. That was when you noticed the small movements of his hips. 
It was subtle the first few times, but with each little rut against the mattress he only became more forceful. 
You stared in awe at the scene unfolding in front of you. When you shifted your attention to Levi’s face, you could tell it was twisting in pleasure. You’d seen that expression before, although it wasn’t nearly as obvious in his sleep. The way his lip quivered, the way his brows furrowed and the pleasured little noises falling from his mouth; you’d seen it all before, and it could only mean one thing: 
Sweet baby Leviathan was having a filthy wet dream.
You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, not taking your hand away from his hair as you watched him become more and more desperate. 
Oh, and when he moaned out your name— 
You absolutely melted. 
“G-Good…good boy…” He whispered, voice broken and shaking. “Am…am a good boy…” 
“Of course you are, Levi,” You cooed back, “You’re a good boy.”
He only whined in response, gripping hard onto the fabric of your pants. His nails dug into his palm through the material. 
Even in sleep, your gentle praises got him worked up. 
Suddenly his rutting increased tenfold, picking up the pace without warning to the point it made the bed creak and even rock a bit. 
“More…m-more…” He stuttered, slurring his words in his desperation. 
“More, Levi? You want more?” 
“Y…Yes…” He whimpered in reply. 
Your free hand lifted his shirt, rubbing over his back and tracing your nails over his soft flesh. It made his skin prickle into goosebumps. 
“Can’t…take…m-make me…please…” His words were becoming less and less intelligible the longer the dream went on. 
You couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind; Did he see you on top, riding him for all he’s worth? Or did he want you on the bottom, legs wrapped around his waist as you encouraged him to keep going? Or was it nether? Was perverted little Levi dreaming about you using toys on him, edging and teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore? 
Oh well, you could always ask him when he woke up. 
“M-Make me—!” He suddenly yelped, taking on a sense of urgency. “Gonna…p-please make me…cum…”
So that’s what he wanted.
“Go on then, Levi,” You assured him, “Cum for me like the good boy I know you are.” 
“Good boy…good boy, g-good boy—!” 
His ruts no longer occurred at a steady pace, now erratic and needy. You could tell he was close, and he choked out something you could only assume was a warning before suddenly he stilled. His back arched as he let out one last cry of pleasure, his entire body trembling as his orgasm washed over him. 
Well, his in-dream orgasm…He hasn’t quite managed it in real life. 
You continued to stroke his back as he came down from his high, relaxing into the mattress once more. You whispered gentle praises to him from above as he caught his breath, falling back into a deep sleep. 
But that wasn’t what you wanted, no. After that little show, it was clear that Leviathan needed you. Not to mention that he hadn’t cum. 
“Levi?” You called. No response. 
“Leeeeviiii?” You drawled once more. A small shift, but nothing else. 
Looks like you’d have to do this the fun way. 
A smack reverberated off the walls as your hand came down on Levi’s ass, making him wake with a jump. 
“Ow—!” He yipped, looking around in confusion. When he turned to you, seeing the sly smirk on your face immediately made all the memories of his dream come rushing back. He tried to stay calm, but his face was red hot. 
“O-Oh, human! Sorry, uh d-did I fall asleep? So stupid of me, ahah…” 
The way you were looking at him made him nervous. 
“That seemed like quite a lovely dream you were having, Levi.” 
His heart dropped. 
“D-Dream? What dream? I-I wasn’t having any d-dreams!” 
You pushed him over just a bit, enough for you to see the front of his now soaked sweatpants. He quickly pulled the hem of his shirt over it, but you had already seen. Besides, he couldn’t hide the precum stain that had leaked through onto the sheets.
“I-I can explain, I promise! I d-didn’t mean to, really! I-I’m so sorry, I—“
“Shhhh,” You interrupted, putting a finger to Leviathan’s lips. “It’s okay baby, I’m not mad. I love to know that you’re thinking of me.” 
Somehow your kind words made him feel more shameful than your scolding would. 
“…But you didn’t even get to finish.” 
Levi averted his gaze then, staring at a spot on the wall or shelf or anywhere but you.
“Don’t you want to cum, sweet boy? Hm?” 
Levi paused, but managed the slightest nod, although he had obscured most of his face with his hand. 
“Words, Levi.”
He swallowed hard. He could never refuse your command. 
“…Y-Yes…” 
He had hardly finished the word when you had turned him over onto his back, surprising him enough to make him release his shirt, a.k.a. the only thing covering the evidence of his dirty mind. 
You gave a small, playful squeeze to his bulge, making him whimper and cover his face. He barely peaked out through his fingers at you. 
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll help you. But you gotta be a good boy and make all those pretty noises for me, okay?”
might make a part 2 might not idk 
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