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hexonthepeach · 2 months

Text

perfume - k.dy

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

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

warnings:

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

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

wordcount: 20k

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

read on AO3

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

Freshman year, Kocher International.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper.

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

The laughter that follows is deafening.

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

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

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

No–you think–not hesitation.

Frustration.

You've seen this man before.

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

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

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

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

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Can we go back to sleep?"

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

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

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

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

But this was different.

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?” you ask.

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

“You can’t be that tired,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

"Stop that,"

"Stop what?"

"Getting so handsy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir," you pout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

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

You gape up at him in disbelief.

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

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

“Proving my point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Last I checked, neither have you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy.

"Metaphorically speaking."

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

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

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taste it."

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

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

"Salt," you say, immediately.

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes.

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

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

An unrefined palette, he'd called you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It better be," you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it, you think.

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

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, stop."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we allowed to–”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drip for me, first.”

“I don't think I can–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, please, I need you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. And?"

"Bisabol–" you begin, corrected with another slap on your ass that hits, hard, glass jingling on the table.

"Did you jump ahead?" He asks, knowing full well your eyes are swimming with tears.

"No sir," you say. “I didn’t think that was a real word.”

"Opoponax." He says, reaching over you to grab a bottle, dropping a thick oil on you and rubbing it into your bruising skin. "Also known as sweet myrrh. Go ahead. Keep reading."

"Source: distilled from resin from ancient groves in Somalia, bought in Mogadishu from a local orchard, all profits to fund schools and clinics for women displaced by civil war."

"Do you believe this to be a charitable effort?" He asks, hand spreading over your buttocks. You think he might be referring more to your arrangement than whatever is written on the page.

"No," you say. Your history and political know-how might be lacking but you've seen the wrong side of kindness. "It sounds like what people write to make themselves feel better about exploitation."

"Clever girl," he answers. You feel his nose brush against your skin, testing the mingling of scent with it. "Keep going."

You turn the page, swallowing back your protests. This spread is rich with text and color, a veritable garden bursting from the page. You fix on the first entry in the upper corner, bracing yourself for another faux pas.

"Heart notes: Turkish rose," you say. "What is this, poetry?"

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

You shake your head, lips pursed in delight at the scrawl of English. “No.”

You let out a gasp as he bites the flesh nearer your back, the sting of it surely leaving a mark by the way the pain lingers.

"Read it," he says, dipping over you for another bottle. “You’ll remember.”

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows," you dictate, stumbling over every word and yet never punished for it. Instead Doyoung lets a steady drip of the bottle fall down the back of your leg to your knee, his fingers bringing up the rest to mix what he's already poured on you.

"Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine."

You end your recitation in a whisper, leather binding and paper gripped in your fingers as he massages the oil gently into your tingling skin, careful to avoid where your legs are locked together in arousal. You're heady with scent and sensation, awaiting some reminder that this isn't just a strange dream you’ve wandered into.

"There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight," he finishes for you as he paints the rest up your spine beneath your shirt. You let him ministrate on your body as the words settle, as time recedes and you face a version of your youth you’re not sure isn’t just fiction.

That book beside you, the first time he’d spoken to, long forgotten.

“Midsummer’s Night Dream,” you say, turning to face him again, settling between his thighs as he fails to meet your gaze. You lift his face with your fingers, cheeks indented by your gentle hold. “You remembered that, too?”

“It was the first time you ever looked at me,” he says. “And it felt like you saw right through me.”

No, you’re not dreaming. You’re the architect of this moment just as much as he’ll claim to be a cursory observer if confronted on it.

You take in his mismatched eyes–one folding a little more than the other when he smiles at you ruefully. Those freckles you’d never really spent time examining, a happy accident of the time he’d spent with you in the sun. His fingers catching yours for a moment when you weren’t paying attention.

But most of all, the haunted cast where he’d lost sleep managing someone else’s problems. When he’d still been worrying about yours.

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

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I ever really saw you until now.”

“What didn’t you see?” he asks, expectantly.

Six years of his careful distance from you, that coldness and disinterest just another mask for someone who was as raw and vulnerable and real as you if you managed to pry open their shell. His tendency towards control, towards the knife’s slice of cutting you so cleanly from his life no one would know your name unless he spoke it aloud.

There wasn’t another human being in their right mind who’d last that test, your only grace being that he’d thought you were untouchable. His best friend’s girlfriend, of course. But beyond that, one of his best friends.

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

It wouldn’t require money or taste or a family name to bring Saint Kim down to earth. Just time and small acts of resistance, like the beautiful shell remnants you’d spilled into his hands on that last trip to Maui together, when it had still been the five of you. Each ground down to a small disc with a perfect spiral at its center, a reminder of the beauty remaining in broken things.

You place the notebook in his hands, curling your fingers around his. The pages it’s opened to are sparsely constructed, besides the photographs nestled between. Only you two know what’s there, buried in black sands and blue waters. You can see his handwriting falter where he’s written the notes for this moment in your shared history, sketches of those shells, and flowers.

A single photograph of you watching the others playing in the surf, his shadow cutting across the stretch of your legs.

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality.

Orange Blossom for innocence.

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

You recognize the creamy yellow-white flower he’d tucked behind your left ear when you’d fallen asleep beside him. A non-native plant to the island, you’d learned, worn to indicate one was taken. A weed, like you, now prized as a treasure.

“What didn’t you see?”

You pull back to look at him, giving him yourself without reservation.

“That I think you love me . . .” you say. “. . . Like I think I love you, too.”

He looks up at you, astounded, the chair beneath him creaking as he collapses.

For once you regret being beside him when you’d heard the same words spoken to him by other people, pulled into their lives without you ever remembering their names. The difference between you, you once believed, was that they didn’t mean it.

Now, you understand, they just never knew the true cost of losing him.

You watch him collect himself, running a hand back through his hair and curling into his seat, memories forgotten in his lap, bedamned. You’re sure the engines of Hell are running hot for the way he can’t even look at you right now.

He needs a way out, you think. You’d rather be drowned in other women’s wine poured over your head than be on the receiving end of his disregard again, the script already constructed in your mind before you’d found you had the nerve to sleep with him.

"You can be honest with me,” you say. “Tell me it's been fun but you're not interested in a relationship.”

“What?” Doyoung is just as confused as when you’d told him you loved him, as honest as you’ve been in both sentiments.

“Your family will never approve of me. I’m just another fling you happened to take a more lasting interest in. It’s better this way. Cut me off, forget about me and move on.”

It's his turn to balk. You expect his pre-programmed response. Saint Kim's gospel for turning down the interested but uninteresting party: deflect, dissuade, detach.

“No,” he says, face draining of color.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I can handle it. Really. We can still be friends.”

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

“What do you mean, no?” you ask. “Isn’t that how this always ends?”

“You stupid girl,” he says, grabbing your face in his hands so you can’t escape, making you look into his warm gaze.

"Don’t you get it? This was always about feelings.”

When his lips crush against yours you don't have to speak to respond, catching his head so you’re not suffocated by the raw emotion you can feel in every movement. You return each kiss until the breath is out of your lungs, until you're drowning in his scent as he forces you back onto the desk.

You’re impatient to feel him, everywhere, aware you’re ripping buttons as you open his shirt to gain access to his smooth chest, trailing kisses as far down as you can go, still unable to escape his tongue sliding over yours.

“I wasn’t going to do this here, like this, but fuck it,” he says once he’s free, fumbling with his belt as he holds you to pepper your face and neck in a steady reminder of his affection. “I need you.”

“I need you, too,” you echo wholeheartedly, helping free him out of his clothing, pulling his length to where you’re still slick with oils and cum and ready for him. God, you think you’ve never been more ready to break around him, to show him what he’s brought out of you with this game.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper.

You watch his face, breath held and heart stuttering as he sinks into you slowly, both of you gasping at the way your heat resists each measure of his continuous thrust. It feels like he’s barely in you when he stops, making you moan in dismay.

“Doie, please,” you say, trying and failing to wrap your legs around his slender hips to capture him deeper. You’re half out of your mind with that burning weight inside you remaining still.

“Say it,” he says, taking off your shirt to have access to your skin. He pulls down your bra, nipples tugged between his fingers as he assaults your neck with his tongue and teeth.

“It’s special,” you choke out. “Thank you, please–”

“Say it,” he corrects, twitching inside you but not moving an inch more. He curls down to nip at your breast above the lace, sucking a mark into the softest part. “Without the ‘I think’.”

“No,” you resist, realizing what he’s asking too late. Your nails sink into his half-bared shoulder, head rolling against his. “You don’t get to torture me for that.”

“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Doyoung laughs against your cheek, hand splaying around your hip to still your squirming. “I can do this as long as it takes.”

He thrusts, just a little more, making you cry out in desperation as the contents of the desk tinkle behind you.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You think I love you?”

“So, so close.” He pulls out, rocking into you again to feel the seize of your entire body when you anticipate just how far he’ll go before denying you. A little more, at least, and you can feel how much it’s taking for him, see the strain in his body as he holds back.

“You love me,” you tease, this time not a question, no you think. “Saint Kim loves me.”

He sheathes himself in you fully, gripping your nape to kiss you as you clench involuntarily around him, protests in the back of your throat muffled by his tongue sliding across yours. He tugs at your bottom lip when he breaks free, fully smiling now like he isn’t buried completely in your cunt just warming himself instead of chasing his own bliss.

“What did you call me?” he asks, leaning over you to retrieve something.

You take advantage of his distraction to snake a hand between you, slipping beneath your skirt before it’s grabbed, tight, and brought up to his lips.

“Don’t cheat,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the cap of a bottle.

“You never heard anyone call you that?” you murmur, opening it.

You smell spring flowers and delicate citrus before it’s taken away, set aside when you nibble and suck at his sensitive ear to make him twitch, hands drifting across his ticklish belly down to his hipbones. He reads your intent again, stopping whatever silly task he’s doing beside you to lift your wrists to his shoulders.

“The name is a little ironic, isn’t it?” you say, squeezing him experimentally with your thighs as you stroke his nape with your nails. You flex other muscles too–earning the grunt he makes as he feels you squeeze around his girth.

He angles your head, pressing something wet and soft to where your pulse flutters in your neck. You’re immediately permeated with a light, airy, sweetness, the different scents revealed like a melody that ends in that richer, warmer scent from earlier.

“Is that my perfume?” you ask.

“An anointment,” he says, blowing across your skin to dry it and sending a shiver down your spine to where your bodies are locked together, that fullness and muted pleasure of him radiating down to your toes.

“I do seem to have a demon inside of me,” you sigh into his neck as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do they do that in exorcisms?”

“Blessings,” he corrects, adjusting with another grunt. “We’ll find out if it worked in about an hour.”

“An hour?” you grumble. “You think you can keep torturing me that long?”

“I think I gave you the key to your own cage,” he says, checking his watch. “About five minutes ago. Does it feel like longer?”

You mumble something into his rumpled collar, making him laugh beneath you. Even just that tiny movement has you involuntarily gripping him, abdomen clenched.

“What’s that?”

“I’llsayitifyoumakemecome,” you repeat, embarrassed enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck again.

“You think this is a negotiation, Y/N?” Doyoung’s hands are back on your breasts, thumbing the areola in slow circles that are very much a reminder of his touch earlier on your throbbing clit. You whimper, trying to stay still so he doesn’t figure out that if he continues to do that you might have a chance–

“You trying to make me come squeezing me like that?” he asks, breath ragged. “That seems like a quick way to end this.”

“You . . . you could just fuck me,” you wheeze, feeling the way he teases your pebbled, hard nipple with lighter brushes, his mouth quirked where it’s pressed to your forehead.

“What if I want to make love to you, instead?” he asks. He inhales sharply at your body’s response.

“Fuck, you liked me saying that, didn’t you?”

You nod, unable to speak, holding onto him in desperation as the combination of his words and soft strokes make you melt into the pleasure of every small motion of him inside you. You realize he’s unconsciously pushing into you, too, unable to keep his hips from pressing into yours.

Overstimulation is making you hyperaware of the scratch of his unzipped jeans against your burning thighs, the random brush of his open belt against your belly. Time seems to disappear as he holds you quietly, letting you soak up the fragrant, radiating warm reality of him.

“I can wait all night for it,” he threatens, even just his lower register making you quiver a little around him. “Count every time you twitch and moan on me until you break.”

You’d felt him flag a little while he worked but now he’s fuller inside you, stretching you wide as he twitches to life. It’s even hotter than all of this build-up, you think, knowing he can act a menace but that the idea of you surrendering to him is what’s really getting him off.

Of course, you think, mentally steeling yourself like you’re preparing for war. In a way this is something like it, up against as formidable a foe as he is.

“Doie,” you whisper, threading your hands in his hair as you nuzzle for his lips, kissing him softly and intimately, like it’s your first time. “When did you know?”

“What?” He goes a little rigid against you, unable to hide his rapid heartbeat with how close you’re pressed to him. You blink up at him, expectantly.

“When did you first know you loved me? Really?”

He smiles, shyly, but you see the hint of anxiety on his features beneath his arousal. There it is, you think, having to hide your own satisfaction.

“Is this a trick question?” he asks, warily, eyelashes half-lowered.

“Not if I know the answer,” you say, smoothing his kiss-swollen lips with a touch. “I don’t think it’s in that book, either.”

“Really?” He’s intrigued, a tentative rock of his hips against you making you dizzy. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, just as playful.

“I’ll tell you later,” you say. “After.”

He sighs explosively, nose wrinkling. “You don’t know.”

“Want to bet?” you ask. It’s always a little thrilling seeing Doyoung presented with an opportunity he can’t resist. He fumbles for the notebook beside you, almost slipping out of you when he has to reach even farther for a pen.

“Write it down,” he says, smug as a cat who’s caught something small and easily toyed with.

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

His answer is a pained sound of agreement, adjusting himself against the desk.

“No peeking,” you say, flipping to a page in the back.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing the book before the nib of the nice pen touches the creamy paper. “What are the terms?”

You ponder for a moment, feeling a grin slide onto your lips. “Doesn’t our perfume need a name? Whoever is right, gets to name it.”

You can practically taste his delight as he leans in to kiss you, forcing you to pull your page closer to you. You make him wait, filling the blank space as best you can with detail as he fidgets between your legs, sending small shocks of pleasure through you both.

“Thank you,” he says in earnest once you’ve handed him it open to a new leaf, his hand and the notebook shaking a little as he tries to write mid-air, finally resting it awkwardly atop your head in order to scrawl out his own answer.

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.”

“You’re a cheat,” he says, shushing you with an added thrust of his hips.

You settle back on your elbows, already enjoying your victory as you feel the tiny pressure of his handwriting, hear the scratches of his sketch. You're more emboldened than ever when the leather binding snaps shut.

“Now tell me,” you say, looking up at him coyly.

“Can’t I just show you–”

You snatch the book from him, turning to your entry. Then, to his horror, you rip your page free and fold it shut, tucking it into the pocket of his open shirt.

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “You had 24 hours, right? I’ll give you my answer tomorrow morning.”

Doyoung looks as if he’s tasted something sour. “You won’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you that you won,” you say, looking down at his page. You trace the fresh ink with care, admiring his tight script and explanation. “February to April? How could I have guessed an entire season?”

“Did you at least guess the year?” he asks, looking a little better for your affirmation of his win.

You nod, finally feeling the discomfort of your position and resting your head against his warm chest. There’s nothing awkward about being wrapped around him like this, the late hour and strange, still space making it easier to forget the world outside.

“Hard to forget,” you say. “I thought for sure I’d never see you again after that winter holiday.”

Another break with Johnny, of course–but this one had been your choice. You’d finally felt the crushing weight of two years of contempt from the people around him, the Suh family matriarch at the center of it all, doing everything in her power to crush not only you but the people you loved.

And then, when you’d needed him the most, Kim Doyoung had walked away from you, too.

“I didn’t think I’d see you, either,” he sighs. “It was the first time in a long time you weren’t with us. With me. And it was my fault for pushing you away when you were just trying to–”

“It’s in the past now,” you cut him short with a finger pressed to his lips.

The memory is painful, still–and you don’t want to sully this moment with it. You appreciate that even in his roundabout admission there’s a clear understanding for all you’d been through. You’d hoped he remembered that time from the past, when you’d first peered between the cracks in his carefully-manufactured facade.

Now you could be sure of what it meant to him. You feel like your own walls are crumbling, the light shining through.

“So you chose the period of time when we didn’t speak to one another, at all?” you muse. “Not just one day?”

“You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he says. “You were on my mind every minute and every hour of those three and a half months.”

He pauses, sigh warm against your brow. “I couldn’t tell you when I knew, for sure. I certainly couldn’t admit it, then, even to myself. But sometime then, I realized I cared more about you than a friend.”

You’d never doubted he was capable of it, never doubted it might be true. But hearing him admit it, now you know why he wants to hear it from you, too.

“Say it,” you say.

He finally looks at you again, tired but alight with amusement.

“You first,” he says.

“Who knew three simple words would be so difficult for Saint Kim?” you tease him.

“Alright. Come here,” he motions, slipping out of you with a shared groan. He pulls you to a couch under the shuttered window, settling down and forcing you to straddle him. In this position he can’t stop you from immediately taking all of him, his eyelids fluttering when you bottom out.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs.

“You’re not going to last,” you laugh, delighted by the way his nose scrunches when you clench around him.

“Says the girl who’s sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He grabs on to your hips to roll them against his own, fingers tightening when you wriggle against him. “You’re gonna say it first even if I have to fuck it out of you.”

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

“I can live with that,” he sighs, head resting back on the couch.

You rock on your knees slowly, satisfaction warming you throughout as you force him all the way inside you. You let him hear how he makes you feel, pleading sounds and whispers every time he hits that place in your upper walls, curved inside of you perfectly. It doesn’t matter if you're in control you can’t help but hunt down that lovely rush of pleasure in your belly, twining your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Good girl,” Doyoung praises, watching you in awe through half-lidded eyes. “You’re so beautiful. I always wanted to know what it would look like when you lost yourself with me.”

His words make you shiver, brushing his lips until he holds you against his mouth to show you how he likes it, less exploratory and more confident. It’s maddening how good he is at this, making you feel every single sweep of his tongue across yours, hand on your neck keeping you from escaping.

“Don’t you want to–” you protest as he helps you to lay flat on your back across the length of the wide loveseat, settling between your thighs.

“Oh god, Doie,” you whimper when he takes over, finally, finally, beginning to fuck you. It’s just as slow but at least he penetrates you fully before pulling out almost all the way, shoulders quaking as he holds himself up.

“Promise me you'll let me dote on you for the rest of your life,” he says, not waiting for your response before driving into you again. His movements are barely controlled, grunts escaping the back of his throat when his hips snap into yours again.

“I promise,” you hold onto him, back arching off the cushion to meet him, blissed out in the relief of each, careful stroke against your fluttering walls. That crescendo is happening whether you want it to or not, every overworked knot of muscle threatening to snap loose.

“Promise me that no matter who you fuck you’ll always let me treat you right,” he says, voice breaking. “You’ll let me show you how I feel even when I can’t say it.”

“Yes, Doie. Yes.” You pull down on his shoulders, trying to move for you both, kissing his jaw and throat.

“Stop fighting me and take it,” he says, moving more easily with the thick coat of your cum, establishing a gentle rhythm.

His voice has always made it hard for you to pay attention to anything else but he abuses that power now, murmuring guidance into your neck that has you tightening around him as he fucks you deep and slow.

“That’s my girl,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. Take all of me.”

You feel shivers up and down your body, nipples hardening tight as they brush against his chest, his hair tickling your forehead as he blindly kisses and licks at your mouth and chin.

You’d thought he’d be concentrating on something else in his head to keep from losing himself but instead it’s you who's floating, breath captured in your lungs when he adjusts on top of you to pin your hips down, pressing your leg wide to bury himself to the hilt.

“You feel so perfect. I could really do this all night, you know,” he smirks down at you from where he’s supported on his elbow. “Is that what you want?”

“No, fuck, please,” you whine. There’s no thoughts in your head besides just how much you want that ache inside of your cunt to melt into real pleasure.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, feeling how you begin to pulse around him as he swirls his hips up into that most sensitive part of you, his flat belly grinding into your clit. You gasp, leg locking around his, helping him work you apart.

“No no no,” you beg, face hot. “Just . . . just kiss me through it, please.”

Doyoung’s smile grows wider. “Say what you already told me.”

You twist your head against the cushion, earning his hand on your jaw as he makes you look at him while you break, kissing you between panting breaths. His confidence is written in the cocksure grin remaining on his mouth, more cruel when he bites at your bottom lip, hard, before licking the pain away.

“Say it,” he breathes, slowing down on purpose.

“I . . . ah,” you cry out, “I love . . . please don’t stop.”

“What’s that?” he asks, pace punishingly slow. Your legs lose feeling, vibrations starting in the back of your thighs and tremoring down to your feet.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you repeat, nearly tipping off the edge, “I’m coming, I’m finally–”

He slows down right as you hit that crest, making you cry out in frustration.

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

“Say it,” he says into your lips, pulling out–too far–

“Iloveyou,” you exhale, seizing around him in time to your wildly beating heart.

“Louder.” He slams into you again, merciless.

“I love you, you stupid bastard,” you say, hanging on to his shoulders. “I love you!”

“Good enough,” he says, drilling into you until he can feel you break, orgasm sustained through the painful pressure of him losing himself in your throbbing heat, finding your mouth again, finally, to silence the repeated mantra on your tongue.

You kiss him fiercely, unloading everything words aren’t enough for, legs tied around his waist to keep him locked inside you until he’s fighting back, fucking you so hard the sound of it fills the quiet room.

“I love you,” you repeat a final time for him, just to watch the way it makes him break, jaw slackening when he loses control, finally.

He stutters into his own orgasm, teeth scraping against your locked lips, forehead pressed into yours as he empties inside you for what feels like forever, finally collapsing on top of you with a whimper when his arms give out and he’s as limp as his cock inside you.

You scrape your nails across his scalp, soothing him. You don’t mind his weight, or the way you’re still pressed together with sweat and your combined spend.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rasps, eyes dazed as he looks up at you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head tightly. “Not for me, at least.”

“You’re not mad?”

You know he means his inability to say the magic words but you crack a smile, just as pleased with yourself.

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

Oh, it’s delicious seeing realization dawn on his face, little glimmers of surprise and horror bubbling up from his afterglow.

“Fuck,” he says. You’re grateful he doesn’t deny it, rolling to the side in defeat.

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

You laugh softly, rolling over to pin him down with your leg, trapping him against the back of the couch.

“You did, right now,” you say, relishing having him where you want him. “I had a hunch. And I know you, you’d never beg for someone to say something during sex–”

“I didn’t beg,” he corrects, grimacing.

“What was it? The first one to get me to say it? Bonus points if it’s on your cock?”

“Ah, well,” he says, perking up despite the fist pressed to his forehead in embarrassment. “Then you don’t know.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, Jaehyun wouldn’t–”

“You’re really not mad?” he asks, painfully reticent as you pull his hand away from his face and twine your fingers together.

“Not if it means I can use it as leverage,” you say, kissing his knuckles.

That doesn’t seem to surprise him, at all.

“Good girl,” he says. “What do you want?”

A few years ago, give or take

You’re a little too happy, an awful fact considering how much he'd missed seeing you this way.

Lately you’ve been sleepwalking through your life, all those tiny fractures and bruises finally having the time to mend–but healing is a painful process in itself. Doyoung had returned from his family’s formal Chuseok gathering in Singapore, eager to check in on you after receiving sparing responses from you via text.

You didn’t have a friend he could check in with instead any longer–not after that one girl had fled the country, the other ghosting you after their father was mysteriously laid off from a company he well knew did business with Suh International.

He’s worried about you long before that, terrified that one last straw would break you even if by all indications you were strong enough to take it. After you’d had Johnny arrested and solicited a no-contact order you’d cut your ex off completely, moving to a tiny apartment far from where you’d grown up, changing your number.

Only Jungwoo knew about it, and it was he who’d reluctantly offered your whereabouts to him after a few glasses of whiskey in their usual club.

“She asked me to keep her info on lockdown. Got that hacker kid, what’s his name–Haechan? Wiped her socials off the map, so he can’t find her. He did good but you know Suh.”

Doyoung nods. They hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, probably because the idiot was combing through every civic office and apartment building in the city. Hell, he’d probably driven around until he found her by sight alone, knowing that animal wouldn’t rest until he knew her whereabouts, as stubborn about chasing her down as he was about refusing the F4’s help.

“His mother called me to ask if the place he bought in cash was for her,” Doyoung says, knocking back his drink as he receives a text, heart sinking that it's not you. “Did you help him buy it for her?”

Jungwoo sighs. “No. I just got her rent halved with some coercion, you know? But then he goes and buys a unit in the same building with whatever stash he thought the Old Tiger didn’t know about.”

The Devil Kim leans back, long legs akimbo as he gestures towards the server for a refill. “He’s waiting for her to go back to Chicago before he moves in. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I did not,” Doyoung affirms, turning away from the group of women at the bar sending looks towards their private table. “Let’s plan for when Madam Suh leaves. I can have her pull him into the London offices, considering he’s failing his courses.”

“Stone cold,” Jungwoo says, smirking. “Glad I’m not on your shit list.”

“Just don’t fuck with her,” Doyoung says. “Or fuck her.”

Jungwoo laughs into his glass. “Even I’m not that stupid.”

He’d thought he wasn’t, either.

Not until you’d called a few days later, your speech a little slurred. He couldn’t have told you if what he was doing was important even if he was in a meeting, showing up to find you picking at a bowl of bar snacks in what he thought might be one of the nicer bars in your shitty part of town. Not as shitty as your old neighborhood, but it wasn’t a competition.

“Saint Kim,” you’d heralded him, raising an empty glass still smelling of watermelon and hibiscus.

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone, here,” he’d said.

You were dressed in one of your few nice outfits, a little on the revealing side for his tastes, but those had been Johnny’s you’d conformed to–animal print and thin straps, tastefully tasteless.

“I wasn’t,” you say, hiccuping. “Alone.”

For the first time in a long time fear spikes his blood pressure into overgear. Were you drugged? Was he going to have to fend off another predator who'd found you vulnerable?

You deserved the chance to move on but there was a real threat in what would happen to anyone who approached you without their permission. Johnny’s, yes, always, but the F4 had also agreed to look out for you well before your last incident at a club.

“Who?”

“She left,” you say. He feels instant relief, reaching out to adjust the thin coverup slipping off your bare shoulder.

“You make a new friend?”

You shake your head. “She’s nice. Met her in one of the ikebana classes work is paying for. Thought we were hitting it off but I must have said something dumb because she ran out of here, fast.”

You look up at him cautiously, too inebriated to realize he can recognize a set-up before it begins.

“You didn’t just talk about your ex, did you?” he asks, settling beside you at the bar. He orders something less ridiculous than whatever you'd been drinking, while you scroll through an Instagram feed, finger trembling over the screen.

You look up at him, color-stained lips curving in an easy smile. “You want to see what we’re working on?”

Doyoung finds himself looking through a grid that is immediately obvious is not yours. His mouth goes dry, seeing rows of beautifully-staged floral centerpieces, the backgrounds as familiar as the back of his hand. You don’t seem to notice, going to the user’s story and tapping in vain to find the picture she’d posted.

“She deleted it already. Huh. Well, she texted me the picture–”

“Stop.” Doyoung places his hand over yours, his palm damp from the immediate flood of adrenaline.

“So you do know Mona,” you say. You look up at him, expectantly, eyes glassy with the brand of hopefulness and naked curiosity he’s seen you charm everyone else around you with before.

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Doyoung pulls cash from his pocket, not caring how much he puts down except that he’s sure it’s enough to cover the amount he’d like to drown himself in right now. Enough to go blind and burn out the phantom of that face he’d put behind him years ago.

“Put your coat on,” he says. “I’m driving you home.”

“But I’m not–”

“Now,” Doyoung says, grabbing your wrist. He’s barely ever touched you in the years that you’ve been friends, and it sickens him when he feels you freeze in fear and confusion, that trauma response buried so deeply it's in your bones.

He wants to be kind, he wants to be patient with you. He just doesn’t have it in him to be anything to you right now.

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, dragging you out into the bitter cold evening, the streets slick with sleet, your heels catching on the pavement as you stumble in his wake.

“Stop,” you yell at his back, trying to yank your arm free from where he’s bruising your skin with whitened knuckles. “You’re hurting me–”

“You’ll live,” he says, pulling you to where he’s parked his car, the engine roaring to life the moment you manage to close your door. He can barely look at you, realizing too late that your crestfallen expression is making him more upset than the lightning strike of seeing her name again.

“You didn’t ask my address,” you say, quietly, met with his silence as he drives much more dangerously than the weather permits. He's forced to speak with you once he's slammed the brakes at an intersection, red light shading you through the windshield.

“Tell me one thing,” he says. “Did you try to set us up by having me come there?”

You’re petulantly silent now, an answer in itself.

“Answer me,” he orders, hands gripping the wheel.

“I thought you’d want to–”

“Do you think we have the kind of relationship where you can just do whatever you want and get away with it?” Doyoung’s voice is calm but he sees you flinch at his words and tone, your shoulders moving under your jacket as you begin to quietly cry.

It drives him deeper into anger, hitting the gas with a roar of the engine the instant the light turns green.

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself for this one, Y/N,” he says, already regretting every word tumbling out of his mouth. “You fucked up.”

“I just thought you could both have some closure after that–”

The car jerks as he brakes in the side lane of the service road, cars roaring past them honking their horns. Your sobs are barely audible over the idling engine and the blink of the hazards he turns on while he tries to find calm, your face turned away from him.

“You thought that interfering in other people’s personal lives would make you feel better,” he says. “No wonder you don’t have any real friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see your full body shakes still, can feel as that armor encasement you’d put together piece-by-piece over years of dealing with loveless reality falls back into place. And, years later–no, even hours later–he’ll remember how at the time he was stupid enough to think it was the right thing to say.

You needed a reality check, he’d thought. A reminder that all the wishes and hopes in the world wouldn’t change the bleak architecture of it, uncaring by design and much easier to navigate without them. That moving on was the only path to this idiot’s dream of closure, something you knew nothing about for how often you’d let them pull you back into their world, blinded by sunk-cost and loneliness.

All the things he wished he believed for himself, but without the benefit of your optimism.

“Fuck you, Kim Doyoung,” you say, opening the car door and slamming it shut without so much as a glance behind you. He’d waited to make sure you reached the nearest bus stop before driving off, calling Jungwoo to let him know you were here–crying in the cold.

He'd seen you in passing.

His best friend knew a lie when he’d heard it, most especially from him.

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep.

He’s not allowed to.

He can’t move either, arm going numb beneath your curled body, your breathing finally easing for the dozenth time since his trial began. You have horrible sleep habits–kicking off the covers, stealing the pillows–but tonight you’ve passed out with that same bone-deep tiredness he’d felt earlier, face beatific in the slivers of light piercing through the slatted shades.

It’s close to dawn, he thinks, the cacophony of insects and birds outside transitioning from a quiet chorus to a full orchestral suite. Soon it will be too loud to sleep deeply.

“Y/N?” he whispers, tentatively, not daring to move.

You don’t respond, relief rushing through him. It’s not that he’s desperate to join you in slumber but that he’s waited for you to finally surrender to REM. He needed you down.

And you needed it, too.

He’d negotiated with Jaehyun when you’d been in the shower, earlier, sacrificing precious moments of shared time exploring your skin and the new taste of you under the water to supplicate himself to his best friend and worst enemy in this moment.

“It’s a charter,” Jaehyun said, blinking sleep from his eyes but awake enough to be angry. “You’re not finding another one short term.”

“I emailed you the tickets. Cattle car but first class, at least,” he says. “Jungwoo agreed to give you his day, he doesn’t want to take her out until after dark, anyway. You can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Jaehyun had slammed the door shut in his face, but he hadn’t missed the budding smile on his friend’s face. At least one person was rooting for him.

That’s how he’d earned another morning with you. As always, making up for lost time.

You’re half out of the covers, one leg sprawled over the duvet as you sleep. You’d put on one of his softer button-downs, inhaling the smell of it after he tried to steal it back.

“Please let me wear you,” you said. “I want to dream about you.”

Being around you like this is more comfortable than he imagined, as if you’re being slotted into a position he didn’t even know there was an existing space for. He’s woken up to women in his bed but you’re the first who’s ever asked him for this, particular experience.

“I used to have this fantasy, you know, whenever we crashed at your apartment.” He’d watched you go sheepish recalling, dates omitted for a reason. “Sometimes I’d lie there and touch myself thinking about you crawling into that guest bed–maybe a little drunk or you’d forget which room. Or maybe, you just wanted me to think that. I’d be awake but I’d pretend to be asleep while you . . . used me.”

He experiments by tracing his fingertips up your bare leg, the peek of your lace underwear beneath the hem of his shirt maddening for how it curves into the crest of your ass, presented for him. A treat dangled before him, the command to partake only that you wanted him to make it slow–you wanted to wake to it.

He sucks a breath in, erection in his sweatpants hard against the band already from just watching his sleeping beauty. He finds every mark on your leg, every fine hair, thanking Heaven above you aren’t overly sensitive or ticklish like he is when his hand slips beneath his shirt to your belly.

He slots himself against you, carefully, as if adjusting in his sleep. He has to wait for your breathing to even out again, slipping his free hand up to your breasts.

“Used you? Did you not get off in this scenario?”

“I mean, yes. But it’s mostly about you. You wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just fuck me full of your cum and then you’d leave me leaking it on your sheets and go back to your room. Or sometimes I’d crawl in your bed, if you were alone, and you’d cover my mouth so the others couldn’t hear it. And the next day it would be like nothing happened, you wouldn’t even bother to ask how I’d slept.”

He loved how much of a slut you were, when you felt comfortable enough to share that side with someone. Johnny had certainly never appreciated the subtleties of your nature–too blinded by adoration to even consider degrading you on purpose.

No, Doyoung had known for awhile you pushed the boundaries with him to see if he’d break.

Your nipples harden even though he’s barely handling them, discovering what shape your breasts make in repose as he tries desperately not to rut into the swell of your ass. Warming himself in you earlier had been one of the hardest challenges he’d faced but it had been worth it to learn you inside and out, to know how to make you grip his cock with that delicious little cunt of yours with just a kiss or a word that pleased you.

You don’t wake but he knows he’s gotten through to that little lizard brain of yours when your legs rub together unconsciously, pushing back into him so his cock is settled between your buttocks. The friction from the lace is like the proverbial pea under a mattress–rubbing against his cock through the layers, catching on the veins and scraping the underside of his cockhead.

It’s already a nice ache, one he ignores as he adjusts to better continue plucking and teasing at your body beneath your shirt, until you’re used to his touch enough to truly fall back under, once more.

You're so vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he brings his hand down to test the patch of moisture growing in the fabric, that lace sticky with your dreams of him.

Use you, he thinks. You have no idea what he wants.

Doyoung can play with the fantasy of you crawling into your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed while he’s passed out in the other room, determined to be punished for waking a sleeping monster . . . but it’s not what he's fantasizing about now.

He takes time in stroking you, a single finger digging in between your lips through the fabric, listening intently for your breathing to change. You sigh, one of those full exhales one does in their deep sleep, but you arc back a little, into his touch, leg falling forward crooked so you’re a little more spread.

Doyoung wishes he could move down there and use his nose to push you apart instead of his hand but that’s not your fantasy–not this time. You didn’t want him to spoil you anymore, completely underestimating his love for it. True, he didn’t often eat other girls out, too personal or just too much of a chore to figure out what they liked, but you weren’t ever going to be with him and not come from that first.

Just the thought of tying you up so he can spend hours fucking you on his tongue is making his cock pulse, too hard to be ignored. He quietly pulls down the drawstring of his sleepwear, freeing himself so he can replace his finger with the much wider tip of his cock, biting back a groan as he rubs into that damp, soft lace he’d known would suit you the moment he’d touched it in the display box brought to his private buying room.

You'd never know he’d already fucked himself with it before ever giving it to you, that errant fantasy of touching you finally realized as you whimper a little in your sleep at the soft push of him between your legs. He finds where your clit is getting just as swollen as the rest of you, bouncing against warmth and the promise of unspooling that need with his help, again.

Just his precious little cocksleeve, spoiled and worshiped, showing your gratitude by begging for it even when you’re unconscious. He tests the waters of the scenario by slowly pulling the seat of your underwear to the side, easing in between the fabric and your folds.

You twitch against him, sheets rustling. He holds still, cock jumping and balls tightening with a little anxiety.

He only has this one chance.

Outside in the dark and quiet of the house sleeps the man everyone knows you’re really with, the one who doesn’t have to fight for an I love you to pass your lips. You’d never understood what it felt like watching you climb into Jaehyun’s lap whenever the whim took you, pretending you didn’t know what it did to him or the other two of them watching you.

Your breathing is shallow and your hand flexes a bit, against the pillow, but that’s it. Within a minute he’s grown more confident that you’re still asleep.

He reaches over you, pressing the pads of two fingers against the front of your underwear while he slips a little deeper between your legs, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the contrast between the satiny slide of you and the rougher cling of your panties. It’s a relief as he loses himself to it, rutting from the back while he applies constant pressure to your bud.

“Mmm.” You make a soft noise, but he doesn’t pull free, choosing instead to keep a hypnotizingly steady pace fucking against you. Your hips twitch against him, seeking out more contact, but he doesn’t rush–pressing his head against the back of yours and melding with you in the softness of the pillows and sheets.

You’re so wet you’re soaking his pants, everything he collects tickling down to his balls pressed into your ass. He’s going to stuff your mouth with his fingers, when you finally open it, make you gag on them while he fills you full from behind.

You moan now, voice syrupy with sleep. He doesn’t care if you’re still down, not with you gently pushing back, trying to get release.

Not yet, you little harlot, he thinks, hips going still again. He’s burning at the wait, your cunt continuing to glide against him as you act out whatever is going on in your dreams, the movement making him insane for how closely it adheres to his desire to have taken you back when you were innocent, his little virgin weed learning what her body wanted, seeking it out in his bed.

“Treat me like one of the girls you don’t really like. Use me.”

Such an unending fantasy of yours that he never wanted you, almost sweet for how dumb you are–or just willfully ignorant. He’s always liked the second one better–your little game played out that you were one of them. Dressed in that school uniform, kicking your skinned knees, sucking on a piece of candy while four college-age idiots hid their bathing-suited boners under their robes, fighting or fucking around in front of you so you could keep up that precious little illusion of immunity.

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep.

It should make his blood run cold but as with all twisted-up and tangled desires it only makes him feel ignited, pulse pounding in his head. You’re still asleep and thinking of someone else, someone not even in this house, the guilt of it passing over him faster than a cloud on a breezy day.

He rocks back into you, this time pulling out enough that he can find your soft hole, already tight again–the only part of your body not relaxed as he forces his way past the flutter of your opening, cockhead sensitive enough to sense the more textured g-spot where he knows you’ll come fast and easy if he fucks into it.

“Shh,” he says, finally trailing his mouth against your jaw, pushing into you softly. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Mmhmm,” you reply, nuzzling into the pillow, curling into him. He pushes a knee between your legs, folding you into the bed beneath him as he begins to fuck you, finally taking you for himself and himself alone.

You’re so warm inside, body adjusting to take him easily for how boneless you are, kitten-like mewls muffled by the pillow. It turns him on hearing the edge of pain there, the way you struggle when he pulls your underwear up so tight it sticks between your folds, clit rubbing against it the way he’d stroked himself to completion with it tied tight around his cock.

“Stay quiet or I’ll stuff your mouth full instead,” he whispers against your shoulder, feeling as always a little stupid but losing that internal cringe when you choke on a moan.

“Is that what my little slut was dreaming about? Gagging to tears on another man’s cock?”

He feels you tense at a bit at the suggestion, letting him use you in spite of the rougher handling.

“That’s right. You said another man’s name in your sleep. Do you think that's acceptable?”

You shake your head, whimpering.

“Such a whore you can't keep track of who's dick is inside of you. Tell me, who's fucking you right now?”

“Doie,” you say, music to his ears. He'd always hated the nickname until you started using it. You were the only one–you were always the only one who made his chest burn with unsated desire when you said his name.

“Who owns this tight little pussy?”

“You do,” you gasp out.

“Are you going to forget me? Maybe I need to fuck you so hard you only think of me when you spread your legs for another man.”

Doyoung feels electric at how easily you begin to crumble with just a few words, squeezing his dick so tight when he says something you like, even more when he makes it hurt.

“Sleepy baby going to let me stuff every one of your holes until I’ve had enough? Use you like my own little doll?”

You nod, no longer capable of speaking except in a plaintive moan when he leaves you to shuck off his pants and pull down your ruined panties, pillow pulled beneath your belly to force your ass up. In this position he can drill into you deeper, burying you into the mattress with each thrust.

“That’s what you get for crawling in here,” he says, fingers digging bruises into your hips to hold you down. “Keep your mouth shut and take it.”

The pleading, almost scared noises you're making have him hard and pulsing, two steps away from coming himself but in no hurry to. He pulls your hair to bring your head back, shoving his fingers in your mouth.

“You like that?” Your cunt can't hide it, sucking him in. “Get them wet for me.”

You drool over his knuckles, gagging as he fucks your mouth with them in an awkward rhythm to his merciless rutting. He spits into his hand when he's satisfied, fingers swirling around the tight rim of your ass so quickly it makes you buck.

“Don't scream,” he murmurs, giving you two fingers at once. You make a noise through the pillow you're biting, gripping him tight. He's gentler with this, slowing, letting you adjust to take him.

“This is my favorite, right here,” he groans. “Feeling my cock inside you with my fingers. I'd fuck this tight little ass again but I want to feel you come like this.”

He begins to stroke you harder, deeper, wet and sticky when his balls slap against your abused cunt. He keeps his fingers buried in you, scissoring you open as you take it.

“Come for me, Y/N, grip me good so I can fill that pretty mouth of yours.”

It's a beautiful feeling when you begin to throb, contractions in your ring of muscle letting him know when you hit your peak. He fights the tingling in his balls, the urge to come with you painful for how long he's been holding it back.

He talks you through it, instead.

“Such a good little hole,” he says. “You're coming so hard, baby, can feel it so well.”

You moan, loud, as you break, loosening almost immediately, flooding him with sweet, hot warmth. He makes sure the last of those tics is gone before pulling out.

“Roll over,” he says, straddling you with a hand on the headboard, delighted by the sight of your flushed face and starry eyes. You already know what to do, tongue lolling and uvula exposed as he guides himself into your mouth, soft tongue swirling around his tip.

God help him he's been thinking about this since yesterday, pushing deep enough to gag but not choke, fucking your mouth and the hot tightness of your throat when he hits it. It’s the sight more than anything that drives him to spill hot white ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling out to milk the last few splashes on your parted lips and delighting at the sight of you licking them with your spend-covered tongue.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, dropping down and kissing you, finally, tongues stroking each other until you finally pull free to breathe, blinking up sleepily at him.

“You do taste different,” you tease.

“I taste like you,” he says, pressing soft kisses all over your face. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

“Did you like that?” you murmur.

“I loved–” he pauses, watching the smile spread on your wet lips.

“I love you, you know,” he finishes. You reach around his neck, comforting him out of instinct, but he doesn’t need it.

“I love you,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue now that they've flown out so easily, the tightness in his chest easing as you rise up to kiss him.

“It's beautiful to hear you say it,” you say. “But you're right, I know.”

“I think I even know the exact time and date,” you say, reaching between you into the pocket of your shirt to pull out that torn and folded art paper scrawled with your words and an amateurish sketch.

Tomorrow morning . . .

[Unknown number] [Tomorrow morning April 13th dawn is at 6:17] [I have something to show you. Meet me on the roof of the East Wind Hotel]

Doyoung looks at the text message again, hand hanging over the railing of a dance floor, conversation with the woman by his side forgotten. With the blur of a late night and a trip to a different hotel room, with a different woman, he'd almost missed it.

Probably one of the innumerable flings he's had, Jungwoo recruiting him to get every last lick of enjoyment out of Seoul before he enlisted. His friend snatches the phone from his hand.

“No business,” Jungwoo slurs, eyes bloodshot as he focuses on the text. “I thought you weren't working hospitality anymore.”

“It's not . . .” There's something nagging at him, like a bird pecking at his skull in time to the drone of the EM, the buzz of conversation. A sense of deja vu so strong he's forced to cycle on it.

“Pfft. I know you don't bring girls back to your kingdom,” Jungwoo says. “Stop working and party.”

Doyoung doesn't know why he feels compelled to see the cryptic message through, doesn't know why he races across town at 5 am, reeking of whiskey and another woman’s perfume, doing his best to sober up as the designated driver talks about the change in weather, the cherry blossoms in full bloom outside the window.

The morning commute is already surging and the destination central to the city so by the time he makes it he's out of breath from running two blocks away from a jam, head pounding.

“ . . . restricted for non-guests,” someone is saying, voice recognizable as an intern he knows from his leadership program, still stuck on night front desk duty.

“I just need a few minutes, please. I need to take a picture–” He'd recognize that voice in a hundred years if he hadn't heard it, not just a hundred days.

“What's going on here?”

You freeze, shoulders stiffening as you turn to face him. Not much has changed–a new haircut, same ratty old sneakers–but you look different. No longer a ghost, but just as untouchable for the skittish way you hold when he approaches, only the barest relief on your beautiful features.

You don't smile, don't even say hello.

You're scared of him, again, just that thought making him spiral.

“You came,” you say, exhaling. “We need to hurry. We need to get to the roof.”

Doyoung turns to the staff. “Is the roof access still shut down?”

“Stair access only, sir.”

Your eyes go wide at the interchange, something like embarrassment passing over your features as you begin to laugh.

“Of course this is your hotel,” you state, smacking yourself on the forehead. “Of course, why didn't I think to check that. God, I'm an idiot.”

“We didn’t change the name when we acquired the chain so it would be unlikely for you to have guessed that,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“There's no time and it's easier just to show you. We need to get to the roof, now,” you say, grabbing his wrist and tugging on it towards the stairs.

“Y/N,” he says, holding you fixed and pointing at the elevator. “We can take it up as far as we need to.”

You're still laughing maniacally twenty floors up. “I was going to cry if I had to go up another flight of stairs.”

“Are you really taking pictures?” He asks, gesturing at your camera.

“No, but I started carrying it the first time someone called the police on me thinking I was going to jump,” you giggle, wiping away tears. He feels delirious from lack of sleep, so maybe you are, too, but it doesn't seem to be the case as you spring out the doors, forcing him to guide you when you're lost in the executive suite hallways.

“I managed to sneak in last time, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten this far. I'm glad you came just in time, I think they were going to kick me out.”

He's surprised at how easily things have snapped back into place between you, no mention of anything that's happened as you race up the stairwell to the roof access.

“Will you tell me–”

“Oh thank god,” you say once your through the heavy doors and collapsed on the green helipad, growing impatient when he props the door open out of habit. He's been up here many times, nothing remarkable about the space besides the legacy sign on top, view crowded by other buildings at varying levels.

“Stand here,” you say, pushing him into place, turning him by the arms. “Do you see it?”

“I don't even know what I'm looking for,” he says, beginning to grow annoyed.

“Look over there, at the People's Bank. Relax your eyes, it will only take a minute.”

He feels increasingly foolish but he does what you ask, cool morning breeze clearing his muddled head. The sky is washed in a pink and blue haze, the sun cresting the more mountainous region of the city behind you to bathe the city in solid gold.

“There,” you breathe, letting out a little sigh.

“What?” All he can see is a few birds passing over the vista of crowded advertisements and neon.

“Do you see the light?” you ask.

“There's tons of lights–” he begins, cut short by the blinding catch of the sun's reflection on one of the characters, then another. He spells it out slowly, guided by your hand holding his to each one.

The bank: Sa.

The next building over, also burning brighter with the touch of the sun: Rang.

Then an advertisement that has been up long enough most of the original message is lost. Hae.

“How did you find this?” he asks, knowing it would be impossible for him to have ever seen this without knowing the trick of the light.

“I didn't find it. Well I did–I had to search some buildings for it.”

Later he'll find out you climbed close to fifty flights of stairs in the last two months, had spent every waking moment not working or in school breaking into buildings before sunrise to find that exact spot, forever amused at the thought you hadn’t checked his family's flagship hotel first.

“You don't remember getting the same message from someone else?” you ask. “I was worried you wouldn't come, again.”

Again. Something tugs the memory up from the oubliette he'd locked it into, Mona teasing him about sleeping in and missing their appointment.

Mona.

His stomach falls, checking back behind him at the door as if that particular ghost will return to haunt him.

“She's not here. I wasn't trying to set you up,” you say, recognizing the dismay he can't hide. “Honestly. And I know whatever closure you find is yours and yours alone. You were right about that, too, I'm sorry.”

You twist your hands in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety. “I did this for me. Because I wanted to know what she tried to tell you, even if she couldn't say it aloud.”

You don't look at him, can't in order to continue. Doyoung feels like a live wire, exposed, two months of painful loneliness and a lifetime's worth of avoidance of this fact all surging through him in this moment.

As much as he would prefer to leave he's not going to run like he did back then, when he'd ignored the hard parts to pretend like a friendship wasn't something more. Not with the stakes of losing this one.

“You once told me you were just friends, even if you couldn't be one anymore for her after you realized you loved her. How it broke you to be with someone you couldn't be with, who wanted something different.”

“Now you know. She didn't want to stay one, either,” you say. You look up at him nervously, regaining your confidence.

“I just wanted you to know that you were loved, Kim Doyoung. You still are.”

You turn away towards the door, pretending not to have seen the tears dripping down his face under his glasses. He ignores them, too, not knowing what to say or do to make sure you never leave him again.

The spot never mattered to him, the word and it's confession forgotten in time. What changed that day was having you in front of him after so long, the way you were a reflection of him so many years ago, fighting to be by the side of someone who didn't know how to love you back, the right way.

He'd promised himself than that even if he couldn't say it, he'd show you.

“Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for interfering with your life, but that’s what friends do.”

You'd almost made it to the stairs when he'd wrapped around you from behind, the first ever time he'd held you in an embrace, unsurprised to find you shaking like a leaf as he rested a wet cheek against your hair.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.”

You relax a little, squeezing his hand. In that small gesture everything is reset, everything is okay again. They won't talk about this for the next few years, even when Jungwoo asks how you'd come back into their lives so suddenly and without any indication that things had changed.

But they had. Deeply.

“You can make it up to me by buying me breakfast,” you say, smiling up at him, wiping his cheek with your sleeve. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Did I win?” you ask.

Doyoung can only laugh, giddy, as you burrow into his side to smother him in kisses and teasing. You were put on this earth to challenge him, after all–always right there to match him in stubbornness and competition.

He presses his nose to your neck, inhaling the remnants of the scent you'd made together, one bottle for each, though you didn't have to know his formula was just a bit different.

“‘Tomorrow Morning’ has a nice ring to it, I suppose. It lingers well.”

“It was my answer, actually. I needed to see if I could break Saint Kim's vow of romantic abstinence before I made up my mind,” you say, smug as you move to get up. “Glad you were able to find out before your time was–”

You shriek as he pulls you down again, pinning you to the bed.

“I still have a few hours,” he says, voice dangerous. “I'd like to hear you say it again.”

#kim doyoung x reader #kim doyoung fic #kim doyoung smut #nct smut #doyoung x reader #doyoung smut #doyoung fic #nct x reader #nct fic #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct djj fic #nct dojaejung fic #nct djj smut #nct dojaejung smut #nct f4 au

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tarotwithdanise · 1 year

Text

PICK-A-CARD : THE ROMANTIC TROPE BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE (LOVER)

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ sections ✧ . ˚

1. Your romance trope with them.

2. Their love language and how they'll express it.

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ how to choose pile? ✧ . ˚

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

1 - 2 - 3

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

1. Just a quick disclaimer : This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. This is obviously a general reading so takes what will resonates and leave those doesn’t, you don’t need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment - just to say it doesn’t resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious! I don’t own any these pictures i collected them from pinterest so credits to the rightful owners.

2. Please ignore any grammatical errors with my reading since english is not my first language, thank you for understanding!

3. Third to the last one, if you are not an avid fan of this kind of readings and not totally 100% agree about the outcome of this pac please just ignore this post and don’t engaged anymore, this pac can contains harsh, hurtful comments about you or the other person that can trigger you if possible, so kindly read at your own risk and take how it’ll resonates.

4. Lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that’s me, lol :3)

for tips, donation, masterlist and paid readings ☆

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SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , I don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and the reading itself belong to me. I use the editor tools canva and ibispaint for the header and divider. If saved/downloaded the divider use a proper credits and tag/mention along my acc @tarotwithdanise.

PILE ONE

1. Your romance trope with them.

cards : ten of wands,the magician,ace of wands,knight of swords,six of cups,magnetism,freedom and proposal.

possible romantic tropes : childhood sweetheart, lady and a knight and friendship to lovers.

prompt : person a helping person b to work with themselves then turn out both of them fallen in love with each other.

Whoops, this romantic trope is like a lady or princess and knight, just take which part are you between the two. I don't know but this spread is giving me a book story of that trope, a knight and a lady and/or childhood sweetheart's. Since in the very beginning we got the 10oW, this card is talks about burden. Before meeting your future spouse (lover), you will experience a lot of stress, overload responsibilities and problems with your life and then boom in out blue this person appear in your life or you'll meet this person (knight of swords) in the midst of all these problems and stress situation. I do see here that you are not really into love? before you actually gonna meet this person because you set these goals in your mind that you have to work with yourself first and then this person shakes things up and suddenly you felt the butterflies in your stomach. This love story is like already written down by the stars and the universe is the one that is in charge to make it come true. It seems like with them, with their love or their presence you'll feel being freedom and away from your own problems. This person is like a daily dose of serotinin to you.

It's like you'll mirror each other's love and each other's personality even though some of your qualities doesn't match with them at all. Both of you will find each other's as attractive individual. With them, you will feel the freedom that you want for yourself because you might felt this burden since you were a child (ToW and SoC), as well being with them, you are able to pass any obstacles whether if it's big or small. With them by your side, you will be able to conquer all obstacles that may come on your way in lifetime. It may also mean that a big change is coming in your relationship life when you meet them and this shift may require some bravery and work on your part to push this connection through. You are about to set boundaries for yourself, accepting what is, and fighting for what you feel and what you deserve is the key to open this new door.

I see that the proposal with this person will be grand. With the magician card being present here, I can say that this is giving off the energy of Wattpad or Fairy tale stories, this is a life changing connection, the love story you ever wanted and dream of. But i understand if someone here doesn't agree with this kind of love story since no relationship is perfect, no relationship is perfect - so be careful to not be manipulated with this person and don't just fall easily under their spell and with their charisma, always listen to what is your intuition saying to you. However this is a whirlwind romance that feels like a fairy tale. That makes you scream ‘‘It's happening to me now and i am the main character and not just a reader or watcher’’. This is someone who usually smooth and charming and can totally sweeps your feet off. This is true magical romance trope that feels like fictional. If it hasn't to you yet, well soon it will. However as i said, no love story is perfect there's still times that this relationship will be tested by the Universe.

2. Their love language and how they'll express it.

Their love language is about quality of time, gift giving and words of affirmation . This couple is giving me a vibes of an old soul that always belonged to each other no matter how many times they being reincarnated in many lives. Your future spouse is gonna fulfill your desired when it comes to love and intimacy, they want you to feel complete when they're around. This person love language feels like more into emotional and physical support. And so, they will know their obligations when it comes to you. Probably they want to build a solid foundation with you, a long lasting marriage life is coming out here. They probably from a rich family, someone who considered rich in their country or in your country. With you, they usually gonna enjoy the life's pleasures - having good foods and drinks. They will teach you how to cherish every moment in life and enjoy it while living.

surprise and leave a small tip to your favorite tarot reader here.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

song from my shuffle playlist. ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

PILE TWO

1. Your romance trope with them

cards : seven of wands, four of wands, ten of swords, justice, nine of cups, fearless love, heart-to-heart conversation, last love.

possible romantic tropes : arranged marriage, blackmail things, fake relationship.

prompt : a two highschool students that develops likings into each other. Fell in love and out suddenly because of the responsibility and being too young. Redemption and spark going lit again, when they sees each other after a very long time.

There's a strong cardigan song vibes by Taylor Swift is outta here, especially the line where ‘‘you drew stars around my scars’’. It's feels like you two are too young for love and t get into the next level of commitment. I see here, a redemption of this love story. Falling apart to grow individually and then bringing back again to lit the love that have been started since they are young. Otherwise, if you already finished school you probably gonna break each other's heart. It will not be easy for the two of you. Other than that, I see an objections from family? They won't agree with this relationship. This is probably gonna hurt you so bad.

Your family or their family is probably thinking that this relationship is against the law? They just can't accept this connection and love that is growing between this two people. Maybe because you two have differences between each other and/or probably you two are belong to the same gender.

Typically challenges make this relationship go stronger and wilder. I see a strong interest with this two people. It's not just you and it's also them. If you are manifesting this type of person, there's like 70% that this probably might happen. You like to discuss your feelings, love and care with so much purity and truth with this person. You don't have to be afraid because this love is about taking a leap of faith, you will be tested about how you really love each other. In the end, this is your true love no matter how many hard phases you two will go through like a dramatic love story you might be watching online or in TV's.

2. Their love language and how they'll express it.

I only get gift giving and physical touch here. They probably buy you a lot of material things that you hold and cherished memories forever. Their small gifts makes you feel loved by them. They like to kiss you on your forehead and eyes, they think that's sweet and lovely. They're also type of people who will bought a flower on a store to give it to you in a special occasion. Their love language will make you as if you are their major priority in their life. If you are struggling with money, they probably gonna help you with that case.

surprise and leave a small tip to your favorite tarot reader here.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

song from my shuffle playlist. ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

PILE THREE

*For few people who were attracted to pile one, I'm here to remind you that you can read that as well.

cards : eight of pentacles, the magician, four of swords, page of pentacles, king of swords, ace of cups, responsibilities, falling in love, wedding.

possible romantic trope : enemies to lovers, love at first sight and arranged marriage.

prompt : it's a romantic suspense story about taking charge of the two people responsibilities.

There's a lot of hardwork with this two protagonist. Perhaps that there's a high chances that you and your partner might be an arranged marriage. The masculine energy here is the one who will sacrifice and do all the things to make this relationship work and to make this other person fall in love with them. They are the one who will offer the love to another person. They're the one who probably head offer heals ; love at first sight in general if I'm gonna describe it.

Even though you told this person to stop, they will work more harder. They don't want to stop, they want to be the one. This love story is belong with those type of stories you frequently sees on TV's, this is a life-changing love. This is a whirlwind romance like pile one. The one that will fulfill your cup with love and care you are longing for. Your future spouse (lover) is a dominant individual - they can be working in the field of law or writer. They might be good with the subject mathematics as well or anything related to math but I can't totally say that they'll a human calculator, this is probably type of person who is a fast learner.

With your married life, you two are very responsible. It's seems you are aware what you need to do or what job you should do with this marriage. There's so much respect and faithfulness with this two people which I really love.

2. Their love language and how they'll express it.

Their love language is quality of time and act of service. You two probably like to stargazing while lying down in a green grass or in a roof or walking in shore while holding hands, this is a beautiful moment (hope it you will totally experience this). Well, in your marriage life I do see here that the other person can't go to bed without the other person like they always go to bed at the same time. Also, you two like to massage each other's and they're probably the one that will get up first in bed to make you a breakfast. They will make/buy you, your favorite sweet treats.

surprise and leave a small tip to your favorite tarot reader here.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

song from my shuffle playlist. ♡

Made with love, Danise.

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kmprint · 1 year

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💗🎀 ‎‎‎‎꒰ jikoo x my melody and kuromi headers !- ꒱

all of them were made by me !! pls give me credits if you use them here <3 don’t repost them on pinterest :(

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bbybluemochi · 9 months

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bbybluemochi's F.A.Q. ✧･ﾟ

Hi! Arun here! I thought that instead of answering your submissions one by one I’d gather all the frequently asked questions and answer them in a single post (this is a mix of art/OC/commissions related q's)!

Please note that I do read all your messages and I’m so grateful for every one of them!!!! I keep all your words really close to my heart, thank you for liking my art and loving my Ocs as much as I do, it means the world to me <3

What’s the name of your OCs?

They’re called Cotton (the blonde one) and Puppy (the dark haired one). The original idea for them was to make some silly wolf/bunny OCs (that’s why Cotton is called like that, it was supposed to be a joke about her tail…) but somewhere along the way they took over and became something completely different!

Is there a webcomic for your OCs?

Not currently! I don’t have the time or the skills (for now) but I’d love to give it a try in the future!

I was wondering if you mind people using your OC art as character art/inspiration for DnD?Just games with friends that are for fun, nothing for commercial.

Go ahead! I find that really flattering.

Just out of curiosity, are any of your OCs bisexual?

Both Cotton and Puppy are lesbians. That’s what I feel comfortable drawing since I’m a lesbian myself. If I ever do draw a bisexual OC I’ll make sure to mention it! <3

I think you said Cotton was a dominatrix in a previous ask, but is Puppy on the opposite side of the spectrum or is she just glad to be there whichever way?

Puppy is very much a sub. They both switch (Puppy as a service top and bottom and Cotton as a top and power bottom), but the dom/sub dynamic never changes. Also I wanted to mention that these dynamics do not transcend outside of the bedroom that much, there’s more to them than their kinks but I do love to draw them deep in their submissive/dominant headspaces.

Are one of the lesbian fairytale characters trans?

I didn’t design either of them with that in mind, but I’m super OK with people headcanoning them as trans!

May I use your art as a header/icon?

Of course! Remember to credit me tho~

Do you allow people to use your art freely?

I don’t allow reposts of my work (not that it matters that much, since almost all my art has been already reposted a million times ))): but I’d really appreciate it if you just shared my posts instead of reposting my art). As for phone backgrounds/wallpapers or stuff like that, yeah!

Do you have an instagram account or other social media, I would love to follow you there.

My main platform is twitter (same @), I post all my drawings there and I’m usually more active over there. Tumblr is kind of like an archive. I really like the community here but I find it easier to reply/interact with people on twitter! As for instagram, I do have an old art account (same @, again) but I haven’t posted in so long. I may start posting there soon if a certain rich guy decides to keep destroying the bird app tho.

I’ve always thought about this… how do you think it’d look if the aesthetics/styles [of your OCs] were reversed?

I’ll have to explore that in a future drawing, I haven’t thought much about it!

Do you write fics for your characters or has anyone else written fics about them?

Not yet! A couple of my friends have offered, tho! I usually like to stick to drawing because that’s what I do best, I don’t wanna subject anyone to my writing (it’s not very good,,,,). When I share some of my Ocs stories, I think it will be in comic format.

What's the story behind your OCs?

There are several, actually!! I like to put my OCs in different universes. As for now, there’s the Fairytale AU, the modern setting AU (this is the original one), and now the Werewolf/Vampire AU. I also did a drawing of them as spiderwoman and black cat but I don’t think that AU is gonna make a comeback for a while. I’m also planning a scifi AU but I’m not sure I’d be able to pull off that aesthetic with my current art style so I’m still working on it.

The Fairytale AU is the one I’m working on most of the time. I wanna release a small artbook with their story + illustrations. That was my main goal for 2023 but life got in the way, so maybe,,, 2024??? *crosses fingers*

Is your shop down? It’s saying that it’s not available.

I open my shop for 1-2 weeks every now and then, that’s why it’s closed most of the time! My plan is to open the store again in september, if i manage to finish all the merch in time! I’ll announce it on my twitter and tumblr account when I do.

Would you ever share a tutorial on how you make your art?

Yes, of course! I’m not very good at explaining my drawing process but If it helps anyone I’d love to! Just let me know what part of the drawing process you’d like me to focus on, because If i try to make a full illustration tutorial it’s gonna be too long/difficult to follow.

May I ask what brush do you use for your lineart?

I use a different brush almost every time I start an illustration, I’m not very consistent when it comes to that (I think it’s mainly because I haven’t found the perfect brush yet!). But let me know what illustration you’re curious about and I’ll try to remember which one I used!

Do you come up with poses off the top of your head or do you use some type of reference? I always struggle with them.

It depends on what I’m drawing! Some of my drawings are reinterpretations of paintings (I’m obsessed with pre-raphaelite painters and arthurian legend paintings in general), so in those cases I try to adapt the poses to my art style. Even If I’m trying to recreate an already existing painting I end up changing the poses/proportions a lot along the way to fit my personal taste/art style.

Other times, I just sketch from imagination (this is more entertaining, I think, since looking at references can make the drawing process a bit tedious). If I find it hard to draw a certain pose/part of the body I will look up references on printerest, no shame in using pictures! If I still can’t find the pose I need I’ll just take a picture of myself (this is like, a last resort for me. I’m too lazy for this).

My personal advice would be to use references for the pose and then tweaking the pose and trying to make it more personal

I love the way the armor was designed and rendered! Can you share some tips on designing armor?

Drawing armor is something I still struggle with most of the time. I think I’ve learned a lot in the past year (please don’t look at my armor drawings from 2022,,,,, sigh) but I still struggle to draw certain poses/angles. My advice is: don’t hesitate to draw non-functional armor!!! There’s always gonna be someone like “actually, that armour makes no sense :)” well !!!! it looks cool as hell so who caresssss !!!!!

I think it’s more important for you to get comfortable drawing armor before you start beating yourself up for not drawing accurate ones. It takes a lot of practice (I’m still learning!!!), especially if you’re trying to draw historically accurate ones, so start by having fun, and then work your way up from there.

Most of the tips I can think about are really hard to explain without a visual example, so let me know if that’d be a tutorial you would be interested in and I’ll try to make one (I’m cringing a little just saying this bc I swear, my armor skills are so bad compared to some amazing artists out there………..).

Do you allow cosplays your OCs?

YES…. YES PLEASE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM BEGGING YOUUU ILL LOVE YOU FOREVER !!!!!! *rattles my cage*

Do you allow fanart of your OCs?

Again,,, PLEASEEEEEEEEE !!! Just tag me so I don’t miss it and remember to give me credits if you do !!!!!!!!!!! :D

I was wondering if you use procreate , clip studio, or similar apps?

A mix of both. I used to draw on procreate only until I got a tablet and now I’m a clip studio user (csp sponsor me please), and now that’s all I use. I’m so used to drawing on PC now that I don’t think I’d be able to go back to procreate, but I still like that app a lot! All my drawings (even the ones I do on csp) always get retouched on procreate because I like some of the effects (*dreamy sigh* chromatic aberration filter,,, love u).

I wanted to know if the marks Cotton has on her waist are tattoos or like a scar?

Those are tats! Puppy is a tattoo artist ~~~ (I’m actually not sure if i’ll keep the waist tats on Cotton or if I’ll end up redesigning them,,,)

I was wondering if you take commissions?

Not right now. I also don’t have any plans of opening commissions any time soon! When I do, I’ll post a google forms on twitter and here on tumblr with the prices and type of comms I do. But there’s nothing scheduled.

Even tho I'm not doing commissions atm, I’m currently looking for illustration jobs (specially book covers), so don’t hesitate to email me at [email protected]

That's all for now, thank you for reading!! I think I covered most of the questions, I'll make another q&a post in the future! Bye~~

#frequently asked questions #faq #ask

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poeticore · 3 months

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hi, could you please help to find a header that match this pic?😞 thank you in advance!

hi sweet heart🫶🏻, I hope these are useful to you and you like them a lot, thank you for your question! 🩶

headers by me. don't repost.

𖹭 divider made by me 𖹭. dar créditos si se usa. / give credits if used.

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horanghaejamjam · 2 years

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Horanghae Chapter 1

Summary: Everyone knows that Soonyoung loves tigers. The term Horanghae literally means “I tiger you”. Needless to say, the Seventeen members shouldn’t have been as surprised as they were the night he came home with a very timid white tiger curled against him.

Pairing: Hoshi-centric, Seventeen x White Tiger hybrid reader.

Chapter Rating: PG

Genre: Fluff, Very slight angst

Word Count: 6.6k

Chapter Warnings: Very brief mentions of abandonment/neglect and hybrid trafficking.

Note: In this story it is implied that reader is younger than Hoshi and most of the members but older than the three maknaes. Korean age is still a bit confusing to me tbh because math so if I got it wrong please lmk.

Disclaimer: This is a repost from my original blog, this is my own original work and not copied. Images used in header are not mine. All written work is 100% my own, editors and beta readers will be credited as needed. Do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other sites without my permission.

Previous (Teaser) . . . Next Chapter

Horanghae Masterlist

The sound of rain echoed against the cold pavement and the roof of a convenience store that did very little to shield you from the assault of water droplets. What started off as gentle rain had quickly escalated to a full on downpour with no warning to let you find shelter. Now you were trapped hiding against the wall of a convenience store, curled up and using your paw to shield your eyes from the rain. It was late and very few people were out at this time, and those who were didn’t pay much interest to the white and black ball of fur slowly getting drenched by the rain. With no one to help, you just had to wait it out or try to find another place to sleep without getting caught by traffickers.

You were a young white tiger hybrid, your genetics and coloration of your fur making you a very rare and expensive breed. “Wild” hybrid species were already considered more of a luxury as they were often harder to care for than their domestic counterparts, but ones with special traits could be worth a fortune to the right buyer. You had known this since the moment you were old enough to be sent to your first home. Having gone through many in such a short span before finally ending up a stray, living on the streets after being thrown out from your last home.

You never knew why your owners never seemed to want you for too long before giving you up again. You always tried to be on your best behavior and make things easy for them. You always did what you were told, didn’t cause trouble, kept to yourself, and you were as docile as physically possible. Despite the fact you were a tiger, you were fairly small for your species so it wasn’t like you could do much anyways. However, no matter what you did, you always ended up back at the shelter or, in your current case, on the street.

As much of a luxury as wild hybrids could be, a lot of people also avoided them, especially common predators. They were always stereotyped as “dangerous” or “too hard to train” so people only ever got them when they wanted a guard. In instances such as yours, if the hybrid wasn’t protective, they were often thrown out and replaced. Then there were the ones that decided to give them a shot and panicked the second the smallest growl came from them. Lastly, in the case of your most recent owner, they had adopted you as a “trophy” then got annoyed when you became too much work. Then before you knew it a simple trip to the store had resulted in you watching sadly in the parking lot as they waved goodbye and drove away. That had been almost a week ago and you had given up on finding your forever home. You sold your collar and used the money to buy food then wandered around in tiger form aimlessly until someone took enough pity on you to spare you a few scraps or a water bottle. You also had to dodge shelters a few times after concerned callers tried to get you a place to stay.

It’s not that you wanted to stay on the streets for the rest of your life, but you were scared about finding another home. Since you were a cub your life had been miserable so who wasn’t to say that would be the case for your next home. By now you weren’t going to get your hopes up that your savior would come for you.

A soft sigh left you as you shivered and curled up further, your tail curling around your back paw comfortingly. By now you were soaked and your fur was no longer providing warmth as you began to shiver as an effect of the storm. There was no way you would be finding sleep any time soon so all you could do was hope the rain would let up soon. As you shivered for the millionth time, you tuned in to the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Your ears perked up and you were about to open your eyes when you felt something soft and warm draped over you.

“Hey there little one are you okay?” opening your eyes you found dark brown ones staring right back at you. His brows furrowed in concern, lips puffed into a pout, and his hair was slowly falling into his face as the rain drenched it. He was only in a thin white shirt as his jacket was now thrown over your back to try to shield you from the rain and drenching him in return. You wanted to shy away from him but something about his warm gaze and caring act made you feel warm and safe. All you could do was chuff softly and rest your paw on his leg. He chuckled softly at this and gently reached out to pet your head. You flinched away at first which made him pull back before moving slower to pet behind your ears. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out in a storm like this?” he cooed. It was kind of endearing how sweet he was, cooing and petting you like you were the most precious thing in the world and it made you giddy. You couldn’t help but shuffle a bit closer and lean into his hand.

“My name is Soonyoung,” he introduced, moving his hand to rub the top of your head, “do you have a name?” It took a few minutes of silence and you blinking up at him for him to giggle nervously, “Oh right, you can’t talk as a tiger can you?” He hummed in thought for a second before perking up and moving his hand, “How about this, I ask you yes or no questions and you can either nod your head or tap my leg with your paw okay? One tap for yes and two taps for no, sound good?” After a second you slowly lifted your head and nodded it gently. Soonyoung smiled wider and clapped his hands eagerly. It seemed that he didn’t care about the fact he was now drenched from the rain, more eager to talk to you.

“Okay, so this is an awkward question but are you a girl?” you huffed as if trying not to laugh before nodding your head, making Soonyoung sigh in relief. “I thought so but wanted to make sure, are you stuck out here?” you nodded again, “are you cold?” Kind of an obvious question but you nodded again, shaking your head after just enough to shake some of the water from your fur. “What am I saying of course you’re cold,” Soonyoung mumbled, “I’m assuming that if you’re stuck out here in the rain you don’t have anywhere to go right? Would you like to come home with me? We can dry you off, get you something to eat and give you a warm place to sleep.” This time you froze, as nice as his offer sounded you were scared. Yeah Soonyoung seemed nice but they all did, you didn’t think you could handle being abandoned again. Soonyoung could sense your hesitation and began to panic thinking maybe he misunderstood or came off too strong.

“Oh I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry,” he pouted and slowly began to move away from you and stand up so he wouldn’t make things worse. The second his warmth left you, you found yourself craving his affection even more. The thought of him leaving you alone made you anxious so you quickly stood up before he could think about leaving. Shaking as much water off your body as possible, and his jacket in the process, you walked over to him and nuzzled your head against his leg. Soonyoung couldn’t help but laugh at your adorable action as he bent down to pick up his jacket. Not that putting it on would do much as both of you were dripping even now that the rain was calming down. “I’ll take that as a yes then? Alright little one follow me, home is only a few blocks away,” he took two steps before pausing and looking down at you, “oh, I should probably also tell you now that I’m an idol and live with my members so you may or may not get crowded when we get there.” You honestly weren’t quite sure what he meant by being an idol but decided to prepare yourself for more people anyways. More than anything, you were just thankful to have a place to sleep that wasn’t a thrown out mattress.

It was nearly three am by the time you guys reached the dorm and by now the other members of Seventeen were starting to panic a bit. Soonyoung had been a bit restless from not working and had decided to go out for a bit of a late walk since he knew no one would be out at this time to bother him. However, that had been hours ago and before it had started to rain. The storm combined with the fact he wasn’t answering his phone would worry just about anyone.

They tried their best to be patient, hoping maybe he found a place to hide from the rain and his phone died which is why he didn’t answer. It made sense logically, but they were idols and you never knew what trouble they could get into if the wrong person recognized them. They waited a little bit longer before Seungcheol stood up and went to grab his jacket. Soonyoung couldn’t have gone tool far and he wasn’t answering his phone so the only logical choice was to go out and look for him.

“I swear if he just got lost or something I may kill him,” the oldest mumbled as he bent over to put his shoes on. Jihoon, Seokmin, and Joshua also making their way over to the door to join him after a moment. Might as well go in a group to cover more ground and make sure that they didn’t accidentally lose another member in the process.

“If we’re not back in like half an hour we probably ended up dead somewhere,” Jihoon muttered, resulting in Josh glaring at him and nudging his shoulder. There was a mixed sound of confirmation and a few giggles from the others

Just as the group was about to head out and search for their missing member the door opened to reveal a soaking wet Soonyoung. He barely even managed to get his shoes off and step into the room with you before there were at least eight boys surrounding the two of you. The sudden attention made you whimper and cower further behind him. You didn’t know what you had expected when he told you he lived with his group members but you hadn’t expected so many people.

Seungcheol was the first to be alerted to your presence, taking a step back and glancing at you before back at his groupmate.

“Uhm Soonyoung, what is that?” he asked, alerting the others who were now trying to get around him to look at you. Another pained sound followed by a soft growl left your throat in response, causing a few of the boys to jump back. Soonyoung only smiled as he kneeled down to your height, scratching the top of your head affectionately. The action made you relax a bit but you still stayed tensed up beside him.

“Oh yeah, I found her on the street while on my way home, isn’t she adorable?” he asked. Soonyoung moved his hands to grip your head and rub his cheek against you affectionately like a child. It was cute and tickled meaning you probably would have laughed if not in your tiger form but you settled for nuzzling against him in response. Hushed whispers filled the room for a moment as the other members of Seventeen tried to process what they were seeing. On one hand they were thankful he didn’t get in to trouble, but he made them worry over nothing and now they had to deal with a random tiger hybrid that he dragged home with him.

“You’re telling me you came home late and gave us all a panic attack because you decided to steal a tiger off the street?” Seungcheol asked, staring at you as if you were some alien creature. Soonyoung huffed a bit and let go of you to glare up at his leader.

“I didn’t steal her, I rescued her! It was storming outside and she was alone trying to hide. I couldn’t just leave her there!” A bunch of the others shook their head and you gradually tried to sneak back to the door. As if being in a room with 13 strangers wasn’t intimidating enough, you got the feeling you weren’t welcome there.

“Hyung she’s a white tiger,” Jihoon pointed out, “there’s no way a hybrid that rare is running around freely. She probably has an owner looking for her.” Soonyoung pouted and was about to say something when Joshua cut him off.

“She doesn’t have a collar though, so that may imply she’s a stray,” he got a bit closer to try and inspect you. Kneeling down and keeping a safe distance to not scare you more as he tried to find any signs that would imply you had a home to go to.

“A stray as rare as her, in an area like this?” Jihoon argued back.

“Stray or not it’s not like I could just leave her out there,” Soonyoung spoke up, hugging you close to him, “look at her, she’s wet and shivering.”

“Poor things probably terrified since you dragged her to an unknown place with 13 strangers,” Wonwoo spoke up. This pretty much got all of the members talking over each other as they tried to figure out what to do. Basically dividing the dorm in half as some supported Soonyoung and others argued having you here was a bad idea. It was clear by now this arguing was getting nowhere and Soonyoung clearly wasn’t planning on letting you go. Seungcheol realized this and sighed, shaking his head as he tried to think of a compromise.

“Fine, how about this, she can stay with us for tonight but first thing tomorrow morning we’re going out to see if we can find her owner, deal?” Soonyoung glanced at you as he thought about it, rubbing your head again as he nodded.

“But if she doesn’t have anywhere to go can we keep her?” he asked, or more like pleaded.

“We don’t have the time or room to take care of a-” Seungcheol cut himself up when he saw Soonyoung, and possibly you, looking up at him with a begging expression, “we’ll talk about it.” Soonyoung lit up like a little kid before giggling and hugging you close to him.

“Come on Kitty, let's get you clean and dry! You can sleep in my room with me!” The other members didn’t get a chance to say anything before he was bounding down the hall to his room. Not knowing any of the others and not wanting to be left alone from your savor you quickly ran after him, catching up in a few steps. Meanwhile the rest of Seventeen was staring silently at the spot you had just been in, processing the rather theatrical scene that had just played out in front of them. They would deal with it in the morning though, all too tired to even think about explaining this whole thing.

The first thing you noticed as you followed Soonyoung was that the building he lived in was huge, possibly bigger than your previous homes. You supposed that made sense given he lived with twelve other guys but you had no idea how you were going to manage getting around without getting lost. That was of course with the hope that you would get to stay with him. You didn’t have anywhere else to go and, while you didn’t want to end up back on the street, you would run away before ending up at the shelter again. Besides, you really liked Soonyoung, something about him was comforting. He was nothing like your last owners, he actually seemed to care about you as a companion.

You followed Soonyoung for what felt like forever until he stopped at a door towards the back of the hall. He opened it and stepped inside, leaving you to stare at him through the door before he returned with a towel and change of clothes in his arms.

“This is my room,” he said as he motioned with his head to the room behind him. He led you two doors down before opening the next door to reveal the bathroom. It wasn’t overly luxurious or anything, but it was quite spacious and fairly clean which was nice. You cautiously followed him inside and he closed the door before setting everything down on the edge of the bathtub. “I don’t really know what size you are so hopefully these clothes fit you,” he said with a nervous giggle, “assuming you don’t want to stay in tiger form all night of course.” He scratched behind your ears for a second before nodding and pulling the shower curtain back so he could show you where everything was. “All the products in the corner are mine so feel free to use whatever you need. I don’t have any spare toothbrushes or anything but if you want to use my hairbrush or anything I’ll place that on the sink. I’ll be just down the hall in my room so just come back there when you’re done okay?” You glanced around for a moment before gently nodding which made him smile, rubbing your head one last time he gently left the bathroom. You can hear him hover around the door for a moment before leaving which was your cue to move.

For the first time in forever you shifted out of your tiger form, the cold tile was a shock against your bare skin but you ignored it. The satisfying feeling of stretching your limbs out and popping all stiff joints was preferable. How long had it been since you had been in this form? It had to have been at least a week or two by now. Very slowly you rose to your feet, using the sink to hold yourself up as your legs were shaking a bit before getting your balance and walking over to the door, locking it and stepping back to glance at yourself in the mirror. Your skin was fairly clean as opposed to your fur which was soaked and clearly greasy as it flew in all directions. Your ears twitched and you tried to run a hand through your hair before shaking your head and moving to get in the shower before you took too long.

To say the shower had been heaven was an understatement. You were finally able to relax and wash away all the dirt from the streets. The hot water also helped relax your tense muscles and clear your mind. You quickly finished washing up and stepped out of the shower, paying special attention to drying your hair and tail off before wrapping the towel around yourself and walking over to the sink. The white in your hair and fur was now vibrant again rather than a muted off white color, and you were able to brush it out with little struggle. The now wet strands fell into your eyes a bit, making you wince from the splashes of water before you brushed them back. Your once bright blue eyes were now clouded over from the cold and exhaustion and you could tell you had gotten a bit thinner than usual but that wasn’t something you wanted to think about. At least for the night, you had a home and you were going to savor every last second you had with Soonyoung.

Making sure everything was left exactly how you found it, you folded the towel and changed into the clothes Soonyoung gave you. It took a few quick adjustments to get them to fit over your frame as he was clearly bigger than you were but they worked and were comfortable for the time being. The clothing swallowed your figure and his scent invaded your senses which made you giggle as you unconsciously snuggled against the collar of his shirt.

You were a bit nervous about stepping out now that you weren’t fully a tiger but you knew you couldn’t hide forever. You knew it would have been more awkward and you took up less space this way.

Unlocking the door, you stuck your head out to make sure the coast was clear before slipping out and making your way back to Soonyoungs room. Knocking softly on the door, you slowly stepped inside and looked around the room. Soonyoung was laying on the bed, having already changed into his pajamas and dried himself off. There was a pile of blankets, pillows, snacks, and water on the bed and he was laying down playing on his phone, glancing up when he heard the door. His eyes glanced over you for a moment before he smiled and bounced around on the bed a bit.

“Awwwe look at you, aren’t you just the sweetest thing!” he exclaimed, resisting the urge to run over and just squeeze you. All you could do was giggle shyly and look down as your tail swayed behind you. Soonyoung hummed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at you as if you were the cutest thing he had ever laid eyes on. It made you shy and you tried pulling the shirt over your face to hide your red cheeks. “Please don’t hide from me!” he pouted, “I’m sorry you’re just too adorable, I’ll stop okay?” He waited for you to relax, slowly pulling the shirt back down to look at him. Soonyoung nodded and shifted to the side, patting the bed, “Come sit with me, I won’t bite.” You hummed softly before walking over, taking a seat beside him with a fair amount of space between you. “Hungry?” Soonyoung asked as he shuffled through the pile of snacks he brought, “it’s too late to make anything but I grabbed as many snacks as I could so help yourself.” You look over at everything and smile as you reach for one of the snacks. You didn’t know why he was being so generous, but you were beyond grateful for it. If it wasn’t for him you’d probably still be soaked and freezing on the street.

“Thank you,” you muttered, voice coming out much weaker than you intended, “for everything.” He seemed taken aback to hear your voice but he quickly regained himself, chuckling at you softly.

“You don’t have to thank me, just relax, you had a pretty rough night.” He grabbed one of the snacks for himself and you two ate in silence for a bit before Soonyoung spoke up again, “I know you are probably tired but can I ask you a few things? It would probably be easier to talk about it now rather than in the morning with the others around.” You weren’t too exactly sure what he meant but figured he was talking about them crowding you again like earlier so you nodded softly. “Well first off, can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“It’s Y/N,” you answer softly.

“Cute, that suits you,” he cooed, “how old are you?”

“Ummm they always said my age in cat years so I’m not sure.”

“Okay well,” he hummed in thought for a moment, “what is your birthday?” You swore you could see him light up when you told him, “So that means you’re younger than I am!” When you glance at him confused he laughed a bit, “I’m 27.” You made a small ‘oh’ expression before nodding and focusing back on your snack, your ear twitching slightly. “Why were you out on the street? Don’t you have a home to go to?” he asked hesitantly, making you freeze. When you didn’t answer he began to worry that he had said something wrong. The sound of you sighing cut him off before he could express those concerns.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go. My last home kicked me out a few weeks ago and I didn’t want to end up back in a shelter so I just kind of wandered around until you found me,” your tail wrapped around you protectively as you spoke. Soonyoung was silent as he looked at you, pouting a bit as he didn’t know what to do. Cautiously he reached his arm out, pulling you into a hug when you didn’t shy away from his touch. You chuffed softly and nuzzled against him as he rubbed your arm gently.

“Why would anyone kick out such a precious hybrid?” Soonyoung thought out loud. When you didn’t respond he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Seungcheol is going to make us go to the shelter tomorrow to double check that you’re a stray. I’m sure once we talk to him and the others though that we’ll convince them to let you stay. It may be a bit tricky but we can work it out I’m sure!” He sounded so hopeful that you found yourself wanting to believe him, glancing up at him with wide eyes.

“Do you really think so?” you asked, just as hopeful.

“I know so!” he assured you, “if you want to stay with us of course, I promise we’ll give you a fun and loving home.” Your expression lit up and you couldn’t help but throw yourself at him in a tight hug.

“Thank you! Thank you! I would love that!” you squealed, hugging him tighter. Soonyoung chuckled,

“Of course, now it’s getting late so why don’t we go to bed? Are you comfortable sharing a bed with me?” though you didn’t really have to answer since cuddling against him was answer enough. You got into bed first, curling around the spare pillow he gave you as Soonyoung put everything aside and got the extra blanket before climbing into bed beside you. “Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered, scratching behind your ear softly.

“Goodnight Soonyoung.”

You were woken up suddenly the next morning with the sound of crashing from outside of the room. Startling and jumping up from your original spot curled up against Soonyoung. Clearly he was used to the noise as it was you jumping that woke him up rather than the commotion of his members. He slowly got up with a yawn, rubbing his eyes before looking over at you with a tired smile.

“Did they wake you up?” he asked, voice a bit thicker from sleep. When you nodded he shook his head with an airy laugh. “Sorry about that, we can get pretty crazy, and we’re on break right now so everyone has a lot of pent up energy.” You just blinked at him and yawned as you tried to wake up, watching Soonyoung as he got up. “You can stay in bed if you want, I can just bring you breakfast after I get ready?” You thought about it before shaking your head and slowly climbing out of bed. If there was even remotely a chance that you would get to live with these guys, you would have to get used to them. Soonyoung seemed a bit relieved when he saw you were willing to interact with his members. “Alright, I am going to get dressed real quick, you can stay in here or feel free to look around. I’m sure some of the members would want to meet you.” With that, he left the room with the door slightly cracked open.

You thought about it for a moment, pacing back and forth as you listened to the commotion outside. Being alone quickly got boring though and you took nervous steps towards the door, hesitating for a moment to calm your heart before stepping out and into the hall. You couldn’t see anyone immediately so you followed the sound of the commotion to the living area. You could hear some members in their rooms but didn’t want to bother them, tail tucking between your legs as you entered the living room.

Some of the members were on the couch watching a show that didn’t interest you in the slightest. It seems some of them were arguing over a phone which was the cause of the commotion as they were play fighting and running into things. You instinctively stepped back due to the commotion despite the fact that they were nowhere near you. A little bit away you could smell food and hear talking which told you there were more people in the kitchen. Suddenly the whole place felt crowded, making you whimper a bit and back away in hopes that none of them had seen you. Though it seems your sudden noise alerted the members to your presence, the commotion settling as they all turned to stare at you.

You bit at your lip and curled in a bit on yourself as they all stared at you, giving a sense of Deja vu from the night before. No one said anything as your awkward stare down with five males continued. A few of them mumbling things about you and what they were supposed to do now that you were here. Still, they never spoke to you and you suddenly felt strangely foreign and unwelcome. Deciding waiting for Soonyoung would be a better idea you quickly turned to run back to your room, only to freeze when you heard a voice.

“Guys stop staring, you’re scaring her!” turning back, you saw one of the more familiar faces from last night gently approach you. He had a soft smile and tried to make himself look as non threatening as possible, bending down a bit so you were both eye level. “Good morning,” he greeted softly, “I didn’t get to talk to you last night, my name is Joshua.” His voice and gentle aura helped you calm down and you smiled up at him shyly.

“I remember you, I’m Y/N,” some of the others seemed to perk up hearing you speak, trying to get closer but Joshua shooed them away.

“It’s nice to meet you! So Y/N, are you hungry at all? We were just about to finish breakfast so you can come help until Soonyoung is ready?” You nodded softly which made him smile. Joshua led you to the kitchen by hovering an arm over your shoulder, using his other hand to keep away the others who were still staring you down. “Ignore them,” he whispered once he sensed your discomfort, “they’re just being nosey.” You walked with him to the kitchen, the smell of food making your mouth water and your tail sway. You hadn’t had a proper meal in so long so the smell was heavenly. There were two others in the kitchen with you, both of them turning to glance at you for a moment while still focusing on what they were doing. At least they weren’t staring you down like everyone else.

“Here sit down,” Joshua urged as he pulled up a chair that allowed you to watch them without being in the way, “do you need water or anything?” You shook your head which made him laugh a bit, “You don’t talk very much do you?”

“She may just be shy, we can be pretty intimidating,” the one closest to him teased before looking at you, “I’m Mingyu by the way, the one over there is Jun-hyung.” Jun looked up long enough to smile at you but didn’t say anything. You muttered their names a bit under your breath in an attempt to remember them, though trying to recall the names of 13 people would probably give you quite a headache.

You watched them cook in silence, occasionally perking up to see what they were doing or when something smelled particularly good. The guys noticed and would laugh at your cute antics, occasionally muttering a soft “cute” or asking you questions to try to engage you. Jun also managed to sneak you a few tastes of meat as a “quality check” which annoyed Joshua a bit but he didn’t comment on it. Soonyoung appeared right when they were getting everything ready to serve. Immediately he made his way over to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“There you are Y/N, I was wondering where you ran off to,” he said. You giggled and made a low humming noise as he scratched at your head.

“Don’t worry she was keeping us company,” Joshua assured, the others nodding. You couldn’t see Soonyoungs expression but he was smiling wider than humanly possible that you were getting along with some of the members. If they liked you, then maybe they would let you stay. That was the plan at least.

Breakfast was awkward though as all of the members began piling into the kitchen. Feeling crowded, you stayed hidden behind Soonyoung the entire time. You clung to him like your life depended on it, occasionally peeking over his shoulder or reaching around to grab food before retreating to hide behind him again. Any time one of them tried to talk to you, you could only answer with short answers or not at all due to nerves. Soonyoung and Joshua tried to direct some of the attention off of you to make you more comfortable but it only did so much. On the bright side, you were slowly beginning to learn who the rest of the guys were, taking notes of certain features to try and memorize who was who. It was after everyone had cleaned up and left to do their own thing that Seungcheol approached you and Soonyoung.

“I hate to bring things down, but we should probably start heading to the shelter,” he said, albeit a bit cautiously. Both of you visibly deflated which caused him to sigh, “Remember what we talked about last night, either way we would need to go and you know that.” Soonyoung sighed and nodded, trying to stand up only for you to latch onto his arm. You didn’t want to go to the shelter, you wanted to stay. What if they decided that they didn’t want you and left you there? The thought made you tear up a bit as you clung to him.

“Do we really have to go?” you pleaded, “I don’t want to go back to the shelter, I want to stay with you!” Soonyoung frowned and softened at your actions, gently shaking you off his arm before hugging you gently. Seungcheol stayed quiet and stared at you both awkwardly, not knowing how to feel about this whole thing. Of course he felt bad for you seeing how attached you seem to be already, and he had told Soonyoung they’d think about adopting you. However they were idols and could barely take care of themselves at times. In the rare chance that you were a stray, how were they supposed to manage you living with them? Financial and time factors set aside, you would have to learn to get along with 13 housemates with different personalities. There was no way that would be a good idea.

“It’ll be quick Kitty I promise,” Soonyoung assured, shushing you and petting your hair to calm you down. Seungcheol sighed and glanced out the window before returning his attention back to the two of you. Why did this have to be so complicated?

“We just need to make sure you’re alright,” he assured, smiling at you softly. That seemed to convince you and you nodded softly. Keeping a grip on Soonyoungs hand, you followed the two of them out of the dorm and out to the waiting car.

Stepping into the shelter gave you major flashbacks, shrinking behind both males as you approached the counter. A bit of talking and a few questions for Soonyoung and you were reluctantly being led into the back where the hybrid rooms were. You were directed into the closest one, taking a seat on the freshly made cot and staring at the wall as you were examined. “Alright, I just need to ask you a few questions and we’ll be done, okay?” the shelter tech asked. You nodded softly, not taking your attention off the wall as you answered to the best of your abilities.

The whole chair was basically shaking with Soonyoung as he bounced his leg impatiently. Seungcheol was beside him and trying to distract him with small talk but gave up and decided to play on his phone instead. Every what-if question was running through Soonyoungs head as he tried to prepare for the worst case scenario while also hoping for the best.

The younger practically leaped out of his seat when the tech walked into the room, bowing softly to them both before taking a seat at the desk.

“You guys are here regarding Y/N correct?” they asked, humming when the males nodded, “were you interested in a potential adoption or just surrendering her to us?”

“Adoption!” Soonyoung perked up before Seungcheol could say anything, causing the older to groan. The tech gave them a confused look before continuing.

“Well if you are interested in an adoption it is possible. Our records indicate her last home surrendered ownership a few weeks ago. As the one who rescued her you would have the rights of ownership first, you would just have to fill out the paperwork and pass a few evaluations.” Soonyoung got visibly excited by this but Seungcheol decided to speak up before he could get too ahead of herself.

“What exactly would the paperwork and evaluations be?” he asked.

“Wild hybrids, especially rare breeds require a bit more special care so we need to make sure you guys would be a good match. Aside from the legal paperwork we need to assess things like financial status, home condition, and given Y/Ns condition we need to analyze her health and behavior to see if she has any special needs. Overall just to make sure that you and the hybrid will be safe and happy to prevent anything from happening.” There was silence as both males thought it over.

“How long would all of this take?” Soonyoung asked.

“Once everything is filled out probably a day or two, you guys could come back and complete the adoption process as soon as you are approved.” Soonyoungs heart dropped when he realized that meant that, no matter what, you would be stuck here for a few days. He had promised you could stay with him and he was starting to feel like he was breaking that promise. Before he could say anything though, Seungcheol was grabbing his hand and speaking again.

“We have a few roommates we need to discuss this with, could we come back tomorrow to fill everything out if we decide to?” He asked. Getting the confirmation that they could, he thanked the tech before walking out. Easier said than done though as he had to drag out a protesting Soonyoung. The younger male whining and pulling against his leader as he kept muttering his promise that he would come back as if you would be able to hear him.

“Stay strong Y/N, I promise I’ll be back soon!”

Taglist: @jhuily @feedthefandoms995 @hosh1kwon @heyyheli @symptoms-of-moonlight @sohnfile @lilactangerine @chxrrypxp @heesung-lover686 @joshuahxgf @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @ssamie @calumsfringe @cchewhaz (retagging from original upload)

To be added or removed from Horanghaes taglist please comment or message me

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

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Fic Writing on Tumblr - Tips

Hello friends! I'm sure there's a million of these style posts floating around the good ole hellsite, but I thought I'd make a little post to tape up on our corner of the internet for any of the writers (old and new) that are interested in some tips for posting fic on tumblr 💕

Tip #1 - Always Use a Read More

This is crucial if you actually want people to reblog your fic. People don't generally want to subject their followers to scrolling through an entire chapter. I know it may seem like you're more likely to "hook" readers by putting all the story up front, but people who may have ordinarily read your fic may be disinclined simply because you decided not to follow this curtesy. As a general rule, I always put a "read more" on any fic that exceeds 500 words.

Tip #2 - Be Mindful of Using Art

Fandom is a community and people who read fanfic are part of that community. A lot of times, readers on tumblr will know fandom artists and their reposting rules. Always use credit if you will be using fanart as a header for your fic and always double check the artist allows this. Usually their reposting rules are stated very clearly on their instagram bios.

Additionally, you need to be aware that the art you're using is setting a first impression for your fic. For example, if you use AI art as a header, many users will decide not to reblog your fic simply because they do not support AI. The same goes for using art of whitewashed characters.

I would personally recommend creating a banner or moodboard for your fic, which will give you much more creative license to give the impression you feel is truest to your story! I use canva for all of my banners and moodboards, though you may find other apps that work better for you!

Tip #3 - Taglists

It is common curtesy to only tag people if they have requested to be on the tag list. There are some exceptions to this, where you may tag friends that you know don't mind or users who have openly encouraged their followers to add them to taglists (like me), but as a general rule of thumb, you should avoid tagging people unless they explicitly ask.

If you want to use a taglist but don't know where to start, I would recommend posting a (small) teaser or a synopsis of your fic in the appropriate tag and simply ask people to interact if they'd like to be added to the taglist.

Tip #4 - Use a Masterlist and hyperlink, hyperlink, hyperlink!

People are more likely to read your work if you make it easy for them to find. Generally, people won't spend time scrolling through your archive trying to find chapter 1 of a multi-chaptered fic you just posted. Making a masterlist that you link to each chapter will help new readers start at the beginning. And if they like your writing, a masterlist will also help them do a full binge of your works!

My friend @ofduskanddreams also recently did a poll here that suggested most users (at least in our corner of the internet) prefer to read fic on AO3. If you'll be cross posting to AO3, I definitely recommend adding a link on each chapter as well as linking your AO3 in your bio or main masterlist.

Tip #5 - Use appropiate tags and content warnings

Foremost, be respectful. While it may be tempting to use the ship tags for any background relationships that appear in the fic, I advise only tagging the ships that are central to the story. You may think using tags for background ships will give your fic a wider reach, but really you're just going to clog those tags with content that isn't really related to the ship. People, generally, don't appreciate this! Fandom is a community and our community is fairly small, so you definitely don't want to set off on the wrong foot by trying to "game" the tag system. People go into those tags because they want to see content for their ship and seeing an improperly tagged fic will certainly turn them off reading it and possibly reading anything from you in the future!

Additionally, if there is anything in your fic that might warrant a content warning (e.g. graphic violence, non-con or dub-con, blood, torture, etc.), then you will want to ensure you label this upfront. Both in the tags (with the format tw: blood or cw: blood) and stated clearly at the top of the fic (E.g. "Content warning: this fic contains graphic depictions of sexual violence). As a curtesy, all potentially triggering or NSFW content should be put beneath a read more.

Tip #6 - Fanfic Is a Community

I really can't express this enough! If you are not experiencing the engagement that you want on your fic, try engaging more with the wider community! Reblog and leave comments on other people's fics, send other people asks, reblog art and headcanons, participate in event weeks.

And lastly, because this is a community, be concious of the posts you make outside of fic. Your writing may be good, but if you make unlikeable posts about other characters, ships, etc., people may decide they don't want to support your works on principle. While it's impossible to please everyone and it's important to be true to you, it's important to understand that your blog represents your writing just as much as your writing represents your blog.

#This is something I've been meaning to post for a while and I really hope it helps some people!#Please feel free to add any tips!!#Or ask questions if there's anything on here that doesn't seem intuitive!#These are of course only my opinions #I'm no expert but I have been doing this fairly regularly for a good while!#writing tips #tumblr tips #acotar

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chronosh0t · 9 days

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ㅤㅤㅤ「༄ .* HEADERS

〔 🎐 〕 six (6) headers for twt: Wanshi, Camu and Kamui.

please, give credits and reblog/like if you're gonna use. don't repost anywhere.

enjoy.

────────────── ❁ ──────────────

if you like them, consider tip me on ko-fi, thank you.

#pgr #punishing gray raven #sae pgr edits #twitter layouts #kamui pgr #Camu pgr #pgr wanshi #these could've been better #but I don't have a laptop #so it's all I could do #pgr global

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bebzbrainw0rmz · 6 months

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General Info/faq 🪱🪱🪱

About me ;

Hiya! I’m Beba/Brainworm, I’m transmasc!

I’m really into horror ofc, mainly F&H Termina rn.

my DMs/asks are always open! :] I just might take a while to get to them sorryyy

CW as current and future posts may contain gore, suggestive material, nudity, drug use, etc, etc!

general dni, no bigots, truscum, yk the usual! Oh and 16+ please and thank you

Also I’m autistic so I might misinterpret what people mean mb

Tags; #my art / #ask / #not art

FAQ ;

Can I use your art as a profile picture/header?

Ofc! I only ask that you credit me in some way/when asked

Can I repost your art onto other sites?

Sure, but please credit and ask/tell me first !! And don’t repost any of my stuff here or on twitter thank you

Where can I see your nsfw art?

Sling me a non anon ask or msg me and ill give you my twt

#info

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deulki · 2 years

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menina bonita não chora

#twitter #twitter layouts #layout #layouts #details #gg details #nayeon #nayeon icons #nayeon lq icons #nayeon packs #nayeon layouts #nayeon messy layouts #nayeon headers #nayeon messy headers #give me headers credits if you use or repost them

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deandoesthingstome · 1 year

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Night Moves

Chapter 8

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Alexandra Pierce)

Series Summary: When Walter Marshall is called to investigate a homicide by the railroad tracks, he quickly uncovers an unsettling pattern. Alexandra Pierce just wants someone to find out what happened to her friend. She has some secrets, too. And Walter’s going to uncover them.

Word Count: 5226

Series Warnings: In general, this series will depict assault, murder, stripping, hooking, rough sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p in v sex in various positions, self-loathing, failed relationships, smoking, alcohol, general violence, and maybe some comfort. +18, Minors DNI. Edit: If you were here before, know that I removed drug use and drug addiction, as well as makeup sex. I had a plan and things changed, as they so often do.

Chapter Warnings: Worried and Out-of-His-Mind Walter, police procedure (sure), family check ins, some really questionable hospital procedure, fingering, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving).

A/N: I am not a doctor or anything, but I will tell you I had a friend experience one of the scenarios I mention in this chapter, so it’s not completely made up. Also, while the mystery is solved, I’d still like Walter and Alex to have some fun, so there will likely be one more chapter.

Disclaimers: I do not own Walter Marshall, Night Hunter (Nomis), or any other characters from that movie, but I do own this OFC (Alexandra Pierce) and these words. Do not repost as your own. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are more than welcome. It’s how I get my nourishment.

Header made by me, with pics found from Pexel.com and the internet. Dividers are not mine, but check out the masterlist for credit.

Playlist: Night Moves Songs 27-29 Direct Spotify Link

Masterlist

They won’t let him into the ER, so Walter paces in the lounge for about 20 minutes before he walks back to the nurses station to see if there is any news.

“Sir, I completely understand how frustrated you must be, but please be assured this is the number one trauma hospital in the region and our top oral and maxillofacial surgeon was on call when her ambulance called in and he is with her right now. They’ve also called in a neurologist to begin taking scans and she will be back to treat her when she wakes up.”

“When will she wake up?” Walter can’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not dumb. A thirty minute ambulance ride and a twenty minute ER trip isn’t fixing what happened to her but he doesn’t know what else to do right now.

The nurse takes a deep breath and gives him her warmest smile, full of the same care and compassion she gives all patients.

“If you would like a private room to wait, I can see where they think they're going to put her when she’s out of surgery.”

Walter nods and while he’s sure she’d come back to the lounge to get him, he waits against the wall across from her desk, a little out of the way but not so far he would have to wait one minute longer to find a place he can just put his head in his hands and let the rage dissolve into tears. He’s clenching his jaw while he thinks of everything else he should have done this morning.

Call out sick. Wait for Sy with her. Take her home and lock her up in his apartment.

He’s been in the private room for about thirty minutes when Rachel calls to see if he needs anything.

“Commander’s giving a press conference in a few hours if you want to watch,” she tells him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, saying nothing more and not caring about the silence.

“Walter? Do you need someone to talk to?” She knows he does, but she also knows at this moment he’s lost and doesn’t know what to do. She waits while he considers, can practically hear the gears spinning in his head. “I need to be here for the news, but I can talk right now if you want?”

“I appreciate it, Rachel. I really do. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to say anything productive.” Walter slumps in the semi-comfortable chair next to the bed he wants to see Alex in sooner rather than later and holds his head in one hand while he presses the phone to his ear with the other.

“Call or text when you hear anything about her. Or if you decide you do want to talk.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He hangs up and closes his eyes, but he can’t get the image of her face out of his head no matter what he does. He knows it’s not going to matter, whatever the outcome is as long as she is alive, he’s gonna figure it out. Figure out how to take care of her, how to nurse her back to health, how to make sure she’s never in danger again.

He can feel the moisture gather and since no one is around he lets it happen. Lets big tears spill down his cheeks while leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. He can count on one hand the number of times in his life he felt this helpless, useless. It’s seriously messing with his head. Maybe he should call Rachel.

He manages to hold out and by the time the urge to phone a friend has passed, an army of staff is wheeling a bed into the room. There’s Alex, hooked up to a million wires connected to bags of liquid and machines being rolled in with her. At least he assumes it’s Alex. Her face is completely covered in bandages and her eyes are still swollen shut.

“Detective Marshall?” a man in scrubs calls to him from the doorway to the room. “I’m Doctor Khan. May I have a word outside?”

“How is she?” Walter is up on his feet, eager to hear anything this person has to say. Until he steps outside.

“Are you next of kin? Any relation?”

It’s like a cold slap in the face and he has to take a few moments.

“No. Just a friend. On the case.”

“Any idea how to get a hold of someone who can make some medical decisions for her?”

“What kind of decisions?” Ice is running through his veins now.

“We’ve had to induce a coma. The head trauma was drastic and this was the only way to stave off the effects of the concussion and prevent further trauma and possible relapse. Her jaw is wired shut, but will require additional surgery once we can wake her. We need someone to sign off.”

“You say she’s in a coma? So I can’t talk to her?”

“Oh, you can talk to her. As a matter of fact, it’s recommended that someone do, as often as possible, while she’s out. Studies have suggested it’s one of the best ways to keep the synapses vibrant, working. She won’t be able to respond, obviously, but subconsciously we believe she can hear and process these sounds. And if they are from someone she knows, trusts, it’s even better. But we can’t do anything more until we have the proper authority.”

“And I’m not that, am I?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But I can be in the room with her?”

“For now, at least. We can allow it due to your position with the department, but if the family arrives and rescinds permission, there isn’t anything I can do about that. Do you have any way of getting in touch with them?”

“I’ll figure something out. Thanks doctor.”

Walter steps back into the room and waits for the final staff to finish whatever it is they are doing and leave before he drags the chair closer to her bed and sinks in next to her. He clasps her hand in both of his again, lifting her fingertips to his lips as he closes his eyes.

“Alex, I don’t know if you can hear me, but they said I should talk to you, so that’s what I’m going to do. I probably shouldn’t bring it up, but I’m so sorry, Alex. Sorry for this mess you are in. I’d trade places with you in an instant if I could.”

He opens his eyes and watches for any movement, any sign she has heard him, but there is nothing happening in the room except the mechanical whirr of the machine breathing for her, and the beeps from the monitors indicating it’s doing the job and her heart rate is steady, her blood pressure is good, her body temp is regulated. There are drips of who knows what every now and then into the saline running into her system.

“I’m gonna turn on the tv here, okay?” It’s rhetorical, he knows, but he’s just going to narrate to her until he can think of something else meaningful to say. “Commander’s going to make a statement about what happened soon, and I want to hear it if that’s okay. I don’t want to upset you. And I’m going to figure out how to get a hold of someone for you, okay? Unless you wanna wake up and solve that little problem for me, whaddya say?”

He knows it’s too much to hope for, but he wonders if she’ll sense the little bit of levity he can manage.

He presses the remote and scans the channels until he finds a local news station, leaving it on low until the main event.

“I’m going to text Rachel. See if she can get me some contact information at your apartment building. Oh, hey. Does your friend across the hall know anyone? What’s her name by the way?”

He taps out a few questions on his phone, gives Rachel the apartment numbers of Alex and her neighbor and asks if she can have someone call the manager to see if they can help at all. He sees the text bubbles and doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he sees Rachel’s response and he lets it out. They are about to start, but she’s passing the task onto another officer and will get back to him as soon as she has any info. He taps out a quick, yet sincere thanks, then turns up the volume and sits back to watch the proceedings, taking Alex’s hand once again.

“They’re getting started. How about you watch this with me, okay?”

He sees the commander take the podium, camera lights flash, and a few questions are shouted out prematurely. The commander waits until there is silence, although the cameras are still clicking away.

“At approximately 3:35 this afternoon, local law enforcement in partnership with the county sheriff's office accessed private property just outside of town in an attempt to prevent an assault and possible murder.”

More lights flash, and more questions are shouted.

“In the course of the events,” the commander raises his voice, “the perpetrator was shot and killed after refusing to comply with commands to cease his attack. His victim was taken immediately to Abbott Northwestern Hospital, where a team of specialists has taken life-saving measures. We understand the victim to be in critical but stable condition at the moment. We will not be releasing any information about the victim until family can be reached.”

“Is it true the perpetrator was a member of the Minneapolis Police Department and will you tell us the name?” a reporter calls out, still not waiting for an official invitation to questions.

“We believe the perpetrator to be responsible for a number of unsolved missing persons cases over several years, as well as a rash of assaults on women in the downtown Minneapolis area over the prior three months. Evidence connecting the several assaults with one another as well as the possible missing persons and recent murder of Trixie McCabe has come to light, and our perp is being considered as the only suspect at this time.

“I’d like to commend Detective Walter Marshall for initiating the task force to look into these cases as well as Rachel Chase for her profiling assistance. At this time, the acting lead on the case, Detective Greeves, with assistance from Profiler Chase, will make an additional statement about the operation, the suspect, and our next steps.”

Walter is speechless. The commander said “acting” which implies “not permanent,” which in turn implies they’re going to let him continue with the case. He can’t even hear what Greeves has to say, he’s so stunned and it isn’t until he hears his phone ringing that he realizes the press conference is over.

“Marshall, here,” he answers, not bothering to look at the caller id.

“Dad?”

Walter takes a deep breath before he answers. “Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

“Are you okay? Why aren’t you on the case right now? Did you get hurt at the scene?” Faye’s panic is audible and her questions are coming a mile a minute giving Walter no time to answer. He has to calm her down.

“Faye, listen to me. I’ve answered the phone. I’m alright.” He waits for her to stop. “I’m not on the case because I’m with the victim right now. I need to find her family and get her some medical help. But I’m fine, Do you hear me?”

“Yeah.” He can tell she’s relaxing, taking deeper breaths, thinking of her next words. “I was so worried, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no! No Faye, sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry you were frightened. I never want that for you.”

“I love you, Dad. Mom wants to talk to you, okay?” Faye asks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Good night, Faye.”

“Oh, wait! Dad? Do you want to skip Sunday?”

Walter has to take a moment. Has it really been less than a week? Is he really just coming up on a breakfast date with Faye?

“Can I let you know tomorrow?”

“Of course. Night Dad.”

Angie gets on the line and checks in with Walter too. Same basic questions. Just wants to know he’s alright. She doesn’t ask why he’s with a victim right now. He isn’t sure if he cares why she hasn’t.

Rachel calls almost immediately after he hangs up with his ex.

“Which one?” he thinks sardonically to himself.

“The neighbor, Mrs. Travers had a number. We’ve made contact with the family and someone will be there in the morning. You gonna stay until then? You need me to bring you anything?”

“Maybe a change of clothes? There should be something in my locker.”

Three days later

“She’s awake,” Drew calls to Walter with cautious optimism, returning to the family lounge.

Walter stands up from his chair and steps forward to speak with Alex’s brother. He saw the commotion outside her room when he stopped by for one of his regular visits, so he set up shop in the lounge while the staff tended to her and shared results with Drew. He wants to grip him in a bear hug but thinks maybe it’s still too soon, too familiar. He hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about the nature of his relationship to Alex, not that he can’t see the wheels spinning in Drew’s head. But he really thinks it ought to be up to Alex to define it for him. So he extends a hand instead.

“That’s great, man. Is she...is she aware?” Walter drops the handshake and crosses his arms, putting up the armor subconsciously.

“She wants to talk to you,” Drew says.

“She’s talking?” Walter asks with surprise.

“Well, no. Not exactly. You’ll need this.” Drew hands Walter a tablet with a messaging app open and he sees the last chat is “Walter?”

He doesn’t waste anymore time. He skids into the room and drops to the side of her bed, careful to grab her hand and not her face the way he wants. He presses her palm to his lips and closes his eyes for a second while he heaves with relief. He almost doesn’t care she can probably see the tears forming, but he wipes them away anyway and gives her a cautious smile.

“Alex,” he calls, unsure how else to begin.

She gently pulls her hand from his grip and points at the tablet. Walter hands it to her and watches as she begins to tap out a new message.

“You're here.”

“Of course, I am. God Alex, I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Walter apologizes.

“Not your fault. No way. He’s dead?”

‘Yes.” Walter watches her eyes close as she breathes a sigh through her nose. Only then does he realize her jaw is still completely shut and the bandages aren’t just for show. “How are you?”

“Tired. Sore. Angry. Confused. Any and all of the above?”

Walter laughs with relief because he can absolutely read the tone of her texts and he can tell she still has all the self-assured personality he discovered and admired about her in their short time together.

“Yeah, to be expected I suspect. Did they tell you everything that happened to you?”

“Not the part where I was kidnapped and beaten to within a few inches of my life, cause I think I figured that one out on my own. But yeah,” she types.

“I never knew they could induce a coma to counter the effects of physical trauma. That’s some sci-fi shit right there if I ever heard it.”

“They said it was maybe the only thing that saved my brain.”

Walter takes a deep breath and tries not to scrunch his face in anguish but Alex pulls the tablet back before he can reply.

“They said it was a gamble and my outcome is the best possible one. Minor memory loss, but mostly so I don’t recall exactly how many times that asshole hit me. And for some reason I can’t recall anything more than one night with you.”

Walter isn’t sure if she’s serious, but when he looks up from the tablet he thinks he sees a twinkle in her eyes.

“Well that would be because we did only have one night together,” he smiles, then furrows his brow and lowers his voice to a dare-to-hope whisper. “Were you wishing for more?”

She nods as enthusiastically as she can without setting off the pain receptors and Walter closes his eyes with relief again.

“Good. That’s really good. Me too, if I wasn’t clear, but just to be clear. Me too.”

They spend the next half hour hashing out some details of her ordeal. He tells her it was apparent from the wounds inflicted on Jonas that she fought back like a hellcat and how proud he is of her. She asks if he really was a cop and Walter has to admit he somehow didn’t see that one coming. They puzzle over the unsigned card that only says “I’m sorry” on a vase of flowers she’s been sent.

“They’re lilacs, right?” he asks, because other than apology roses, he’s never really taken the opportunity to gift flowers to a woman, so he isn’t quite up on all the varieties. He also isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t sent her the biggest get well bouquet he can find, but thinks it probably has to do with how much he was willing or not willing to share their relationship, if he could call it that, with her brother while she was out. But he knows he wants to remedy that with Alex soon.

When she nods, he hazards a guess. “Could be from Lila.”

“???”

He considers how to approach it and chooses directness.

“She was Jonas’ girlfriend.”

“That monster had a girlfriend???”

“Somehow, yeah. Real shy one, not sure how she built up the courage to bring us the evidence, except I think she didn’t really think it was his. I think she somehow thought it had either been hidden in their apartment before they moved in, or perhaps elves did it. Don’t really know. But she was a big help in finding you, I can tell you that much.”

Then she asks the question he has been dreading and really doesn’t want to answer, even though it’s over. He just can’t fathom how it all slipped through the cracks and he isn’t sure he wants to talk about it with her. But she asks.

“Was it just Trixie and me?”

Deep breath.

“No. He’d been roughing up women for about three months. At least we tied him to this recent spate of assaults for sure. ” He waits as she nods slowly, the realization sinking in that she likely knew others who were also part of this nightmare. “And he’d been killing for longer than that. That bus he took you to? He apparently liked to keep his victims there. He’d shave off their fingertips for a souvenir. Sometimes keep a piece of jewelry. But then he’d stash their bodies on the bus like he was going to drive them all to prom or something.”

Alex’s eyes are wide and she just shakes her head slowly for a moment.

“There’s more. We’re still looking at all the angles, and I’m just going to trust you won’t be speaking to reporters about this, okay?” he asks with a semi-severe look. When she points to her face, he chuckles a ‘Yeah’ and then gets serious. “Some of the bodies were pretty old. Older than would make sense to be included in his list of victims. We still have DNA testing and matching to complete, but forensics thinks at least one body, that of the “driver” if you will, was a male.”

Alex leaves her eyes wide and tries to plead for more info.

“We’ve got nothing solid to go on at the moment, but his father did disappear some time ago.”

“Holy shit.”

Their reunion is interrupted as a nurse enters the room to gather vitals and offer up the dose of pain medicine prescribed by the doctor when she finally woke up.

Walter reads off the “don’t need it” chat from the tablet and the nurse insists.

“For one, we want to stay ahead of the pain in these first few days while you’re still recovering and are under close supervision. And for two, this is gonna knock you out so you can keep getting the rest you need to fully recuperate. You think laying around in bed being waited on hand and foot is a cush job? You’ve got hard work ahead of you.”

Walter chuckles at the comment and turns to Alex.

“She’s right. I should let you sleep.”

He barely gets the two sentences out before she’s tapping away at the tablet again.

“You’ll come back though, right?”

He can’t believe she feels like she even needs to ask, but he replies with his heart wide open, “Yeah, yeah. Of course! I’ve gotta get back to the precinct, but I’ll be back this evening and I’ll stay as long as they let me.”

“Good. I wanna introduce you to Drew. Properly.”

Two weeks later

“Is that my car?” Alex taps out on her phone as Walter pulls into the parking lot of her apartment building. She’s passed all the tests the hospital deemed necessary before they would release her, and while her head is still a mess of wires and bandages, the rest of her is operating just fine. He still wants to carry her, protect her, but she won’t let him, opening the door and climbing down from the cab of the truck as soon as she hands him the phone to read.

He growls and hops out as quickly as he can once he realizes what she’s done, grabbing her bag from the back seat and meeting her around the front of the truck. He passes her the phone then gently takes her elbow to remind her he’s there whenever she needs him.

“Yeah, Sy finished it up and dropped it off for you.”

She leans her shoulder into his chest in a silent thanks as they enter the building and wait for the elevator. Walter won’t let her climb the stairs and she is almost grateful except it’s one more reminder that she isn’t fully self-sufficient yet, and probably won’t be for a while.

She starts physical therapy soon to help with the dizziness and balance issues she’s been having as a result of the concussion. Walking up and down a hallway a few times to escape the hospital was one thing. Three flights of stairs isn’t happening.

Mrs. Travers is waiting at her door when they step out of the elevator, hands clasped in gratitude that Alex is back.

“Oh honey! I’m so glad you are home. I made you some cookies and gave them to that nice young man staying in your apartment.”

On cue, Drew opens the door.

“There he is now. Did you save Alex some cookies, young man?”

“I put them in the freezer for when she can chew again, if that’s okay?” Drew answers patiently.

“Well, yes. Of course. Or I can just make more I suppose.” She turns to Walter. “Now, you just watch yourself, you. I don’t want you getting Alex into any more trouble.”

Walter takes a deep breath because he knows from his conversations with Alex that Mrs. Travers has a bit of a faulty memory and there is no need to try to explain to her that it wasn’t his fault Alex wound up in her predicament, no matter how he still feels about it. Alex won’t let him take any blame.

“Of course not, ma’am. We’re keeping her safe and sound here for you. Cross my heart.”

“Very good.” With that she steps into her apartment while Walter and Alex enter across the hall and everyone but Alex says see you soon while the doors close.

Walter settles Alex on the couch while Drew offers her a glass of water with a long straw. He and Walter talk a bit about the discharge and recovery schedule, with Alex typing notes and comments every now and then.

“Alright, well. I’ll get out of your hair and over to the hotel. I’ll be back tomorrow, Alex. Okay?” Drew waits for her to tap out ok and i love you and thnx for everything before he turns to grab his own overnight bag and leaves.

She turns the phone toward Walter when he comes back from seeing Drew out and shows him the next message.

“Need a bath badly. A real one. Those sponge baths were for shit.”

“On it.”

Walter gets the water running at the right temperature, then returns to the living room to lead Alex into the bathroom.

She can’t type while he’s undressing her and helping her into the tub, sinking as far into the warm water as she can without getting the head bandages wet. Can’t type while he’s soaking a washcloth and lathering it up, rubbing it along her legs, her arms, her torso, her back when she leans forward at his urging. Can’t type when he dips the cloth into the water to rinse off the soap, then holds it over her body and squeezes to let the water wash the suds away. Definitely can’t type when he “drops” the cloth between her legs and plunges his arm in after it.

Walter can see the way her eyes light up as he pretends to feel around for the washcloth with his fingers nudging her folds gently. He gives a little smirk and eyebrow raise in question, to which Alex sighs and nods and closes her eyes.

Walter would think the water would wash away any natural moisture, but she’s slick and ready for him when he finally slides a finger inside her while he gently presses her chest with his free hand so she settles against the back of the tub. He drags his hand over a breast, rolling the nipple, gently pinching, squeezing a little harder when she arches into it.

He’s also pressed another finger inside her and he swallows hard, relishing the feel of her soft, warm center and all its nooks and crannies. He closes his eyes with a wish that he could put his mouth on hers while he works to make her feel as good as he can under the circumstances.

Walter opens his eyes when he feels her hand on his cheek and the droplets of water dripping from her arm that fall on his neck. Alex’s eyes are soft and pleading, needy even, fluttering closed each time he brushes against her spot, teasing her and drawing out the pleasure.

He leans toward her and whispers with a low growl, “I’m gonna make you come with my fingers and then I’m gonna get you out of this tub and into your bed and I’m gonna do the same thing with my mouth.”

The way she whimpers “mmhm” finishes the job of getting him hard, but he barely cares how he’s gonna get off. He only wants to see her glowing for him. It’s all he cares about right now.

Her breath is hitching and her moans are as loud as they can be through closed lips and he watches her close her eyes while he stretches his fingers deep inside her, twisting and curling and caressing her spongy center while his thumb rubs against her sensitive clit. He can feel Alex clench around his fingers, feel her core temperature rise ever so slightly when the waves of her pleasure start to take over. Walter barely registers the splashes of water that have hit the floor and his jeans.

When she comes down, he helps her up. Opens the drain and grabs a fluffy towel from the bar, wrapping her in it and his arms. He helps her step out of the tub, aware that she’s more lightheaded than usual and grateful she realizes it, too. She would normally be protesting his assistance, but her moans right now are all residual rapture. He can’t wait to hear more.

She lets him lift her, her knees and back cradled into his arms as he carries her into the bedroom and gently deposits her on the bed. Walter pulls his shirt off and is about to unbutton his jeans when she covers his hands with hers and moves him out of her way.

Alex keeps her eyes trained on him while she pops the button and drags the zipper down slowly, easing it over his solid bulk. She watches the relief wash over him when the warmth of her palm finds its way into his briefs and around the flesh of his cock. She is pleased he’s letting her stroke him like this.

Walter fights the urge to close his eyes and relish her touch but he wants to watch. She squeezes him just right, but her hand isn’t sliding as easily as he’d like so he grabs her wrist and pulls her palm to his mouth quickly before she can even begin to think he wants her to stop.

He tongues her hand, a little like he wants to do to her pussy, leaving a swath of spit she now realizes she can use to keep jerking him off. He just shakes his head slowly at the way he lucked into this woman who wants him so badly.

He doesn’t want to come before he gets her one more time, so he peels her hand away again and eases her back before kicking off his shoes and pushing his pants all the way down. He steps out of them as he climbs onto the bed and positions himself between her legs. Walter watches as Alex drapes her hands over her chest and drags one hand down as if to show him where he needs to be.

He catches her fingers with his tongue and gladly lets her rub her own pearl while he laps at her open sex. Every now and then he nudges her fingers with his nose and moves her out of the way so he can suck her clit and press the tip of his tongue against her. When he does, Alex pushes her own fingers deep inside and pumps slowly while she waits for him to drag his tongue back down into her pussy.

When she comes her knees clamp hard around his head and he holds them in place, savoring every drop and scooping some of her essence onto his fingers so he can reach down between his belly and the sheets and finish himself off while she finally comes back down.

He’s memorized the recovery schedule the doctor provided and he can’t wait to make up all the kisses they’re missing when it's safe but in the meantime, he’s gonna be content to crawl up next to her and wrap her in his arms and fall asleep in a post-orgasmic daze. He’ll let her chat how fucked out she feels tomorrow.

Taglist: (If you asked for a tag and it’s not here, Tumblr likely isn’t letting me tag you. Ask if you want me to try again.)

Chapter 9

Anything: @kittenofdoomage @fvckinghenrycavill @mayloma @sillyrabbit81 @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit (Also throwing in a few from the old days for old times sake ;) @littlegreenplasticsoldier @anotherwinchesterfangirl @sebbytrash @feelmyroarrrr)

NM: @enchantedbytomandhenry @kingliam2019 @henryownsme @littlefreya @marantha @angelcavill66 @sweetdreamsofgelato @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @greensleeves888 @dinoswierdmom @geralts-yenn @wabi-sabi1090 @bourbonwithice (@used-to-be-bourbonwithice @identity2212 these don’t work for me, sorry!)

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