#I sent them to Thailand

[khaotunq]

What I'm enjoying is the general Aussie reaction to my year of festivals gifset. There are at least 3 who've reacted with something to the effect of "TAMWORTH?"/"At least it's not Splendor." and that might not be a lot but it's killing me and I love it.

[karebear923]

okay I'm sending you the og scene as well cause I'm annoying like that

https://youtu.be/oZvdK4O57N8?si=ZsS0JZ9PWwyLfdlp

hope you enjoy 💖

OMG that was so funny!! 😂 please don’t think you’re being annoying, I’m glad you sent me that! This show looks good but idk if I should watch it before or after the Thai version now! 🙈 I know it’s ridiculous but I enjoy the cringe and laughs

[snickerdoodlles]

one of my most formative fandom experiences was a comment i had gotten on a fic i wrote for a halloween themed fandom event.

this was for a manga/anime, so the fic was a general ghost story obviously set in Japan. the beginning of it involved a pizza delivery and while writing it, i had spent like 30 minutes just double checking tipping customs and the types of pizza they serve and even fell down a wikipedia rabbit hole looking up the history of pizza in Japan.

now, i just like the research part of writing, i do stuff like this because i have fun doing it. and while i was writing this particular fic, i had laughed at myself for my 30 minutes of googling that amounted to 2.5 offhand lines in a 3500 word fic. i didn't think anyone would care about or even notice those particular details except for me, especially since none of them were relevant to the ghost part of this ghost story.

except, when i had sent this fic to a Japanese friend, the first thing she said to me about it was "OH MY GOD YOU GOT THE PIZZA RIGHT"

and that was the moment when it had really clicked for me. what had just been 30 minutes of effort on my part had become a moment of relief for her. my friend was far more used to reading ethnocentric fic that ranged from unintentional ignorance to outright superiority against part of her culture (the original story's culture no less). and even with the "innocent" ignorance (heavy quotes on that) far outstripping any outright maliciousness, that's still so many people saying her culture was not worth learning about. the pizza in my story was a small detail, but i had cared enough to put in some effort to check it. and for her, coming from a fic experience where her norm was bracing for hundreds of inaccuracies born of ignorance, especially at that time after a flood of stories centered around "Halloween as a cultural holiday in the US" premises instead of the "Halloween is a commercial gimmick in Japan" reality, seeing someone put in some effort even for minor story details meant something to her.

this also throws me back to the discourse that arose in a french show fandom a few years ago because there were a lot of fic authors that wrote 'dollars' instead of 'euros'-- but when people brought this up as a prevalent issue across the fandom but an easy one to fic/watch out for, many of these writers instead pushed back to complain that they were posting stories for free and it wasn't that big of a deal. which really upset a lot of people, but then this upset was met with a new wave of indignation that people needed to 'get over it' because they're writing fic ~just as a hobby~. but, even if 'dollars' instead of 'euros' wasn't a big deal, by digging in their heels about the issue, they were saying "your culture isn't worth even five minutes of my time or effort."

I've been thinking about these things lately because the ethnocentrism in Thai drama fandoms is...staggering. just over the turn of the year, there were waves of Christmas fic for Buddhist characters. and just. Christmas in Thailand is a tourist thing at best. sometimes a pop culture gimmick for international audiences or maybe an offhand high school thing to blow off steam between midterms. it's not a cultural thing. and even if a character is a part of the Christian minority, a Christian Thai's holiday customs and culture are going to be vastly different than a Christian's customs in the Americas or Europe. and while the Christmas fic is at least finished for now, I'm already bracing myself for the Easter fic wave that also seems to pop up for Thai dramas. it's so frustrating to see this sort of cultural overwrite all the time, especially since most Thai drama holiday works aren't about Thai holidays.

but the thing that really got me bristling about all of this again was i saw a post the other day where op said that they weren't going to write [thai drama] fic because they don't know much about thailand.

what an absolutely appalling statement to make.

google is right there. wikipedia is free. you don't even have to leave tumblr or AO3 to learn more because there are Thai natives in fandom who write essays to explain common elements of their culture. hell, even just watching these Thai stories and considering the values and messages imparted by the narrative framework and story lens tells you something about that culture. the audacity to look at a culture different from your own and say "this is not worth my effort or time to learn anything more about," are you kidding me?!?

the messages and values of a story tell you about the writer's values, which are going to carry their cultural values, beliefs, and biases. Thai culture is going to be heavily relevant to any Thai story, even the ones that aren't explicitly about Thai culture/customs/etc. (hell, Thai bl/gl as a genre alone-- just the fact that queer Thai writers are making these stories in Thailand's current political climate is highly political, even the "fluffy" ones that don't seem to make outright political statements.) to approach any story like it was made in a vacuum is to remove the writer(s)' culture and values and to overwrite them with your own.

especially because this is fandom. these are the lowest stakes to learn! it sucks to see people say things like "but i'm scared i'll get something wrong" and hold up that fear as a shield to justify their ignorance. no one's expecting anyone to get every detail right, especially not for a culture that isn't theirs, just make an effort to learn something new about it. pick out something that caught your eye as different to learn more about and see where it leads you.

and for the record--making a mistake trying to broaden your horizons is a far, far better thing to do than to superimpose your culture on everyone else's because you're scared to confront your ignorance.

edit: check out this reblog thanks

[meazalykov]

invisible string theory

lena oberdorf x uswnt!lyon!reader

part one - part two - part three

summary: you're with her now, but you've known of her for longer than that.

warnings: long chapter since I have to split this up into three parts, changing things that happened irl just a tiny bit for the plot of this, google translated language.

the pathway of your career was never simple, or original. 

growing up in the states, you participated in many youth programs. sacrificing a chance at a normal childhood, you took the chance to fulfill your 5-year-old self's dream. 

before you know it, you’d grow up to be the best teenager in the country– in terms of soccer. 

just before going into high-school, you were called up for the usynt for the first time. your parents wanted to see you happy, so you were sent into homeschooling. 

it wasn’t easy leaving public-school. you barely had time for your non-soccer playing friends and eventually– you seemed to forget about them. your friends and teammates on your club and national teams were your new priority. 

breaking records on the national level, it seemed like the youth team was too easy for you. 

and then 2018 came along, when you were 16 years ol–  

well, not yet. just a day before your 16th birthday, in January 2018, you were having your debut on the uswnt. 

against denmark, you were thrown into the game in the 50th minute, not long after halftime. being an attacking midfielder, you were expected to contribute to any attack or opportunity given for you. 

playing with the current world champions intimidated you. your new mentor, christen press, noticed this when your leg and foot tapped against the grass as the both of you waited to get subbed in. 

“hey! you gotta relax.” christen whispers over the crowd, her tone stricter than usual which causes your leg to stop tapping.

a goal came from mallory pugh that same second, so you were distracted for a few seconds celebrating. 

luckily, this gave you enough time to take deep breaths.. something your sports therapist recommended for situations like this. 

“i will, sorry.” you quickly spoke after, moving your tongue to press on the inside of your cheek. you didn’t notice how nervous you could’ve looked from the outside. 

“you don’t need to apologize, you’ll do great i promise!” she patted your upper back a few times before the ref blew the whistle for the subs. 

after the whistle blew in the 93rd minute, you breathed a huge sigh of relief. most of your older teammates ran to your side to congratulate your contributions to the 5-1 win. 

1 goal and one assist on your senior team debut didn’t happen to players everyday, especially to newly 16 year olds.  

a year later, after 16 more caps, happy tears ran out of your eyes when your coach, jill, called you. 

this wasn’t too long after you made your professional club debut for sky blue fc, or what is now referred to as gotham fc. jill let you know that you were going to the world cup!

now being 17 years old, you were the youngest person on the uswnt roster to play in the women's world cup ever. 

being referred to as “baby blue” by the rest of the team, due to your age and the club you play for, they all made an effort to make sure that you had the best experience for your first world cup. 

you attached yourself to christen, megan, alex and tobin when it came down to needing mentors to guide you in france– and your closest friends mallory, tierna, and rose. 

in the football world, you’re treated like an adult. something you struggled with. 

your parents, siblings, and other relatives came to france to support you on your journey– but due to the everyday training (twice a day), media days, strict meal plans, and mental stress before the tournament– you couldn’t see them at all. 

thankfully, they were able to see you along with the rest of the world during the group stages. 

against thailand, you scored a goal with three assists after you were substituted in the 60th minute. the 13-0 win gave you a rush that would last throughout the entire tournament.

you didn’t play against chile, or sweden. sitting on the bench and observing your team was enough for you though– they’ll call you whenever they need you. 

one moment throughout the tournament, there was a four day break between the group stages and the round of 16. 

adidas, the brand you chose to sign for, wanted to do a photoshoot with many internationals who signed their brand. the world cup is the only chance they’ll be able to do this collaboration– and with fifa's approval– over 20 players from different countries are there in a big conference room, ready to get their picture taken. 

standing in the red uswnt kit, you felt intimidated– unaware that you could’ve been the most intimidating. 

unfortunately for you, lindsey and you were the only americans at this photoshoot. you attached yourself to the blonde before she was pulled away by staff. this left you alone sitting on a random chair– at a random table. 

(i know giulia gwinn is signed for nike, but pretend she is signed to adidas for the plot)

“um– hey?” a girl your age– or maybe a bit older– with blonde hair stands in front of you with a confused, yet amused, expression. 

your eyebrows knit together as you respond back with a smile, “hi!” 

before the blonde could say anything, you turn your head to see a table card in the middle of the circle table. its labeled under germany so your eyes widened before you quickly stood up from your chair. 

“oh my goodness i’m sorry– i just found a random seat to sit in because i’m bored.” you talk a bit more than necessary, afraid that you did something disrespectful.

“its totally okay– i’ve been wandering around myself– i’m giulia!” she reaches her hand out, her german accent strong. 

you reach your hand out to meet hers, “i’m y/n. i’m with the us team.” 

giulia smiles, “i know– its hard to not notice the current world champs in the room.” 

you smile, your social anxiety fades as you engage in a conversation with the german footballer. 

“so when are you getting your pictures done?” giulia asks, wanting to continue the conversation with you. 

“oh i had my individuals and duo pictures with horan done earlier– i’m just waiting for the big group photo we have to take in–” you check your apple watch, “20 minutes.” 

“oh same!” giulia says, looking down at your apple watch too, seeing that it's 11:40am. 

“congratulations on getting on top of group B, i watched a little bit of the game during my lunch break yesterday!” you compliment as you cross your arms naturally. 

“thank you! it wasn’t easy.” giulia smiles.

“i feel you.” you relate. 

before you could talk to giulia more, another girl jogs up towards the two of you. 

she is wearing the same german kit as giulia, so you know she is her national teammate. she's taller than you, brunette, and you figure that she has short hair, since her hair was tied up in a small bun. 

the brunette looked very cute, but you brushed that thought aside. you have no idea what her name is and you need to put all of your focus on the world cup. 

“Da bist du ja! Ich habe dich gesucht, aber ich sehe, du hast einen neuen Freund gefunden.“ (There you are! I've been looking for you, but I see you've found a new friend.) the brunette nudges giulia’s shoulder, looking at her before looking at you with curiousity. 

“relax! this is y/n.” giulia waves her hand towards you. 

“hey.” is all you say, smiling at the cute girl. 

“hey.” she responds, smiling with the same cheeky smile you had. 

“wer ist das? sie ist süß” (who is that? she is cute) the brunette says to giulia. you didn’t understand german, but you could tell that she was asking a question through the tone of her voice.

giulia rolls her eyes before giggling, 

“this is y/n, like i told you. she plays for the united states.” giulia responds in english, which you’re grateful for. the girl looked you up and down for a few seconds before talking to giulia in german again.

over giulia’s shoulder, just 20 feet behind her, you see horan waving her hand for you to come to her. you look back at the german girls, hating to cut them off from their conversation. 

“sorry girls but i have to go. it was so nice meeting you giulia!” you quickly hug giulia, and she hugs you back tightly before you walk away. 

ten days later-- when jill called for you to warm up in the final against the netherlands, your legs felt like pencil lead that could’ve snapped in half. 

in the 75th minute, the united states were up by 2. however, the euro champions against you had a point to prove. they weren’t going to let themselves lose the world cup without a fight. 

tobin heath got injured during the semi-finals and doctors made it clear that she couldn’t play the full 90 minutes in the final, so jill made the last decision to call you up. 

every commentator on broadcasts, radio stations, and television networks were wondering why jill was putting you– a seventeen year old with no world cup experience– over people like carli lloyd who's on the bench.

you couldn’t make a single mistake on the pitch. your mind repeated that sentence back to you as you warmed up with sprints and stretches on the sidelines. 

five minutes go by and you’re on the pitch. focusing on the ball, you made beautiful passes to the forwards and midfielders around you.

when your eyes were on the ball, it was distracting from the neverending stadium around you. 

blocking out the noise of the crowd and the pressure of the moment, the 83rd minute comes along. krieger pushes the ball away from a dutch forward and launches the ball in the air towards rose lavelle, the girl who scored the second goal moments before. 

rose, being closed in by dutch defenders, passed the ball behind her to kelley o’hara. kelley saw you were free and there was open space between you and her, so she launched the ball towards you. 

this was your chance. usually, you never tried to seek personal glory. however, something changed when that ball hit your ivory colored cleat.

your feet take the ball towards the goal. veenendaal, the dutch goalkeeper, sets herself up in a ready position as she sees her defenders failing to take the ball from you. 

as you race closer to the goal, the crowd gets louder. the orange defenders close in but you dribble around them effortlessly, a skill uswnt fans love seeing from your younger self. 

an oranje defender hit your body from the left side but it was too late. your foot was angled on the left side of the ball, making the outside of your right foot clear to launch a powerful shot at the goal. 

veenendaal dived a second too late, the ball hit the lower corner of the net, going in for the third goal of the world cup final. 

you didn’t take a moment to process your thoughts before you lifted yourself off of the grass and sprinted towards the corner of the pitch, the same corner megan raphinoe celebrated the first goal at an hour before. 

your hands were spread out wide as tears threatened to pour out of your eyes in joy. the look of happiness that you’ve never felt until now. 

“Y/N L/N THE YOUNGEST GOALSCORER IN A WORLD CUP FINAL!!” commentators screamed on television broadcasts as your teammates, both on and off of the pitch, ran to you and squeezed your adrenaline filled body. 

one month later, you’re back home in new york city. the rush of winning the world cup is still fresh– along with your popularity in the community skyrocketing due to your amazing world cup campaign. 

you missed france already-- a little too much. the bond you’ve had with your uswnt teammates there was indescribable. 

the world cup distracted you from your unfortunate situation at gotham fc too. 

you’re an amazing player and the world cup showed the world that, but your coach at gotham seemed to have an agenda against you. 

at first, you didn’t think so. you arrived at gotham six months ago and started for the first few games in the NWSL season, but it seems like the coach forgot about you after. 

the defensive style of the squad is something you didn’t prefer as well. your play style fit well with an attacking style of play, but your coach didn’t want that. 

after being benched for the big game against san diego wave, you had enough. 

your agent and yourself filled a request in to transfer clubs or go on loan. 

luckily for you, many clubs all over the world wanted the best U17 player. 

when lyon came knocking on your door, you were happy to accept a year long loan deal. 

at first, moving across the atlantic scared you. your older sister, whos much older than you, agreed to live with you until you’re eighteen that january, but you’ll be far away. 

however, lyon is the best club in the world. you would never say no simply because you were “a little uncomfortable” with the move. oh well, football comes with uncomfortable events.  

the uncomfortable events paid off well, since you're a starter for the champions league final against wolfsburg.

twenty minutes in, and you nearly had an opportunity to have the first goal of the final.

the ball was at lucy bronze's feet. you were free to accept her pass and did so. before you could pass the ball up to sommer-- Alex popp knocked you from behind and you were on the grass.

you were okay, and you got up fine afterwards. in fact-- you felt like that knock helped your nerves from playing your first champion's league final at the age of 18.

minutes later, sakina had the ball which prompted you to push forward. ingrid engen from wolfsburg kept her eyes on you, since she knows how fast and precise you were with the ball.

sakina tried to pass the ball up to kumagai, but pernille harder takes the ball. luckily, you were able to side tackle the ball from her. she fell, but you were at the ball so no yellow card was needed.

the noise around you were coaches yelling and players shouting at others in many languages. french, german, swedish, dutch, you name it.

its 2020, and there was no crowd due to covid. the empty chairs made it easy for your voice to echo.

you were close to being fluent in french after living in lyon for the last year, and having sakina and selma as your closest friends, so you opted to yell out to your teammates in that language instead of english--where the whole pitch might understand you.

renard had the ball with no wolfsburg player coming at her, so she took her time deciding on who to pass the ball to.

her pass to buchanan was clean, but svenja huth takes the ball from lucy as she runs to the middle.

svenja tries to pass the ball but it goes back to the defender in navy blue, renard.

the tall defender launches the ball at you running towards the right side. cascarino and you swap places as your feet quickly get inside of the box with the ball.

your left foot shoots the ball but the ball hits off of repohl-- wolfsburg's goalkeeper's, foot. the ball bounces towards le sommer, who shot the ball into the goal at the 25th minute.

le sommer high-fived you and hugged you as you both ran back into your positions. all season at lyon, you've had the highest number of assist-- and the third highest amount of goals.

the french club hopes to buy you from gotham, if there is no issue. your contract does say that there is no buy option involved, but they hope to try.

in the 44th minute, everyone was struggling to get their feet onto the ball. you were standing directly in the middle outside of the box when the ball was bounced back to you.

your left foot, your non-dominant one, launches the ball into the goal at a lightening speed. ingrid and alex popp didn't have the chance to stop you before your teammates screamed in celebration.

"when it fell-- it fell kindly for the american international who scores the second goal for lyon." a commentator speaks to the television audience as you ran to hug majri.

before the end of halftime, as you're ready to head back out onto the pitch, you frowned in realization.

after this fun season, you'll head back to the united states with a coach who wants nothing to do with you. you tried to stay optimistic and think about everything after the final is over, but the end of the season is in 45 minutes plus extra time.

"y/n bébé, garde la tête haute, tu as déjà marqué" (y/n baby, keep your head up, you've already scored) cascarino says as she places her hands on your shoulders. you relax into her hands as your head turns to face her stressed facial expression.

"ce n'est pas ça, je ne veux juste pas te quitter après ça" (that's not it, i just don't want to leave you after this) you whisper. your head leans back onto cascarino's head as she sighs.

"garde espoir, Lyon est content de t'avoir ici. Peut-être trouveront-ils un arrangement avec ton club d'origine" (keep hope, Lyon is happy to have you here. Maybe they will find an arrangement with your original club) cascarino whispers before you both jog out to the pitch.

"maybe.." you whisper to yourself after cascarino jogs away from you.

nothing much happened after halftime started, until alex popp scores a header. you weren't too afraid, since lyon are still up by one, but it's anyones game with thirty minutes left.

subs were made in the sixty-first minute for wolfsburg, so you stand beside cascarino to talk to her. as you look ahead at ewa leaving the pitch, you spot a familiar face entering.

the girl with a determined look jog onto the pitch, and you continue to look at her as she scans around the field. your mind itches, you know you've seen this girl somewhere before.

as she turns around with her back from you, you see 5 oberdorf.

again, you have no idea on who she is. you haven't played against wolfsburg until now, so maybe you played against her national team before? you had no idea.

wolfsburg had more possession this time around. you made a few tackles and won a few duals, but the german club was hungry to score an equalizer.

lucy got the ball away from pernille and passed the ball up to you.

you ran with the ball up the field. you dribbled around ingrid and alex popp effortlessly and your next move was to pass up to le sommer who was free.

all you heard was sakina yell "derrière toi!" (behind you) before you saw someone's leg coming from under you. your first reaction was to jump as the persons leg tripped you onto the grass.

your arms stopped your head from hitting the ground, but you turned to see that it was "oberdorf" who side tackled you.

"that should've been a yellow." you groaned to yourself as you stood up and wiped the grass stains off of your navy blue shorts.

"it was all ball, so no." oberdorf said back. your head quickly turned to her as she smirked at you.

so she's german.. hm. you thought as you recongized the accent.

a few minutes later, as lucy was preparing to throw the ball in-- oberdorf marked you as she stood beside you, not giving you a chance to escape her defense.

"get off of me!" you quietly said when she tried to hold your arm.

"lena, mark her!" ingrid yelled out as you quickly moved back to where lucy might throw.

you were sweaty at this point, but not too tired. a goal before halftime was what you needed to recharge your motivation and energy.

"you aren't getting another goal passed me." oberdorf says quickly. you shake your head as you look at her. the audacity.

"who are you talking to?" you snap.

"you." she smirked.

"well, oberdorf-- if you look at the scoreboard, you guys need another goal to equal us." you say as you both push back with bouhaddi, lyon's goalkeeper, was ready to hit the ball up the pitch.

"my name is lena." she scoffs as you went to saying her last name instead of her first.

"well, lena. its nice to meet you." you look ahead to see bouhaddi's kick.

the ball goes up to cascarino who heads the ball over to kumagai. you ran closer to offer help away from popp, but lena is chasing you.

the japanese decided to kick it back to renard so you move back to your natural spot. oberdorf follows you since she is assigned to mark you.

"what do you mean its nice to meet me? you met me last year." the german comments.

your mind seems to ease at this, you know that you've met her somewhere, and its fortunate that lena knows.

after a few minutes, you couldn't respond to her since the game is heating up. lucy cleared the ball out a few times, which caused a bunch of throw ins to occur.

fridolina rolfo almost scored after kicking from outside of the box, but the ball came straight to you. your body turned quickly, so her shot deflected off of your back and away from a chance of goal.

"where did we meet?" you ask as you end up near her again, waiting to defend the ball away from a free kick for wolfsburg by their goal.

"the adidas photoshoot during the world cup." she quietly says.

your conversations were quiet, since the empty stadium could echo your voice loudly if you were loudly talking.

the free kick was cleared by renard, but being on wolfsburg side of the pitch made you concerned. if lyon kept this up, wolfsburg might equalize.

luckily, in the 87th minute, lyon had a corner kick.

the kick was taken and it landed at your foot. you shot the ball towards the left side of the goal but it deflected off of janssen's foot.

the deflected landed on the back foot of gunnarsdottir and landed in the goal for the third goal of the final.

the group hug was filled with shouts that echoed throughout the stadium. after hugging dottir, cascarino and sakina patted your back as they jumped up and down around you.

"three goal contributions! you are insane." sakina says with her strong French accent, you smile as the end of the game is nearing. wolfsburg will have to pull of a miracle to beat lyon now.

in the last minute of extra time, oberdorf had you marked again. remembering what she said earlier, you smirked as you looked at her tense body position.

"I might've not scored against you, but I did get another assist." you say.

lena looked towards you with a straight face before responding, "ha ha" sarcastically.

when the whistle blows, you run to selma bacha who was on the line ready to be subbed in. she held you tightly as you repeatedly yelled, "we did it! we did it!"

after ellie carpenter hugged you for your one goal and two assists, you saw lena pulling pernille into a quick side hug.

saying that you didn't look at lena differently than all of the other girls would've been a lie. you found her attractive, and you know she knows she's attractive. that smirk wasn't fooling anyone.

"hey, great game lena." you said as you quickly hugged her. playing all 90 minutes made you tired, but you were okay since you're a champion's league winner.

she hugged you back. not to be weird, but you liked the way she smelled.

"thank you. can I have your shirt later?" she asks. you smirk at the idea of her wanting to swap jerseys with you.

"sure, as long as I can have yours." your eyebrows knitted together as you put your hands on her shoulders. lena smiled through her sad eyes and nodded her head at you.

part two here

<3

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.6 K Warnings: none Prompt: What about the rest of the school. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Not proofread

Chapter 59: Break On Through

You stayed like that, being cuddled by your boys for some more time, just basking in the reassurance of their warmth. No one said anything for a while, but the silence seemed to be the perfect way of wrapping up the previous conversation. Eventually, you sighed and looked at the clock.x

“Do you guys think we can still make it to dinner?” 

“We can bring you some food from the kitchen,” Sirius offered. 

“You can also take my chocolate,” added Remus. “I’ve got some in my pocket.” 

“I think I’d rather have dinner at the great hall,” you said. “Besides… we still have some planning to do.” 

“What do you mean, Étoile? What planning?”

“Well, didn’t you say we would infest the school with toads back at Prong’s house?” You asked with a smirk.

Dinner went all right, the entire school knew about the fire at Rosier’s Christmas Party, but they had covered their –and in turn your– tracks very well. It was as if only a few people knew about the Dark Wizard convention that it had actually been. 

They had published a whole article about the fire, about it being caused by unforeseen causes, and about it being fierce and of dark nature, which was why they couldn’t control it. Your father took back the mention of your implication and ended up saying you ran away because you were upset over your mother’s passing, and that he would give you space. 

They’d added an “in memoriam” section in which they remembered all the deceased on the fire, which included the honourable Cygnus Black of the Noble House of Black, your mother Avis, some other wizards that you didn’t recognise but that you were pretty certain had also been dark wizards, and, of course, near the end, there was Frey and Nina Blythe. In the paper, they claimed they had both been invited to the party and that, unfortunately, they had been way too close to the origin of the fire. There was no mention of the other pile of bodies that you’d seen, but if they had all been muggles, it was no surprise. 

At the end of the paper, there was a small caption that said: The Daily Prophet sends their gratitude to Arkalis, Orion and Silas for sharing the facts with us, without them we wouldn’t have been able to tell the story of The Great Fire Of Christmas. You took the newspaper, bunched it up in a ball and threw it on the floor, you would have burned it if you didn’t hate the idea of the few eyes that weren’t on you to turn your way.

News really did fly in the wizarding world, the Slytherin table was crowded with students; everyone was trying to talk to the few who had been invited to the party, but none of them seemed to want to speak much about it. Barty was talking about his amazing vacation in Thailand, and Evan was sitting next to him with his mouth completely shut. 

Regulus, had almost jumped out of his seat when he spotted you but figured he would have instantly diverted all of the attention on his table towards you and he knew that would be a terrible idea, so instead he sent you a look, you gave him a short nod in response and he turned back to respond a question from a Hufflepuff girl that you recognised as the same who had tried to flirt with Sirius back when you were James, Zia. She wanted to know if he had seen how the fire started, and if you had actually had anything to do with it. 

“I was with her most of the night. She wasn’t even close to the ignition point,” he retorted, loud enough for her and about the other half of people loitering next to them to hear. Reggie knew there wasn’t much he could do, but making sure your name stayed out of the school gossip was something that he could manage. 

“But why did her father mention that she might have been–” the girl insisted with a pout and a rather petulant tone. 

“Don’t you think Chancellor Silas was affected by the passing of his wife while he gave that first interview?” Regulus retorted before she could even finish her sentence. “She’s my friend, and I won’t tolerate people bad-mouthing her for the words of a grief-stricken man.” 

“You’re friends with that Gryffindor?” an older Slytherin boy asked. 

“And he’s not the only one!” intervened Dorcas, her imposing glare was enough to shut him up. Solacis sent a wink her way and then turned back to the conversation he had been having with Nox. 

When Reggie joined the conversation of the two boys (that was thankfully focused on Quidditch since the Cannons were close to winning the championship) the Hufflepuff girl huffed and walked towards Evan and Barty, to see if she could get information from either of them.

You used Remus and Sirius as a shield from prying eyes until you reached your table. “Pete,” you said extending your hands when you spotted the blond and leaned in to give him a tight hug. Peter had read about Christmas in the papers and while he had been queasy, James ’ letters had been enough reassurance, (he had no idea about your fight with Sirius since eveyone had been too wrapped up in themselves to worry about the news, last thing Peter knew was that you were at the Potter’s. “How was your vacation?” 

“It was fun,” he said with a smile and leaned in to give a short hug to the two boys flaking you. “I heard you’re in on the prank now?” 

You smiled, “I’m always in on the prank. Did you finish your quest?” 

He nodded as he patted his bag, “And you two?” he asked as he nodded towards Remus and you. 

You both had a good idea of the combination of spells that you wanted to use, you had talked about it, but you had never gotten to the creating/testing part.

“Kind of,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Where are the girls?” You asked as you realized none of your other friends were there.

“They had dinner at the Three Broomsticks,” James said, they said they would stay and unpack, but Wormmy wanted dinner.” 

“I was starving!” Peter responded. “My mum wanted to put me on a stupid diet and when I got here, I was–” he looked at you and cut himself off as if what he was about to say was not apt for your ears. If only he knew you’d seen him inside the broom closet in the map, “–active, and then the elves said there would be meat pies.” 

“I guess it gives us time to plan things out,” you said as you took some bread from the table and added some butter to it. 

“We’re setting it at night, right?” James asked, looking pleased with the fact that you had walked in with Remus and Sirius, with that smile of his that screamed “I know something that the rest don’t”.

“I guess I could come over after unpacking,” you shrugged. 

“You can take my cloak,” James said with a nod, he was making himself a very thick sandwich with roast beef, lettuce, tomato and… bacon? 

Your mouth watered at the idea of that sandwich, but decided not to go ham with the meat yet (pun intended), not when you hadn’t eaten it in days, it seemed like it could make your stomach upset. You did add a few stripes of bacon to your cheese and veggie sandwich thought. You were looking for something to add as a dressing when you saw Sirius’ hand sneakily cross over to your plate and take a piece of bacon from your sandwich.

“Sirius!” you complained as he plopped the piece onto his mouth. 

“Sorry luv, there wasn’t any left on the table.” 

You scoffed, and you were about to argue again when Remus took a piece from his plate and placed it over your sandwich, you turned to him with a surprised gaze. “Rem, you don’t have to do that, Sirius and I were just–” 

“But I wanted to,” he retorted with a sneaky smile and then gave Sirius a bit of a challenging look, which had the other boy scoff. This was not a contest, but if it had been one, then Sirius was determined to win it. You were eating your sandwich when the main dish turned into dessert, and the table was filled with all sorts of cakes, muffins, scones, meringues, pies and cookies. Sirius grabbed a few of your favourite cookies and dropped them on your plate, about at the same time, Remus had seen your favourite pie, pulled it from the bunch, and placed it on your plate. 

They threw each other a look, and in between bites of your sandwich, your plate started to –rather quickly– get filled with all of the desserts you normally enjoyed (not that you ever enjoyed them all at once!).

“What’s with those two?” Peter asked as he leaned closer to James, who just shrugged. 

“Haven’t they always been a little crackers?” 

You gave James a look and he winked your way. You were on the last bite of your sandwich when Sirius added another cookie to the pile and caused it to collapse over your clothes. Your top getting filled with merengue and bits of lemon curd while Sirius looked at you in shock and Remus threw him a murderous gaze. You picked up some of the merengue and brought it to your mouth, “Whichever of you fools picked the lemon tart was actually brilliant,” you said as you savoured it. Sirius threw a satisfied “I won” sort of look at Remus who just narrowed his eyes even further. “Shame it got all over their face,” you added with a shrug, you got a confused look from Sirius before you took your already messy hand and spread its lemon curd and meringue all over his face. 

“Starshine!” he complained with a gasp, which had your smile widening. He brought his hands to his face to wipe some of the meringue from his eyes. “Ugh! You’ve even gotten it on my hair!” 

“You got it on my jumper,” you retorted diverted while you took a piece of the cookie stuck in the sleeve and plopped it to your mouth. 

“Yours? Since when?” Remus complained. He’d given it to you before you came for dinner since he noticed you were a little cold. 

“Well,” you said as you brought your hand back into the mess in the sweater, “I think it was since…” You picked up some of the meringue with your finger and then drew it towards him, but he was quicker than Sirius and grabbed your wrist in the air before it hit his face. 

“You were saying?” He asked with an amused face.

You didn’t miss the teasing “Ufffff…” that Sirius emitted from the background. 

“I was saying that,” you said as you pulled your free hand towards the dessert pile and tried to dig it into some more pie. 

“Careful, little fox,” Sirius intervened as he pulled your hand from the pile before you even managed, you huffed in response. 

“You’re no fun,” you added with a pout.

“Oh, we’re plenty fun,” Sirius said as he eyed Remus, silently communicating something. “Aren’t we Moony?” 

“Delightfully so,” the latter confirmed. 

“We’ll show you just how much,” Sirius added with a confident smile and leaned over to kiss you, making sure to have his face so close to yours that he was basically transferring your previous mischief back at you, all the while he cornered you against Remus. You were laughing and trying to push Sirius away as he kissed you. 

“Rem,” you said in between kisses, “help, I’m being attacked,” you joked. 

“But you were going to attack me, sweetheart,” he retorted, leaning to the side enough so you wouldn’t actually have an escape route. He then took a napkin and carefully wiped your finger, he had thought of licking the stuff away, and he knew that he’d fluster you if he did, but Peter was already looking at the three of you with a rather shrewd gaze, and he didn’t want to make it too obvious before either of you were ready to tell him about it. Regardless, he did lean over a little closer and whispered, just loud enough for the two of you to hear, “Besides I’m rather enjoying the view…” 

You had gotten so flustered after he said it, that you were glad Sirius had spread meringue all over your face, and was still all over you, meaning his hair was covering most of your reaction. Eventually, you gave in and kissed Sirius back, ignoring the sticky meringue and the getting lost on his lips. You were both almost propped on Remus’ lap, and you could feel his hand on your neck, a soft pressure, as it to let you know he too was there, and he was enjoying it almost as much as Sirius was. 

James, who knew about the entire drama, was actually pretty happy with the fact that you and Sirius were back together, and while he would have been the first one to complain in a normal situation, this time around he was just sneakily looking at Remus, who was trying really hard not to blush under his friend’s suggestive gaze. 

“Get a room,” Peter said after clearing his throat for the fourth time. You and Sirius burst out laughing, and he dug his head into your nack, getting even more meringue all over you. 

“Such an asshole,” you said as you pushed him off, and he just kept on laughing. 

“As if you didn’t snog Annie Doxon like that,” Remus retorted with a wink. 

“Or worse,” you muttered as you looked for a napkin. Remus heard it, and had to hold back a laugh, masking it with a short cough. He took his handkerchief and started wiping away some of the pie from your face. 

“But not in public!” Pete retorted with a scandalized tone. 

“Remus was shielding us from the public,” Sirius said with a shrug. “And the table, I mean did you see anything other than my hair?” 

Remus gave you a teasing look, a small raise of his eyebrows as the two listened to their bittering. He had his hand on your chin and was now cleaning some of the lemon curd on your left cheek. He was clearly enjoying himself.

“But we still knew!” Wormmy argued.

Their little discussion went on for a while. Remus had even finished with his –actually quite slow– wiping off your face and you were both already eating some of the treats while Sirius and Peter kept going on about the do’s and don’ts of PDA. James had actually started paying closer attention to the conversation and sometimes added points for and against their arguments.

“But listen, a small peck is fine, straight-up snogging makes it awkward!” 

“Well you could just not watch,” Sirius argued. “You couldn’t even see it.” 

“But I could hear it! I cannot imagine how awkward it must have been for poor Moony.” 

“Mmmm, yeah, totally awkward,” Remus said with a small smirk, his sole purpose was to piss Sirius off slightly.

“Shut up Moony, you enjoyed it,” Sirius said before turning back to Peter. “I mean, you could just cover your ears.” 

Remus leaned closer to you and whispered, “And he doesn’t even know how much.” You turned to him as you almost choked with your own spit. He just gave you a pleased smirk in retort.

“Or use a spell,” James suggested, oblivious to Remus’ teasing, thankfully.

“No. But you don’t get it–” Pete started, clearly exasperated. At this point, you weren’t sure if Sirius was actually in on his point, or he was just getting a kick from getting a rise out of Wormmy. 

By the time the dishes disappeared, Sirius and Peter had agreed to disagree. Sirius insisted that PDA shouldn’t be vetoed, while Peter claimed that it wasn’t about vetos, but rather about being empathic of other people. 

“They don’t want to see you snogging Vixen, it makes it awkward.” 

“Well I think they kind of enjoy it,” Sirius said with a shrug. “No one complains when people snog in movies.” 

“For Godric’s sake, this is never gonna end, is it?” Remus said. 

You grabbed a piece of chocolate and started munching on it casually as he joined the conversation. “We need to unpack, how about you continue your little snogging or not quarrel in our room.” 

“Moony that’s a terrible idea, we won’t sleep if they do,” James intervened. 

“The reason we’re not going to sleep, is actually quite different,” you added with a smile. 

“That’s what she said!” Sirius teased, you threw him a look and he returned it with a wink. 

“Perv,” you joked.

“But Vix is right, if we want our little stunt to be ready by tomorrow, we better get moving.” 

You sighed, letting your head lean on Remus’ shoulder. “I should probably unpack too.” 

“And see Lily, she was worried,” James intervened.

You picked some of the desserts that had not been squashed and placed them on a napkin so you could snack while preparing the prank (although Peter had also veered off from the rest when he claimed he’d get some more sugar from the elves). 

“See you in a bit,” you said as you stepped out of the great hall. 

James waited just until Pete was out of earshot before he spoke, “Will you tell him about your thing?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius said. 

“We’re not sure when, thought,” Remus chimed. 

“We’re still figuring our thing out,” you added.

“Yeah? And what is it?” 

“Ménage a trois,” you responded James question. “James, don’t you dare laugh!” 

“I’m sorry,” he retorted with a smirk, “It’s just, I mean, it works.” 

“Indeed,” Sirius said with a proud sort of expression. By then you had already reached the the end of the stairs. 

“Password,” the lady in the portrait sang.

“Doodledeefondling,” Remus said confidently and the lady smiled.

“Mr. Lupin. Always knowledgable.” She smiled and opened the door. “It’s nice to see the rest of you troublemakers.” 

“Troublemaker?” you said with a scoff as you turned to look at her and got softly pushed by Sirius to walk inside. “I’m not a troublemaker!” 

“You kind of are,” James said with a shrug. “You wouldn’t be a Marauder if you weren’t.” 

“But Remus gets to be–” you changed your pitch into a higher mocking one– “Always knowledgable”  –your tone went back to normal– “And I’m troublemaker?!?” 

“To me, you’re a doll,” Remus said with a shrug. You turned to him with shock for like the fifth time that night. You were not used to his flirting, even if you quite enjoyed the flips in your stomach it caused. 

James groaned. “Will I now have to deal with the three of you flirting with each other all the time?” 

“Suck it up Prongs, it’s better than when we were fighting,” you retorted. 

“Yeah, and nous sommes amoureux.” 

“That’s ‘we’re in love’,” you said as you leaned closer to Remus since you’d noticed he often felt left out when Sirius did the french thing. 

“Yeah, I got that one,” Remus said with a sneaky smile and passed his arm over your shoulder. “Seadh, tha sinn gu cinnteach ann an gaol.” 

“I’m going to convince Hope to get me a copy of that fancy dictionary of hers,” you said with a sigh. 

“Faodaidh tu feuchainn,” he retorted with a shrug.

You had promised to write Hope, and you had exchanged a few letters while you were at the Potters’, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to actually ask her for a copy of her dictionary –you were sure Lyall would be able to make a copy of it using a simple gemino, although books were a lot harder to duplicate than most things, sometimes the text got messed up and resulted in hilarious (mostly non-sensical) text. 

“We’re going to our room,” James said as you reached the stairs, “See you later?” 

You nodded. “Try and collect all the s-bombs in one place, I’ll bring the books we talked about,” you said as you looked at Rem. He nodded in return, he was biting his bottom lip as he tried to hold back a smile. 

“We really should have seen it earlier,” Sirius said as he looked at the two of you interact. 

James, who was looking at Sirius pretty much gawking at you both nodded, “And I’m the extra blind one… Hey Vix,” he called your way, as he pulled the invisibility cloak from his bag and threw it your way, “don’t get yourself in more trouble.” 

“Can’t help it,” you said with a smirk as you caught the cloak. “Didn’t you hear Lady MacDougal? She said I’m a troublemaker…” 

“Lady McDougal?” Sirius asked with a frown.

“The Fat Lady,” Remus said as he threw him a side glance.

“She has a name?” he asked shocked.

“You thought she was Fat Lady?” you asked with a frown. 

James gulped, “Where did you two even learn that? Is it on a book?” 

“It’s not on a book,” you said with a frown. Both boys looked pretty shocked still. “Are you telling me, you’ve been living here for almost seven years and you never once thought of asking her name?”

“You did?” Sirius asked.

“Of course I did! I was not going to say ‘Good evening Fat Lady, could you please let me in?’ She would have left me outside!” 

“I just say the password,” James said with a shrug. 

“And that’s why you’re troublemakers and I’m Always knowledgable,” Remus said with a smile.

You laughed and shook your head as you started to walk up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Just before you lost sight of them, you turned around, “I’ll bring the Instant Darkness Powder.” 

Sirius gave you a suggestive wink and you were tempted to throw the cloak at his face, but Remus was quick to turn him around and pull him to walk the other way. At least one person has common sense in this relationship, you thought. Huh, turns out we really did need a third one in the end…

By the way, you reached your room, you hesitated at the door for a few seconds. Last time you’d seen –and talked– to any of the girls had been at the party. And while most of them believed you had been “sick” as Effie told everyone, Lily knew –thanks to James not keeping his mouth shut– that you had left his house.

 James had sent her a letter asking if you were staying with her or any of the girls (which would have been a way better idea than staying alone in Diagon, you should have thought of that before casting yourself out like you had been exiled from their lives all together). Again, James proved to have way more common sense than any of you did, surprisingly.

You took a deep breath and walked inside. “Hey, Luv!” Marlene said when she spotted you, “Was hoping to see you on the train, everything all right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a little shocked by her casual tone, but at the same time immensely thankful. Mary came up to hug you after Marlene did. Lily was the last, a little hesitant as she looked at you and then pulled you into a very tight hug. 

“We need to talk,” she said sternly as she pulled you to her. You swallowed thickly at her words. There was a lot you had to tell her, and you were immensely glad that you still had friends who cared about you as much as James and Lily did, even if both wanted to murder you for being so stupid. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was scared.” 

“I went through a lot,” you whispered back. “But as many sad news I have to tell, there are good ones too.” 

Lily pulled back with an arched eyebrow and a hint of a smile. You nodded, and as you looked at your beautiful friend, you noticed that just behind her fiery hair there was something that you had not expected to ever see again. Sirius’ portrait of you.

Lily noticed your lost gaze and turned around, instantly seeing the picture, and then your gaze roaming all over your bed. Your things, everything you had left at your apartment (including the snake plushie from the Slytherins) were neatly placed on your bed, along with a currant-coloured envelope. 

“It was there when we got here,” Lily said. “When Marlene saw it was from Silas she was pissed, she almost burst it into flames.” 

“From Silas…” you repeated as you looked. Not quite daring to approach it just yet. “He sent my stuff back?” 

“And a gift too,” Marlene said with a rather angry tone. “If he really thinks a little something is going to atone for telling the press that you started the fire then he better–”

“Marlene–” Mary said a little sternly. “It’s not your fight.” 

“It is! It’s OUR fight, she’s our friend and if you won’t say anything against her piece of shit father then I will!” 

You smiled, you saw where both girls were coming from, their personalities shining through their thoughts almost perfectly, and you were glad to have them in your life, “It’s all right,” you said with a small smile. “I understand.” 

“Will you read it?” Mary asked as you approached the bed and took the envelope in your hands. 

Truthfully, your first thought upon seeing the envelope and the shiny red box behind it was to burn them as well –so much for not being deemed an arsonist– but you had done that to a letter before, and it had only brought you heartache. And while you didn’t expect whatever was in Silas’ letter to be nearly as revealing as Regulus’, something told you it wouldn’t be clever to get rid of it, at least not until you were ready to read it. 

“Not yet,” you said as you picked the envelope from the bed. It felt heavy in your hands, even if it wasn’t physically so, it was as if you were holding some type of weapon. You opened a drawer and shoved it to the end of it before closing it with colloportus. Not because you didn’t trust your friends, but rather because you didn’t want to accidentally open it yourself, see the letter and ruin your day. You then looked at the box, and pushed it under the bed before you allowed yourself to fall on the it with a small frown. 

“I’ll help you unpack,” Lily said as she opened your suitcase. 

“You don’t have to,” you said as you sat on the bed rather quickly. “I was just going to leave it there until I–” 

“I’m already done with my stuff, and I think the girls were going down for some refreshments.” 

“Tell me if you want it gone,” Marlene said nodding to the drawer you’d placed the letter in. “I won’t hesitate.” 

“I know,” you told her. You truly appreciated her support. 

“Good,” she said with a smile while Mary sighed. 

“Do you need anything?” she asked. “We’re going to see if Ackley has something good. I heard he brought muggle snacks.”

“Can you get us some Oreos?” Lily asked turning to Mary. “Have you tried them?” She added while turning to look at you and Marlene. Neither of you had. “Let’s hope he has some. And milk, we should get our hands on some milk.” 

“I think we can transfigure that one.” 

“We can?” Lily asked as if surprised by your suggestion. 

“I mean, I have the book, you have the expertise.” The three girls laughed after that, and Marlene and Mary left the room shortly after. 

Lily’s face quickly turned into one of concern. “What happened?” 

You took a deep breath. You weren’t sure you were ready to tell the story yet again, but you thought that perhaps skipping past the worst thing and focusing on the positive side would be a good idea, so you went with that. 

“...and now we’re all dating,” you said in the end. 

Lily was completely dumbfounded, you had sped through telling the story (especially the part in Gringotts) and she had listened to you quietly, not wanting to interrupt you at all since she was scared you’d just stop talking altogether. So she didn’t say a thing when you told her about running away from the Potters, or when you told her about the chair almost attacking you in the room. She was quiet as you mentioned Gringotts and the mirror, and she seemed truly happy when you told her you’d resolved things with the boys.

When she was sure you wouldn’t be speaking again, she pulled you into a tight hug, “My God, I’m glad you’re okay!” She said as she pulled you closer. “James said he was scared, I read about the party through your letters, and I’ve been keeping up with the newspaper, and I thought– well James was quick to reassure me, I was so happy you were staying with Remus, and then with the Potters but when you left his house, and there were news of other attacks on the Quibbler –that’s a new magazine they’re publishing, the creator graduated last year, and I knew him– I was even more scared for you! You should have sent me a letter or something you idiot!” 

“I didn’t want anybody to know where I was,” you said, “I thought I didn’t deserve it.” 

Lily sighed closing her eyes and biting her lip at your words, “Nina would have never wanted that.” 

Tears prickled your eyes after she said that. “I’m aware,” you said as you looked to the side and tried to blink them away. “She was always there, some part of her at least, and it was… protecting me, in the snow and in the mirror, she–” you bit your lip, and took in a ragged breath. 

Lily brought you back into the hug, “If I were her…” Lily started. And the worst part was, that she really could have been. She might have been older, but she was as much a muggle-born as Nina. “If I had been her, I wouldn’t blame you, I’d be protecting you too. And I think you should really continue using her wand.” 

You turned to look at it, now lying on the bed, long, thin, and certainly powerful. You would, the painful reminder of her every time you saw it would become the fuel to keep you going and to protect your friends above everything, just like she’d done.

“I know,” you said with a sigh. 

“Now, on the other subject…” she said as she pulled back while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

“Godcric heavens, please no,” you said as you hid your head between your hands. 

“Why not? I think it’s nice,” she said with a smile. “I mean as long as you’re actually happy with the result,” she added, looking at you attentively. 

You turned to look at her, you’d had plenty of friends before, but never someone as sweet and caring as Evans (unless you counted Remus, but he was your boyfriend now). “Trust me,” you said with as you took a deep breath. “I’m more than happy with the result.” 

“Oh, there’s a story behind that,” she said with a smile, shaking your shoulder for you to continue talking. 

“Well remember Marlene’s party? The dare?” 

Lily thought about it for a second and then straight up gasped. “Oh shut the fuck up, Sirius was into it, wasn’t he? How didn’t we figure this out sooner? We’re supposed to be the clever ones!” 

“Blinded by love,” you said with a shrug. “It’s the only way I can explain my stupidity.” 

She laughed at your words, mostly because she realised how true it was. The entire thing had started around the same time her relationship with James took off and she had been a little distracted by and with him. Not to mention he was almost always around the other marauders, which meant if everyone was interacting together, Lily wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the rest of the boys as she would have. 

Lily helped you place some of the books from your bag in your desk (as neatly as she had accommodated hers) while you focused on putting all of your clothes back in your trunk and on some of the drawers in the wardrobe you shared with her. She was rather curious about your new relationship and she kept asking you questions about it, a few that you hadn’t even known how to respond, which had made both of you laugh merrily. 

Marlene and Mary came back while you were finishing up, their hands filled with all kinds of treats, both muggle and wizard by the looks of it. “They had Oreos!” Mary said excitedly.

“What’s that book you mentioned?” Lily asked while checking the shelf over your desk. “Is it The Transfiguration Tome: From Basics to Brilliance?” 

“No, I think it’s on Mastering... ugh…” 

“Mastering Metamorphosis: An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration?” 

“Yes! That one,” you said excitedly, and took the book when she passed it over, flipping through the pages until you found the right spell, “All we need is a jar of water…” 

On it, Marlene said as she brought it over from her bedside table. “Relashio scatere,” she whispered, and a stream of water left her wand, quickly filling the jar. She then turned to Lily with a smile, “Your turn.” 

She was reading through the spell with a small frown, “I wonder if an alteration to this one could give us something like chocolate or strawberry milk.” 

“I mean if not, we could probably figure out a spell that could.” 

Lily did the wand movements without casting the spells a couple of times before she approached the jar “Aqua vertere Lactos,” she said. The water quickly turned into white liquid. The four of you stared at it expectantly. 

“Think it worked?” Mary asked.

Lily frowned, “I’m not entirely sure, I fear I might have said something–” Marlene had already taken a gulp, and the expression she made was priceless.

“Sour milk,” she said with that same disgusted frown as she tried to shake away the taste from her tongue. “We made sour milk.” 

“Let me check,” Mary said as she pulled the book from Lily’s lap. “I think I known the problem, It’s lactis, not Lactos.” 

Marlene gave a look at the two girls, and stood up, taking the jar with sour milk and bringing it along to the bathroom. 

“It sounds the same, though,” Lily replied with a frown. 

“Is it an i or an e?” You asked.

“An I,” Mary retorted, showing you the page. 

“In Spanish, the I sounds like e, maybe it should sound like lact-es? Spanish and Latin are pretty much cousins, right?”

“Well, technically…” Lily started, Latin would be more like the mother of Spanish, but the information felt almost irrelevant at that point. “Actually, never mind, let’s try it that way,” she said in the end. 

Marlene had already returned from the bathroom, jar freshly filled and mouth still tasting slightly of that sour flavour that she found particularly distasteful. “Quick, I want to get this flavour off my mouth.” 

“Don’t pressure genius,”  Mary said as she lightly hit Marlene on the arm.

Marlene was about to retort, when Lily did the spell again “Aqua vertere Lactes.” 

The liquid, once again, turned white. Marlene looked at it, but this time she did not go straight to drink it. “Well then, try it,” Mary said as she motioned towards the jar with her head. 

“I tried it last time, it’s your turn.” 

“But I’m showing you the Oreos, it can’t be my turn!” Mary reasoned. The two girls turned to look at Lily, who seemed mortified at the idea of trying the milk. 

“I’ll do it,” you said as you took a small teacup and served yourself some of it. 

“So brave,” Marlene said dramatically as you brought the tea to your lips. 

“And?” Mary asked as you took the first gulp. 

You kept a serious face for a second, and then smiled, “Milk!” 

“Yeah?” Lily asked with a satisfied smile.

“I mean, it might be a little watered down, like Low Fat Milk, I think.” 

“Wait, really?” Marlene asked and served some herself. “Also a little like Mooncalf milk,” she added.

“Shit, that’s right!” you retorted after taking another sip. “It’s pretty much like Mooncalf milk.” 

“Mooncalf milk?” Mary asked with a small frown, “Those things have milk?” 

“Yeah,” you responded. “Pretty delicious, it’s good on potions too, though a little expensive since they aren’t all that easy to milk.”

“I’ve heard they use it on sleeping draughts and a Valerian Spring tea with some of that will for sure knock you out. My nan used to make it for me and Margo when we had nightmares.” 

“Right, mine did that too, although she never used Valerian Spring, she used Lavender,” you retorted. 

“Weirdos,” Mary said as she looked at Lily, they had both also served themselves a cup and were hesitant to taste it. Lily was the first one, and nodded, it did taste like low-fat milk, and she assumed the “mooncalf” taste that you and Marlene found had to do with the tinge of sweetness near the end.

“It’s good, try it,” Lily said as she nodded towards Marlene who was still looking at the milk like it had come from outer space. She eventually did take a sip and seemed pretty satisfied with the taste as well. 

“It’s like the milk left after you’ve eaten all the Frosties,” she said towards Lily who nodded.

“What’s that?” Marlene asked.

“Muggle cereal,” you retorted. You had tried it on a muggle hotel once. Silas had encouraged you to try all the interesting muggle food in the buffet. He’d mentioned something about broadening your horizons outside of the Wizarding World. You wondered how someone like him could be both open to the world and a complete bastard at the same time. “So what’s with the Oris?” 

“Oreos,” Mary corrected and pulled out a white and blue box with a little yellow “One Pound Size” label at the top, and the name OREO in capital letters with a small dot at the end. 

“Oh, they look like Bourbon Biscuits.” 

“They don’t have bourbon,” Mary said as she opened the box and laid them out in front of you. 

“Well that makes them less cool than Bourbon biscuits,” Marlene said with a pout. 

“Shut it,” Mary said and handed over a small plastic bag with round sandwich cookies on the inside, “Only they could compare Oreos to Burbon Biscuits,” Mary said almost exasperated. 

Marlene pouted playfully and opened the bag. Lily took a cookie and held it in her hands. “Okay, hear me out, this is how you eat them,” she said before splitting the cookie, licking the inside, putting it back together and dipping it in the milk. 

“Why?” asked Marlene with a frown. 

“Why?” asked Mary, almost scandalised. “Have I ever asked you why you always put on your left sock before the right one? It’s just because!” 

“But is it a rule? Like on the package or something?” You asked next. 

“It’s in the commercials!” Lily said, taking the cookie out of her milk, shaking it a little and bringing it to her mouth. Once she swallowed her first bite she seemed genuinely satisfied. “You gotta savour it.” 

You shrugged, and muttered a small “well then,” before you took a cookie from the bag and followed Lily’s instructions. The filling didn’t taste like much, but the cookie did become pretty soft once you dipped it in the milk, which you thought was nice. Even after you accidentally left it on the milk for too long and it got so soft that it broke inside your cup. 

“What the–” you said. Marlene seemed just as puzzled when hers did the same.

“What?” Asked Mary.

“It broke,” Marlene retorted, trying to fish hers out with her wand.

“Ah, right,” Lily said right after swallowing her cookie. “They are not charmed against getting soggy like wizard biscuits.” 

“That’s so weird,” Marlene said as she managed to levitate the soggy cookie and brought it to her mouth, “and mushy,” she added with her mouth full.

Both Lily and Mary laughed, while you attempted to fish the cookie with a small teaspoon. 

Mary had also brought some other snacks and you all enjoyed a pretty delicious and fun “Welcome Back” feast of sweets. They had brought other muggle stuff like Walkers Crisps, Flying Saucers, Nice Biscuits and Jammie Doggers. The latter of  whichLily seemed to like a lot and neither of you skipped the chance to tease her about. See, Jammie, was just a letter away from Jamie, and when Marlene said: “Don’t eat James yet!” you all bursted out into a laugh.

Lily froze as you said that, completely confused by her words when Marlene pointed at the packaging of the cookies. She did say it was Jammie as in Jam, not as in Jamie, but not even Mary cared about the technicalities and continued teasing her about it.

 They had also gotten a few Aero bars, and you asked to keep one after tasting them. You weren’t sure if Remus had tired them but you thought they were pretty interesting with their bubbly texture and whatnot, and since Rem had always been a fan of chocolate –or chocolate connoisseur, as Sirius called him–  you thought it would be nice to take some for him. 

“I’m so full,” Marlene said as she allowed herself to fall back on the floor. “I might not sleep today.” 

“As if,” Mary laughed. “You sleep like a log!” Marlene just answered with a disgruntled groan. 

“Shall we fix this up?” Lily asked as she waved her wand over it. The wrappers went straight to the trash while the leftover treats neatly accommodated themselves in a box that Marlene kept under her bed.

“So talented,” you said with a yawn as you looked at her dreamily, she pushed you by the shoulder playfully after that. 

“I swear, you two would make a fantastic couple,” Mary said. “If only you weren’t dating two idiots.” 

You were about to defend both of your boys when Lily answered for you, “But they’re lovely!” You ended up laughing after that. Not because you didn’t think they were, but because she didn’t even bother to correct her. “Besides, like Holden is any better!” Marlene gasped at that and threw a small cushion on Lily’s face. “Oi,” the latter complained.

Mary yawned after that, “Let’s just sleep!” She said, almost a little petulantly, her yawn had been so contagious you followed right up –not that you could actually sleep.

Marlene pulled the box from the floor as she stood up and left it under her bed before walking to the bathroom, washing her teeth and dropping on the bed. “Are you sleeping here?” Lily asked, almost in a whisper.

“I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight,” you replied honestly. She gasped, eyes wide at the implication that. “It’s not like that!” you rushed out. “We’re planning something.” 

“Is it like… Marauders' business?” 

“I’ll absolve you of blame by keeping you in the dark,” you retorted. Mary was still in the bathroom, wrapping her hair carefully like she did all the time before bed. It was the only way in which her curls would look as wonderful as always in the morning. Not to mention the potion she had already become a master at brewing. 

Lily sighed, “I think Severus is on perfect duty tonight, you should be careful.”  

You smiled, “Thank you,” you said. “Not just for this. For everything.” 

“It’s what friends are for,” she replied with a smile and a small shrug. “Anything I should know? Things like bringing an umbrella, making sure my clock is set at the right time, staying away from a certain classroom–” 

“You like toads?” you asked.

“Only the chocolate ones,” she replied. 

You nodded, “Then maybe… don’t leave the room at all,” you responded with a mischievous air and she gasped. 

Your full name was uttered in the most cheerful tone you had ever heard, followed by a simple “...what the hell are you planning?” 

“Shhhh!” you retorted. “Marlene is asleep.” 

“Marlene’s asleep my ass,” she retorted in a hushed tone. “How could you even consider–” 

“Evans, stay out of it or I’ll tell James about your dream with him,” you said while raising an eyebrow. 

She gasped, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

You really wouldn’t dare. But instead, you leaned your head down and narrowed your eyes, “Wouldn’t I?” 

She huffed in return, and stood up, walking towards her bed. “Hope you get caught.” 

“You don’t, not really,” you retorted with a teasing smile when you noticed the little shake of her shoulders, she was laughing. 

“You better keep them away from me,” she retorted. 

“I’ll try,” you said after she walked into the bathroom. 

“Keep what away from her?” Mary asked as she stepped out and walked inside the room.

“You’ll see tomorrow,” you retorted with a mischief-filled smile.

Glossarie: Seadh, tha sinn gu cinnteach ann an gaol - Yeah, we’re definitely in love nous sommes amoureux - we’re in love Faodaidh tu feuchainn - you can try

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[lurkingshan]

Bestie @my-rose-tinted-glasses sent me an ask but tumblr is being a weirdo and won't let me publish it, so let's try it this way. The ask:

Wonderful day in Thailand. but now for the important questions. Of all the ql thai couples, which wedding would you like to be invited to and why? Rose💜

So let's talk QL weddings!! First of all, I would like to give a shoutout to a few excellent weddings already depicted in Thai QL:

And I would have liked to have been personally invited to every one of them, thank you very much. I'm a very fun wedding guest! I drink like a fish, I'm a happy drunk, and I love to dance, and on top of that I'm a mom friend and consummate problem solver who will absolutely take over and handle shit if the wedding planner is incompetent.

As for the weddings I would still like to see, oh I definitely have a list:

Oyei and Cher, Wandee Goodday: This is within the realm of possibility in the very near future and I will be lighting all my candles and manifesting hard for the next month.

Ten and Prem, Cooking Crush: Those were definitely engagement portraits on the wall in that epilogue and I would like to see it! I feel strongly that if I don't see at least one pair of OffGun characters get married onscreen I will simply perish.

Patts and Tai, La Pluie: You just know Patts is gonna be so extravagant and Tai is gonna be such a drama queen about it. To restore balance to the universe, Tien should get to throw a tantrum and make Tai's wedding all about his latest fight with Lomfon.

Tian and Jiu, Khun Chai: I just think Tian deserves it!!!!

Every couple in The Warp Effect: We can make it a dorky group wedding if we have to, whatever it takes to see all those beautiful queer people lawfully wed to their chosen partner.

Phumjai and Yang, Love in Translation: They are business partners in love, they should get to have a wedding with a silly photoshoot in the aisles of their store.

Any pair, Knock Knock Boys: Stay with me now, I think the bl boys should get to partake in the time honored het tradition of getting drunkenly married on a bender and regretting it.

Khanin and Charan, The Next Prince: If this show does not deliver an extravagant royal wedding, what are we even doing here??

I recognize that some of these shows are long over, but I see no reason why we can't have the things that we want. Happy endings and wedding specials for everyone, I will pay!

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ LMLY ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!jackson wang x songwriter!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Summary: On the evening before one of your boyfriend's parties you confess to him that you've been doubting yourself lately and he has his heart set on easing your mind.

♡ Word Count: 1.7k-ish

♡ Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, pet names (baby) & that's about all, bbys

♡ A/N: This is my first Jackson Wang request which I'm really happy about because no one ever really requests/write for him (like, y'all, this man's a certified baddie. let's get it together). Thank you @writhingwrecked for putting this request in. I hope you get the comfort you needed from it!

People usually have one of two ideas about who your boyfriend is. They either categorize him as this dark, brooding artist who’s trapped in the spiral of an existential crisis or some frat boy who spends all of his time partying and drinking. If they took the time they’d see what a sweetheart he is, especially when it comes to you.

Seated opposite you on the couch of his penthouse—one of many he has tucked away in different countries—he keeps your feet balanced in his lap, laser focused on painting your toenails your favorite color. Nothing could possibly be cuter than Jackson is with his hair pulled back into the two tiny space buns you put them in earlier, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he applies the final touches to your nails. 

Tonight Jackson’s having one of his infamous parties, this one on a scenic beach in Thailand. It’ll be the first you’ve attended since joining his songwriting team and your first since the two of you began dating. Anyone who’s anyone will be there and you’re determined to look perfect for it. So, needless to say, you sent yourself into a panic when the nail tech canceled on you last minute.

But it was Jackson to the rescue as always, quieting your fears and insisting that you let him take care of you. That’s the Jackson you know. The one who’ll do anything to keep his girl happy. It gives you butterflies watching him be this patient and attentive with you. It makes your heart race a little faster just feeling his fingers brush your skin as he tilts your foot to inspect his handiwork. 

“That tickles!” you giggle, toes wiggling as he tries to keep you still. 

“Hey, stop that! You’re gonna mess it up” he whines, tickling the arch of your foot on purpose this time. 

You twist away from him, jumping up from the couch to go finish your makeup. There’s two hours until you need to head out for the party and the two of you are still lounging around in your towels. It’s about time you pick up the pace anyway. 

“I don’t have time for this. Some of us have to get ready.” 

Catching you by the arm, he carefully pulls you down onto his lap, peppering kisses all over your face. You resist at first but quickly give up the act, relaxing into his arms to soak up the love he so openly pours into you. “Jackson, I’ll never get dressed if you keep this up.”

Running a hand down to your thigh, he gently rubs it, taking in the beauty of your figure as he does so. “Who says I want you to get dressed?” he asks, the sexy rasp of his voice tickling your cheek. You let out an almost weightless moan at the sensation of his lips skimming your jawline. You rest your hands on his bare chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath, lean muscles flexing beneath your touch.  “Aah, baby, we don’t, mmm, have time for this right now. If I don’t look perfect for this—” 

Jackson tilts his head up, gazing into your eyes, “Don’t say that, you always look perfect.” 

“To you because you love me but…” you sigh, shoulders dropping under the weight of self doubt, “Jackson, I have to look good so at least it seems like I’ve done something to deserve to be there with all those talented people. With you”. 

Jackson sits back on the couch, his brow scrunching at a statement he couldn’t disagree with more. “What are you talking about? You are ‘talented people’. The songs you helped me write are beautiful”. 

“What if no one else thinks so? What if the album drops and everyone hates them? What if…I’m just not good enough?”

“Baby, look at me” he begs, scooping your cheeks into his hands, “You are more than good enough. Don’t you ever question that. You’re here with me because you’re the best of the fucking best, because…”

He clears his throat, choking back the sentimental side of him that has him wanting to tear up. You see it anyway, the moisture across his irises that make them shimmer like raindrops catching sunlight. 

“I doubt myself too,” he confesses, “I fear the future, worry if what I’m doing is enough, but as long as I have an amazing woman who loves me like you do I know it must be.” 

“Why are you trying to make me cry?” you pout, sniffling back tears of your own. 

“No, it’s not that, baby. I just want you to know how special you are and that we’re in this together. You belong here.”

His lips meet yours in a quick, sweet kiss. “You belong anywhere you want to be.” The next kiss lasts longer, your lips parting to welcome his. “And I will literally fight anyone who makes you feel any different.”

You giggle but Jackson doesn’t. He’s a softie but he’s cutthroat when it comes to protecting you. 

“You’re so cute when you’re serious.”

“Hmm? Just cute?” he asks, kissing you with everything he has.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifts you from the couch, his tongue refusing to leave the fluffy warmth of your cheeks. You shake your head, shivering as the air from the open window blows gently against your now exposed core. “More than cute. Really, really fucking hot.” 

Jackson lays you back on the couch, spreading your legs to slip in between them. “Now who’s being the cute one?” he teases, draping one of your legs over the back of the couch. His right hand moves between the two of you, tracing all the finer details of your pussy. Your slick folds, so soft against his fingertips. Your stiffening clit, twitching as he circles it. Your dripping entrance that clenches at his presence, growing wetter the deeper he kisses you.

“Mmm, I think she wants some attention, baby” he coos, fingers pushing into you, “Can I taste her?” 

Your head falls back against the arm of the couch, eyes fluttering closed as he works his fingers deep into your core. “Yes, please” you moan, nails faintly scraping his shoulders as he ventures down your body. Pushing your towel away, he takes his time massaging your plush figure, praising your form, soothing your worries.

When his head dips between your legs, he kisses your soft inner thigh until his breath’s warming your core. Jackson’s eyes flick up to you, watching all the pretty faces you make as he teases the ridges of your walls. “Oh my god!” you cry, hips lifting from the cushion as he purses his lips around your clit, suckling at the bud with the perfect amount of pressure.

Jackson locks an arm over your waist, gripping your belly as he pins you back down. “Don’t run from me, baby. How am I gonna make you feel good if you can’t keep still?” 

You grab onto the cushion beneath you, pleading with your body to cooperate but she writhes and arches against his hold, simply refusing to listen. Your walls clamp around his fingers, threatening to push them out, but Jackson only sinks them in deeper, your wetness audible as his soaked wrist comes flush against your slit.

“Jackson…” you moan, glancing between your legs to find his face almost completely buried in your pussy. "Hmm?” he hums, staring back at you with those puppy dog eyes you always melt for. Slipping his fingers out, he drives his tongue into you, slurping your juices down, grateful to taste more of you. 

All you’ve done leading up to tonight is live in your head—stressing, worrying, doubting yourself. The pressure of it all was unbearable but gradually it lifts. With every curve of Jackson’s tongue, a sense of euphoria flows through your body, washing away anything that makes you question the woman that you are.

Jackson needs you, can’t get enough of you. Your body. Your spirit. Your mind. This is what you deserve, to lay back and be pleasured, juices flowing down his throat with not a single thing for you to worry yourself about. Nothing except the pulsing in your core, the pressure building inside of you gradually, letting you bask in each level of intensity before being pushed to another.

“Jackson, mmm, close” you moan and Jackson lets go of your belly, reaching up to hold your hand. Your stomach muscles contract at the return of his fingers. There’s more this time, you aren’t even sure how many, but they’re stretching you so wonderfully, hitting your sweet spot every single time.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Let it all go” Jackson coos, dragging his tongue up your clit. 

Seeing the love in his eyes, the passion, how badly he wants to please you, sends you crashing over the edge. You hold onto his hand, fingers interlaced with his, and ride out your high, letting your body move as it wishes. Jackson keeps dipping his fingers in and out of you, tongue flicking your clit, until you’ve come back down.

“You feel better, baby?” he asks, resting his head on a thigh more comfy than any pillow.

“Mmhmm” you answer between shallow breaths, “I feel wonderful.”

Jackson smiles, leaving a wet kiss on your other thigh, “We don’t have to go tonight, you know? Not if you don’t want to.”

“Actually, I…I wanna go.”

“Oh? Really?” he asks, equal parts shocked and curious about your newfound excitement for tonight. You sit up to pet his cheek, guiding him on top of you. You feel so safe under the weight of him, comforted by the arms now caging you into your little dip in the couch. 

“You believe in me so much, Jackson.” 

“I do.” 

“So, I guess it can’t hurt for me to try to believe in myself a little.” 

Jackson kisses you on the forehead, the nose, the lips. “And never fear the future. Whatever happens, I've got your back. I’ll do anything for you, you know that?" He shifts between your legs and you feel the head of his cock brush your clit. You bring him in for another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ya know, I might not wanna skip the party but it’s okay if we’re a little late, isn’t it?”

“Anything” he whispers, hips rocking against you, “For you.”

[drmaddict]

Patchwork

Summary: Henry becomes a father... Just not how he thought it would happen.

Word count: 2.160

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, lots of fluff

"Six?"

"Six."

"Six children?"

"Well not biologically, but.... yes."

(Y/n) looked uncertainly at Henry. The blue eyes stared at her in disbelief.

"You have six children living in your house?"

She sighed. That was always the point at which every guy ran away.

"I understand if that's too much for you," she began. 

Henry shook his head still in disbelief, but grinned. "Do you ever sleep, or do you just get used to  sleep deprivation?"

She smiled cautiously. Didn't trust the peace yet, though. "To be honest there are two kids one 9 and one 12 and four pubescent teenagers."

He regarded her quietly across the restaurant table. "Are you okay?" he asked, "Did I say something wrong? I know my reaction may have been a little surprised, but I didn't mean to cut you in."

She relaxed a little. "It's just... Most guys run away as soon as they hear that, and that would really be .... a shame."

Henry smiled and shook his head. "I don't run away. I hate cardio."

That made her smile.

"But you'll still have to tell me how you get to adopt six children and teenagers.... And that as a single woman in her mid-twenties."

"It's like cats. Somehow I guess it doesn't stay with just one." She tipped her wine glass. "The first one was Jason. He was the son of my neighbors at the time and would come by my apartment every so often in the afternoon until his mother got home. One night he showed up at my door bleeding. His father caught him with make up and beat him black and blue. It took a while, but then he could move in with me. He's graduating from high school this summer. He has even been accepted to a make up school. He wants to go into film as a makeup artist." She smiled softly. "He's come a long way."

Henry curtsied in shock at the story. "Fatima is 16 and has been disowned by her family for not being a virgin. She has ambitions to study law. I don't think anyone will stop her from going to Oxford. Mike is almost 16 - next week - and grew up without a father and even though his mother tried everything, she has high level schizophrenia. She has been institutionalized and now lives in care. We visit her whenever her condition allows it. Mini - Emilia ran away at some point. We don't really know what happened. She is 14. Kamon is 12 and comes from a refugee family. His parents have been sent back to Thailand. We are trying to get a visa for them. Until then, I'm kind of his foster family. He and Mike are not officially adopted. Both love their family and do everything for them, even if they can't always be there. And Lilly. She is 9. Her family died in a car accident. No family member has been found."

She was silent for a moment and continued to contemplate her wine before looking up and looking at Henry.

"Henry... I understand if this is too much, but.... they've all been through enough in their lives and every single one of them has their reasons for making it hard for new people in our family. So if, against all odds, you say yes to this circus, know that it's not so easy to get out of it either." Her gaze became insistent. "If you leave me, that's one thing, but I won't do that to the kids."

Henry, who hadn't said anything all this time, took one deep breath and reached for her hand lying on the table. He smiled. "If they're willing to meet me, so am I."

Henry stood in front of a gigantic house. His house was already big, but this one surpassed it. Despite its size, however, it didn't seem ostentatious. It looked cozy and inviting. The word 'home' popped into his head.

Shouts and frantic footsteps sounded from inside. 

He pressed his thumb on the doorbell. Immediately, everything went silent.

The door opened with a jerk. A dark-skinned boy stood before him, beaming at him. From the colored eyeliner, he concluded that it must be Jason.

"Hello Mr. Cavill." he said in a noticeably loud voice.

Immediately, frantic footsteps sounded and he saw scattered bodies running through the background.

"Hi. Henry will do." he smiled.

"Come on in. I'm Jason. Ehhm... (Y/n) isn't here yet.... Mike had... They had to go to the hospital."

"Is he okay?"

Jason shrugged. "Normally, he is. Boxer you know... Tea?"

"Gladly."

He stepped into the house. It was swept as if empty, yet the traces of life could be seen in it. Self-painted pictures. Photographs. Various equipment for hobbies. Shoes in different sizes. And that was just the hallway. Henry let himself be led into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. None matched the other.

"Mike had a match this morning. (Y/n) said he's already patched up. They're already on their way here."

Henry smiled. "With something like this, you should take your time."

Jason set the steaming cup down for him and sat with him.

Henry accepted it gratefully. "It's very quiet."

"Be glad." was all he said, sipping his tea. "I don't want to chase you away, but it's like human history here. The periods of absolute peace are relatively negligible." He ran his index finger over the rim of his cup and grinned. "And I'm one of the worst divas here. Just a warning."

The front door opened and a rumble sounded, followed by an amused giggle. "Sorry about that." a boy's slurred voice rang out.

"That's okay big guy. Come on off to bed." he heard (y/n).

"I'm fine!"

"That's because they drugged your ass off so you can't feel your face."

"Where's Ammy?"

"Mike you need to rest now. You can call Amber when you're in bed."

"Who are you?" A blond boy in a gray sweatshirt and swollen face looked at him from the doorway, aghast. "Who's that?" he turned to (Y/n).

"A friend Mike. That's a friend. Jason stop filming him!"

Still grinning, Jason put the phone away and turned to Henry. "Welcome."

"What's the dog's name?", Kamon asked him.

"That's Kal...like Superman." he smiled at the shy boy.

"I like Batman."

Henry rolled his eyes playfully. "Oh yeah, why?"

"Batman watches out for kids nobody else wants. Like (y/n)."

Henry smiled.

"I told you not to rummage through my things!" yelled Emilia down the hall.

Henry and (Y/n) sat in the garden each holding a book.

"I wasn't rummaging. I was getting MY eyeshadow, that you stole from MY room!" shouted back Jason. "It's not my fault you leave your lovey-dovey fanfictions lying around in the open like that!"

"You have no business in my room!"

"That being said - Tom Holland? Really?"

A splintering sound rang out.

"I guess that was the vase, then," (Y/n) sighed.

"I would have thought she was more of a Sebastian Stan type," Henry reflected loudly.

"How long has she been sitting there?" whispered Henry to (Y/n).

"Since this morning. She hasn't looked up from that book in five hours."

Fatima sat at the large parlor table surrounded by books, writing notes and index cards.

"That's impressive. Scary, but impressive."

Kal walked over to the table and nudged her.

"I have to study! Sit!" Kal obeyed immediately and sat next to her chair.

"She'd make a good drill sergeant," Henry grinned.

(Y/n) sipped her coffee. "You've never seen her in exam stress."

"This isn't exam stress?"

"This is relaxed studying."

Henry looked in shock at the girl with noise cancelling headphones. (Y/n) grinned into her cup.

 "They need more glitter!" determined Lilly.

Henry reached for the can of edible glitter and sprinkled more of it on the unicorn cookies.

"Like this?"

The little girl looked thoughtfully at the tin. "Like this."

Henry bowed theatrically and slid the tin into the oven. "All for your majesty." The girl giggled.

(Y/n) just watched with a smile.

Jason and Mike sat on the sofa grinning together at a tablet, each with headphones in their ears.

This wasn't normal. Even Henry knew that by now. He wondered if they were both watching porn. He'd been that age once, too. He knew what that was like.

(Y/n) came into the living room and looked over there shoulders at the two of them. She laughed uncontrollably grunting, but immediately suppressed it and came over to him.

No porn, he concluded.

"What about these two?" asked Henry, pulling her to him on the sofa and onto his lap.

"Just a movie," she grinned.

"What movie?"

She continued to shake her head with a grin and waved it off. Henry was very reluctant to be shut out. So he sat (y/n) down next to him on the sofa and stood behind the two teenagers. When he saw his younger self in a black hoodie grinning and holding up a tarot card, he groaned in annoyance.

The boys snorted indignantly. Henry looked defiantly at the display.

"Oh come on Sweet Cheeks! What's wrong?" asked (Y/n) with a laugh.

He looked at her with an intensity that promised she would pay for this yet. She could hardly wait.

"What's with the hair?" laughed Jason.

"It was in back then!"

Henry stood in the kitchen making coffee while there was the familiar bustle around him. Kamon couldn't find his second shoe, Lilly needed a certain T-shirt, Jason occupied the bathroom, Mike shoveled eggs into his mouth, Fatima just drank the coffee straight out of the pot, and Emilia hid behind a book.

He could hardly believe that over a year should have passed already.

They had grown close to his heart. He didn't want to miss the chaos at all. The last time he left for a job, it seemed almost eerie how quiet it was that night. He had told (y/n) about it over Skype. She'd just grinned and said those feelings liked to sneak up on one.

"Do you think they want me in their life?" he had asked her uncertainly.

She had only smiled. "Wait a minute." She disappeared and came back a moment later with a piece of paper. She held it up to the camera. "Lilly drew this for you today." It showed eight roughly drawn people. Under each one, in capital letters, was the name.... except for (y/n) and him. It just said Mum and Paps. Henry stared wide-eyed at the screen. "Please act surprised when you come back. It's supposed to be a gift.", she put the paper back down. "Are you crying?"

Henry had remained silent. He had only nodded.

He smiled at the memory. The picture hung framed in the hallway. It had become Henry's favorite picture.

"Car one go!", (y/n) called down the stairs.

The three mismatched teens got up from the table and walked to (y/n)s car.

Henry packed the last of the snacks into Lilly and Kamon's lunchboxes before he, too, packed them into his cat and drove them to school. Jason had a little break from make up school and stayed at home.

Henry came back earlier than (y/n). He waited patiently for her in the kitchen. Looked at the mismatched chairs and the photos on the wall. Photos that now included him. (Y/n) came shortly after him and dropped into her usual seat next to him. She reached for the waiting cup of coffee and dropped her head on his shoulder. "How did I do this alone before?"

Henry laughed.

"I mean it. Don't you dare leave! I can't take it anymore!"

Henry just smiled at her. He got up from his chair and knelt down in front of her. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it in front of him. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life anywhere but with you and the kids. (Y/n) will you marry me?"

She looked at him with shocked eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded with a smile. "I want to take Lilly to her dance lessons. I want to be there when Jason gets his first jobs. I want to see Fatima come top of her year at Oxford - in law AND medicine." They both laughed. "I want to cheer Mike on in his competitions. I want to watch Emilia find the romance she secretly wants. I even want my heart to break when Kamon is reunited with his parents. I want to be with you. I want to be with the children. I don't want to run away. I want to be part of this family."

"You already are," she smiled, crying. She pulled him close and kissed him.

"Does that mean yes?" he grinned.

"Yes you idiot." she laughed.

[mechaknight-98]

Resonance FT Natty

Authors notes: A fic I've had for a while but was still expanding

"Yeah, boss. You want me to work with a new partner...but I'm retired. You will pay how much...Hm...no... Okay, now you're exaggerating. You're not...Fine, I will come through."

Going ack to DWMA was an experience Riku swore that after achieving Death Scythe Meister status he wouldn't do, but here he was at the beck and call of Death the Kid. Walking up the many stairs to the main hall was a chore he didn't miss. As he maneuvered you avoided the new crop of students moving around the area until he reached Death the Kid's office.

Death the kid smiles at Riku, "Thank you for coming on such short notice," Kid says to Riku, and he shrugs.

"What was this about something I have never seen before," Riku responds intrigued.

"Remember Tsubaki, and Black Star" Death the kid started. Riku nods and Kid continues, "Well there was a weapon we found in Thailand her Name is Anatchaya Suputhipong and she has ties to both the Star clan and the Nakatsukasa clans. You are currently the only meister I think that can deal with it," Kid explains

"Her name is what… wait no that's not my question. why call me of all people? Why me," Riku asks confused.

"I think you will see when you get there," Kid says as he opens a portal for Riku as he walks through Death the kid adds this to Riku, "Look riki I know you are worried about everything but don't be it wasn't your fault. Atraxa asked you too." Riku looked at Death the Kid and had to (Barely) resist the urge to kick him in the face before walking through. The city was uncomfortably bright as Riku traveled through it. He felt the feeling of being watched and to no one's surprise, he was. A Death scythe meister in a Kishin city was just asking for trouble, but curiously trouble is not what found him.

"He Mister...um are you lost," A pretty lady asked approaching Riku. her smile was kind and disarming. '

"Oh sorry Miss I am looking for someone who was supposed to be out here?"

"Oh well then maybe I can help you find her," the lady said. Riku smiled and replied

"Okay then sure. Hey, what's your name?”

“Oh I don't think you can pronounce it but please call me Natty,” the young woman replied. Riku nodded before outstretching his and giving his reply,

“Riku nice to meet you.” Natty Smiled at Riku before taking his hand. A spark of soul resonance was shared between them as their souls attuned to each other at a moment’s notice. Natty and Riku noticed the spark.

“Hey um weird question but are you uh…,” Riku stammered Natty smiled watching him all flustered, “are you a death weapon,” Riku finally choked out. Natty nodded. Riku nodded back, “Okay so I am a death weapon meister. I was sent here by Lord Death II to find one named, “Anatchaya Suputhipong” Have you seen them around before?” Natty laughed before nodding. Riku smiled relieved “Oh great can you help me find them,” he asked hopeful. Natty nodded before she replied

“I do need your help though. A demon is terrorizing my family can you help me kill it?” Rayami nodded and Natty squealed excitedly.“Oh my gosh thank you, you won't regret it,” Natty added. Riku shrugged and followed the excitable young woman. On the way, it clicked that Riku had no idea what her weapon form was.

“Um Natty quick question.” Natty turned and looked at Rayami with her big brown eyes with an intrigued look

“Yeah partner,” she said happy

“Um, we should probably go over battle strategy before we fight,” Riku responded

"Oh totally, but to be honest I thought we would resonate and you do all the fighting," Natty replied with a palpable innocence.

"So yeah about that. Ever since my last partner betrayed my soul resonates differently,"

"Is that why your skin is purple," Natty asked wide-eyed. Riku nodded before outstretching his hands again. he waited for Natty to take his hands. Natty looked at him confused

"So here's the play; we are going to attune ourselves to each other, and my knowledge will become yours and yours will become mine. Memories. Powers and Emotions will flow freely between us. The reason for this is that when we fight it won't be me or you doing all of the work but an even partnership," Riku explained.

"So we will be perfectly resonated," Natty asked excitedly

"No think of it as... a producer and a musician. we are both driving the experience however it will be like Music production. One of us will give guidance to the other and provide (hopefully) helpful commentary like a producer while the other is fighting," Rayami clarified. Natty smiled.

"So I will be able to use my weapon forms and not be the weapon the entire time," Natty asked. Riku nods. Natty is elated. at this. She smiles at Riku before taking his hands.

The shared soul-scape that the partners made was a Music studio. Natty being the more rambunctious of the two was the first driver. She looked at her hand and marveled that she was holding her weapon form for the first time.

"Everything good," Riku asked. Natty nodded with a smile before going to confront the demon.

Unsurprisingly the soulscape manifested as a studio for Riku. he looked around and felt at ease. Natty had given him an expansive but contained space. He had mixing tables, instruments, plus a bunch of other keys and tools that he was quite familiar with. the most comforting thing was the natural feel the studio had as if it had grown into an aged tree.

"How do you like your soulscape," Natty asked.

"Oh I love it," Riku replied pleasantly

"Great Now focus up I am going to need your magic to bolster our attacks," Natty said tensing. Her body language and affectation shifted from Cute innocent and playful to. Seductive, Lehtal, and determined. Riku got her mix ready as they neared Natty's large home. when she walked in she was stood face to face across from a "Demon" Riku knew quite well.

Rayami gritted his teeth before growling out, "Mallek!"

Sensing a new presence Mallek turned to face Natty. His monstrous form lumbered to address her with his bladed arm outstretched from his hand a facsimile of an offer for a friendly handshake.

"Have you brought me my Offering Natty," Mallek said with ravenous eyes. Natty glared before getting into a fighting stance.

Mallek looked at the young woman surprised before he teasingly said, "OH is this a burst of courage? You know what that means. When I am done with you I am going to kill your whole family!"

Hearing that Riku turned up the levels for Wind while lowering the channel for lighting. He also said to Natty, "Look Mallek is strong but sloppy use your Krabi-Krabong skills and he won't be able to hurt you."

"Got it," Natty replied before closing the distance. in the soundscape, Riku went over to his base and tuned it for Natty's solo: Sugarcoat. He began to play to start the resonance chain, and Natty felt the power behind him as her strength quadrupled. Mallek lunged forward with a reckless slash that Natty easily blocked and parried. She launches a counterattack of her own. a simple strike at where Mallek is the weakest. the joint where his flesh became metal, a quick tidbit given to her by a dialed-in Riku. Mallek stumbled as Natty's strike made her mark. Mallek's hand seized as he could no longer Summon his weapon form anymore, and with a mighty cleave, she cut Mallek in twain.

Realizing he could die here he began the process of recalling back to his safe house. He was terrified of this meister but felt a bizarre familiarity from the pair.

As the battle ended Riku materialized and looked Mallek in the eye silently. Mallek's eyes widened as realization hit them. Riku shrugged and walked away from Natty who went back to playful, bubbly, and happy, Natty gave a thumbs and the two walked off.

"That was so cool Iku. I was like dodge and woosh and then slam. it was perfect," Natty exclaimed excitedly. Riku smiled feeling at ease. he nodded. Natty smiled brighter

"You know we make a good team. Wanna make this partnership permanent," she asked hesitantly. Riku turned to Natty and sized her up.

"You know what Anatchaya Suputhipong I'd love to," Riku said as the two Headed back to the DWMA

[hexonthepeach]

perfume - k.dy

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

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

warnings:

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

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

wordcount: 20k

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

read on AO3

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

Freshman year, Kocher International. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper. 

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

The laughter that follows is deafening.

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

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

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

No–you think–not hesitation. 

Frustration.

You've seen this man before. 

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

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

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

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

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Can we go back to sleep?"

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

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

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

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

But this was different.

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?” you ask.

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

“You can’t be that tired,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

"Stop that," 

"Stop what?" 

"Getting so handsy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir," you pout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?” you ask. 

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

You gape up at him in disbelief. 

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

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

“Proving my point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Last I checked, neither have you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy. 

"Metaphorically speaking."

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

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

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taste it." 

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

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

"Salt," you say, immediately. 

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes. 

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

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

An unrefined palette, he'd called you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It better be," you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it, you think. 

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

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, stop."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we allowed to–”

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drip for me, first.” 

“I don't think I can–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, please, I need you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

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

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

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

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality. 

Orange Blossom for innocence. 

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

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

“What didn’t you see?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that my perfume?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, just as playful. 

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

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

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

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

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.” 

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

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

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

“Can’t I just show you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it,” you say.

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

“You first,” he says.

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

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

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs. 

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

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

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not mad?” 

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

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

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

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

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few years ago, give or take 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d thought he wasn’t, either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

“You make a new friend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

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

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

“But I’m not–”

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

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

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d want to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd seen you in passing.

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

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep. 

He’s not allowed to. 

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

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

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

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

And you needed it, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only has this one chance. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, whimpering. 

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

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

“Who owns this tight little pussy?” 

“You do,” you gasp out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He talks you through it, instead.

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

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

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

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

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

“You do taste different,” you tease.

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

“Did you like that?” you murmur. 

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow morning . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What's going on here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Stair access only, sir.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you tell me–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you see the light?” you ask. 

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

The bank: Sa. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mona. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.” 

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

But they had. Deeply. 

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

“Did I win?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ppeonppeonhan]

So My Stand-In just ended, and We Are & Wandee Goodday end next week. We still got Knock Knock, Boys!, My Love Mix-Up!, The Rebound, Love Sea, and SunsetxVibes for a while, but...

4 Minutes (Action | Drama | Sci-Fi)

It took Bible almost 2 years to crawl out of that Build fiasco, and the fandom is primed to see him again with all of the ominous and sultry clips of the series they've been teasing us with.

Obviously, it looks promising 👀 but I'm most excited to see him in action again, and to explore another supernatural Thai drama -- this time about precognition (aka seeing the future). It'll be even more interesting to explore what it's like to be in a relationship when you BOTH have that ability. Does it prevent missteps or prove they're inevitable? We'll also get to see if Sammon, co-writer of the haunting Dead Friend Forever, will haunt us with every project.

Battle of the Writers (Rom Com)

Tutor and Yim of Middleman's Love are joined by not one, but FIVE other couples in this adaptation of a Chinese webtoon where one of them is accused of plagiarizing the other. I love a love-hate dynamic, but I can't imagine Yim resisting Tutor for long, so we'll see.

Century of Love (Action | Drama | Romance | Supernatural)

Boy meets girl. Boy falls for girl. Girl dies. Boy uses magic stone to stay alive and agrees to die a tragic death if he doesn't find his reincarnated girl after 100 years. The Gods said "Ally!", sent her ass back as a boy the last year of that century, as if to say: "Oh, are you really in love? Prove it!" Boy, understandably, doesn't recognize girl. Suspense and tension ensue.

Really enjoying how the supernatural genre is slowly becoming as prominent as the high school / college romance settings. Please give me more of The Sign. But I'm, honestly, not really a fan of the actor Daou, which made it hard to endure their last series together, Love in Translation. Mostly in it for cheeky and adorable Offroad -- and the plot, obviously.

This Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans (Rom Com)

So what I gather from the trailer is that a douchey rich guy hires a model to seduce a chef into making him his successor. Fuzzy on the why, but am far more interested in how that rich guy seduces the model's very aggressive bestie. Double the love-hate. Double the fun.

The Pit Babe writers wasted NO time capitalizing on the success of their series, and their pairings. Not only is this an answer to the Jeff and Alan fandom's pleas for more, it's also a response to the ghost ship of Kim and Kenta. We've never felt so seen. Also, I'm loving Thailand's Chef era.

The Trainee (Comedy | Drama | Romance)

A production intern slowly realizes the assistant director that everybody fears is low-key kindhearted -- and a whole ass snack. PAPI!!!

Love me some OffGun. Cooking Crush was meh but I have high hopes for this one. Per uje, their chemistry is immaculate.

DATE: Mid-July 2024

[hotasfahrenheit]

one thing about this first episode of 4 Minutes that really caught my attention specifically because of my job-

as a florist working ***in America***, most times that a basket of white flowers is sent to someone, it's either being sent to a funeral/calling hours, or as condolences to a home of someone who has lost a family member. most get well arrangements we make at my shop are things in vases. (so please note reading the rest of this that this is all my perspective as an American living in America and i don't have ANY kind of authority about floral traditions in Thailand and anything i might be missing because of that!! this is just what i know about flowers HERE.)

from what i can see in this shot, we've got Oriental lilies, roses, waxflower, alstroemeria, eucalyptus, possibly some lisianthus, and i'm sure more flowers that aren't visible. it's a lovely arrangement! it makes me curious what kinds of flowers are regularly available in Thailand, and what else is in that basket.

that basket is also STUFFED and LARGE, which means it's a pretty pricey arrangement. which i mean Great's family clearly can afford to throw a bunch of money at flowers, so that checks out. a basket like that with the flower selection and the amount packed in there would run probably somewhere around $200 or more at my shop, it's pretty big. it's also probably pretty heavy with floral foam and water in there, so props to Bible for making it look light, because those don't look like silks to me.

anyway for reference here's a less expensive basket arrangement i made a couple months ago for a funeral service (probably around $90). i don't do a lot of funeral work so i don't do baskets often, but this was done on a slow day when they wanted to work on teaching me some new stuff.

is there meaning that could be read into the different flowers and flower choices? possibly, but i CAN tell you that in America, those are all just common flowers for making this kind of stuff and it's more about having a selection of white flowers available on hand in the moment, and things like the alstro and wax that will fill space between the more expensive higher end flowers like the lilies and roses.

do the flowers have different significance in Thailand? again, possibly, but like i said before, i don't know enough about Thai culture to know if they send or gift flower baskets for the same reasons people send or gift them here, and i don't know about the meanings of flowers there versus here.

so do with this knowledge what you will! i just thought given the circumstances that it was a really interesting choice instead of something in a vase.

[beardedmrbean]

The first known survivor of China’s forced organ harvesting campaign against religious prisoners said he was now ready to speak out and expose the “evil” of the Chinese Communist Party.

Cheng Pei Ming, 58, who will talk publicly for the first time in Washington on Friday, described how he still feels “extreme pain” 20 years after parts of his lung and liver were forcibly removed.

“I believed they would kill me. I’m not sure they thought I could survive, but I did,” Mr Cheng told The Telegraph as he took off his shirt to expose a scar that wraps around his chest all the way to his back.

Mr Cheng says he was detained and tortured for years by the Chinese state for practising Falun Gong, a spiritual movement founded in the early 1990s. 

The movement swept across the country, but was outlawed in 1999 and then brutally suppressed by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), which branded it an “evil cult” and a threat to the state. 

Beijing has long viewed religious groups as a threat to social order and the party’s ideological grip on power. 

In the decades after Falun Gong was banned and its followers were persecuted, China’s organ transplantation industry exploded. Vital organs became readily available within a matter of days in state-run hospitals – a timeframe no national transplantation system elsewhere in the world has ever been able to achieve.

In 2019, an independent tribunal in London ruled that the Chinese government continued to commit crimes against humanity by targeting minorities, including the Falun Gong movement, for organ harvesting. 

The CCP has denied accusations of organ harvesting and repeatedly denied that Falun Gong practitioners have been killed for their organs.

But in 2021, UN human rights experts reported that along with Falun Gong practitioners, other minorities had been targeted, including Uyghurs, Tibetans, Muslims and Christians in detention in China.

Mr Cheng said he could not understand why they would crack down on a religion that promoted peace.

“Falun Gong teaches people to be good and to have compassion and empathy for all people. We mean no harm to society, the persecution against us should have never happened,” he said.

After 14 years of evading Chinese authorities, including five years in Thailand where he was granted UN refugee status, Mr Cheng reached the US in July 2020.

Mr Cheng was first arrested in September 1999. He said he was tortured and told to give up his faith and that when he refused he was expelled along with his family from his home in the eastern province of Shandong.

In the years that followed, he was “kidnapped by the CCP” five times, each time suffering “unbearable” torture, he said.  

“I remembered asking: ‘Why don’t you kill me instead?’ And they said: ‘It is too easy, we get great pleasure in torturing you’,” Mr Cheng said.

In 2002, he was sentenced to eight years in jail. He recalled seeing other Falun Gong inmates disappear. Some were sent to so-called “re-education” labour camps; others were tortured to death.

In July 2004, Mr Cheng said he was dragged into a hospital where agents from the CCP’s infamous 610 office – dubbed “China’s gestapo” – tried to make him sign consent forms. When he refused, they knocked him down and put him to sleep.

His family was told that he was undergoing surgery and had a 20 per cent chance of survival.

Mr Cheng woke up three days later, terrified, shackled to a bed, and with a 35cm incision across his chest. Transplant experts have since confirmed that scans show sections of Mr Cheng’s liver and left lung were surgically removed.

Two years later, prison guards took him back to hospital. “There was no reason for them to operate, so I understood I would be killed. My family were told I had swallowed knives and wasn’t likely to survive.”

But an unexpected opportunity presented itself for escape. His guard had fallen asleep, so Mr Cheng made a run for it. 

For nine years, “I lived a life of escape and hiding under false names”, he said, adding that the CCP “wanted to find men and kill me to cover up what they had done”.

He eventually escaped to Thailand where “I felt I could have been killed anytime”, Mr Cheng said. He only felt safe once he reached US soil in 2020.

In June, the US House passed The Falun Gong Protection Act, which aims to force an end to the persecution of Falun Gong by the CCP as well as forced organ harvesting from apprehended practitioners of the faith.

Mr Cheng, whose family largely remains in China, still cannot feel parts of his chest, and he struggles on a daily basis with shocks of pain that ripple through his body.

But he is now ready to tell his story. “I want the world to know how evil the CCP is. It does not only seek to harm people in China, but the world. I have to expose what has happened to the Falun Gong.”

Dr Charles Lee, a leading advocate for the Falun Gong movement, who himself was arrested and tortured for his beliefs by the CCP in 2003, told The Telegraph that the importance of Mr Cheng’s testimony cannot be overstated.

“We heard reports for decades about the extremely inhuman treatment Falun Gong faced, those that were tortured to death, their bodies cut open and organs missing. But now we have the first live witness.”

He added: “This should be an alarm to people and governments around the world that the CCP does not care for human lives.”

[thebroccolination]

People Think Krist Is Homophobic (but He Isn’t)

[TW: discussions of homophobia, death threats, "the rape filter joke", etc.]

Last September, I made a thread about The Whole Krist Thing, and I'd like to make a version here on Tumblr as well.

NOTE: My being a queer fan of Krist doesn’t override the feelings or opinions of other queer people. I fully understand that time on this planet is limited and you don't need to exert precious energy into researching an actor. The reason I'm making this is to provide context for people who are new to the fandom or just wondering why Krist is known as homophobic.

- Why I Made the Twitter Thread -

As a queer international fan living abroad, my understanding of Thailand, Thai culture, and Thai language is extremely limited. Like most of us, I rely entirely on translations, both official and fan-made.

After watching SOTUS for the first time in 2020, I saw English-speaking fans claiming that Krist Perawat, the actor who played Arthit, was homophobic. And it wasn't just one or two people saying it. It was dozens. Hundreds. That called for some research. I loved Arthit, and Krist's empathetic portrayal of him didn't mesh with the angry guy in the Instagram photo I was seeing passed around.

I'd made a number of queer Peraya fans on Twitter, so I went to them individually and asked, "What's this about Krist being homophobic?" As queer fans who were knowledgable and openly fond of Krist, I wanted to hear their side of things.

They sent me links and photos and videos and translations that thoroughly explained how Krist's reputation for being homophobic had gotten so out of control. The problem: those things weren't compiled in one place, and they were all on Twitter where the Asian Peraya fandom is most active. Interfans, meanwhile, took the worst of everything they could find and compiled it into contextless videos for Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, etc. Since the vast majority of Krist's fanbase is spread across Asia and many of them don't engage with the international fandom, it's no wonder to me that the homophobia thing has become so ubiquitous over the years.

It's a paradox where, in order to see the evidence of Krist's allyship, you kind of have to be a fan already. Or you have to know which keywords to use to navigate Twitter's nightmare of a search function (I know, Tumblr is worse). While I made that thread, I was regularly texting Peraya I knew things like, "Do you know where that one interview from 2019 is?" or, "Did you take a screenshot of the marriage equality post he made last month?"

The thread was difficult to make, and I'm a fan! What I know of Krist, I know because I've been a fan for three years and I have access to information that fans who have been here much longer can find.

I also procrastinated on making it for ages. I knew the amount of vitriol people hold against him, and I just wanted to enjoy my time in fandom quietly without calling waves of anger and hate to my carefully curated little corner of sunshine.

Then Krist was in a car accident.

And even though he was reportedly driving safely and slowly, Thailand is notorious for its poorly maintained roads and a high number of traffic accidents. Only months after receiving his first driver's license, Krist's car flipped upside down, and he had to reassure fans from the hospital that he was physically all right, just shaken.

Meanwhile, some international fans thought it was funny.

And that's when I started making the thread.

So, with all that said, let's start with Krist's allyship, because I know most of us agree that that's the bare minimum for an actor working in the BL industry and profiting off the queer community.

- Acts of Allyship -

In the early days of their SOTUS fame, Krist and Singto were interviewed about the LGBTQ+ community.

Acceptance and equality is something that the LGBTQ community still struggles to achieve up to this day. But both Singto and Krist believe that this should not be the case. “They are just humans. They are like me, and they are like everyone,” Krist claims. Furthermore, he mentions that we should all be given the freedom to love anyone we want to love. “It’s just natural,” he says.

“They don’t have to understand now,” Singto says, referring to those who can’t grasp same-sex relationships. “One day, when they find their true love, they will realize that love is the same no matter the gender.” Krist adds, “Gender is not relevant when it comes to love. But in case some people still don’t understand this in time, what’s important is that we all give due respect to each other at the end of the day.”

He's also educated himself in colors representative of the LGBTQ+ community.

When Krist and Singto attended an award ceremony for their photoshoot in the gay magazine Attitude, Krist shared a sentiment that he gave to a queer friend of his. "If no one accepts you, you can stay with me, because I accept you for who you are." [Paraphrased]

Despite Thailand's current government leaning on BL series as a new soft power, it's still very conservative, and its people are to this day fighting to see equal marriage recognized.

Krist often adds his voice to this fight on Instagram, specifically as someone who works in the BL industry. These were in 2021 and 2022:

And, like many young people in Thailand, Krist also seems to support the Move Forward party. Earlier this week, he used an orange heart in a tweet to encourage people to go out and vote in the most recent election. One of the many things the Move Forward party is pushing for is the legalization of same-sex marriage "with the same rights and responsibilities as their heterosexual peers", which the current military government actively does not.

- His Circle -

When I was making my Twitter thread, I hesitated before including mention of his queer friends and coworkers. I knew how that would sound, but in the same way I felt it was important to mention my own queerness, I also think it's important to highlight not just the presence of queer people in his life, but how comfortable they are with him.

As I said in my Twitter thread, having queer friends isn’t indicative of anything substantial, but I do think it’s important to look at how those queer friends interact with him. If you’re queer, you know firsthand which friends you’d be physically affectionate with. The entertainment industry is its own world, of course, and the weight and meaning of relationships and connections can be different, but for all Krist's fame and popularity, he's not so famous or remotely powerful that faking a friendship with him is going to get them very far.

Among his queer friends, you've got Jennie who babies him, Godji who treats him like her son, and Oat who still adores him years after SOTUS. All of them queer, all of them visibly affectionate in a way that feels authentic, at least to me.

On the professional side of things, I think the best example of someone who wouldn't bother with him if he were homophobic is Golf Tanwarin Sukkhapisit. In 2022, Krist worked on The War of Flowers with Golf, a nonbinary queer activist, former MP, and director of The Eclipse. Since they're not just a queer person in the industry but a vocal queer activist who's made incredible progress for the community in their country, I value their judgment of his character.

Again, the reason I bring up these people isn't to say, "Look! Queer people! He knows some!"

It's to point out that he's close to them, and it disrespects their judgment to casually assume that they’d cosy up to a homophobe.

It's a small point, yes, but it was important to me when I first became a fan to see that queer people who know him personally had "vetted" him.

- Growth -

For this next section, I'll address three things I see brought up most often: the rape filter joke, the rumor that Krist said he doesn't like watching men kiss, and the claim that he's only doing BL because rent is due.

1) The Rape Filter Joke

In 2017, Krist and Singto were on a live with (I think) two other friends. They were testing out different filters, and when they got to a blur effect, one of them (one of the friends, I think) said it looked like the filter they put over victims of sexual assault on the news. They all laughed, including Krist and Singto.

I can't find a video of the original event, but we do have a translation of the apology he gave in 2018, and the public apology he made in 2020 when the video resurfaced again.

While this is unfortunate, and it would be nice if he hadn’t done it, I’m more interested in how he responds to criticism and his growth afterward. The incident was in 2017, but even speaking on it in 2020, he didn't make excuses for himself.

He apologized, accepted culpability, educated himself, and has never repeated it.

2) Krist "Doesn't Like to Watch Men Kiss"

There's also a claim that goes around that Krist said he doesn't like to watch men kiss. But that isn't what he said.

The subtitled interview that this claim was taken from has been split into two parts, and I think a lot of people have only seen the first half, if they've seen either.

(Also, my deepest apologies, but I'm linking you to Twitter for the video clips.)

In the first clip, the hosts tease Krist about Singto's sex scene with another actor in Close Friends. I can't speak to the nuances of what Krist is saying in Thai, but in the subtitles, he's basically saying that as a guy, he doesn't want to watch stuff like that and just skips past Singto and his partner to one of the other couples, like the male-female pairs. With just this clip, I agree that it doesn't sound great.

But in the second clip, the hosts tease Krist until he admits that the "stuff" he doesn't want to watch is Singto specifically kissing people who aren't him. Krist's jealousy, especially when it comes to Singto, is a well-trod fanservice joke.

3) He's Doing BL Only for the Money

I mean, I have no idea, but it'd be very weird if this was true, because he hasn't been in a BL since 2018 (if you count Our Skyy), and he's doing very well for himself financially.

Listen, this is probably the least serious people get when they criticize him, but I'm including it because why not, this is already a thesis.

From what I understand based on actors' comments, BL roles don't make a lot of money for the actors. (Boun even quoted a surprisingly low daily salary recently, and I'll share it here if I find it again.) Of course, I imagine Krist has enough fame and clout that he gets paid more than most actors, but to be frank, he absolutely makes more from all his other work.

Apart from the acting work he's done, he hosts two music shows, he starred in a musical recently, GMM just flew him to Japan for the first leg of his Asia concert tour, he runs a restaurant with Wave, and he has a bunch of sponsorships. And that's off the top of my head. The car from his accident in 2021 was a luxury model, and he replaced it with another pretty soon afterward. I'm not bragging for him or anything, but the "he's just doing BL for the money" is an odd thing to say when he probably already earns more than most without doing it.

It would have been a better argument back in 2016 when Krist's family was deep in debt. Krist's said that his main motivation to join the entertainment industry back then was to pay off that debt for his family, and he did so with the money he made from SOTUS.

Krist has spoken in the past about wanting to do more BL roles, but GMM preferred that he work with Singto. Now that Singto's left GMM (likely to start his own agency), Krist is in Be My Favorite, so I think his explanation tracks.

It's also worth mentioning that you can do something for the money and also love what you do. In the case of SOTUS, Arthit wasn't just a role that made him money, he's the character who changed Krist's life. He honors Arthit to this day by always wearing the bracelet he wore to his audition and by naming his music studio "SUN St." after Arthit.

(This is a very minor point, but I don't think a homophobe would cherish a queer role to quite that extent even if it was their kick-off point. If anything, they'd probably try to bury the role and pretend their real success started later.)

- Perception of Sexuality -

I think the reason the IG story hits people so hard is because Krist's reaction makes it seem like he's horrified that people could even think he's gay. My understanding is that he was tired of people interrogating him about his sexuality.

Krist is very openly affectionate with the people he loves, regardless of gender, which is clear in the photos with his friends above. Thus, he's always been like that with Singto. They hug before every show, they sleep on each other, cuddle, what have you. All the stuff of people who have developed a tight bond over the years.

When Krist was asked if he was afraid that that would put off potential partners in the future (which, good god, the questions they're asked) Krist said he doesn't care how people perceive his sexuality.

This was in 2018, the year Our Skyy aired, and he's said similar things in passing before and since.

- Conclusion -

All of what I've posted here is just a slice of what's out there. This is just the stuff I could find with reliable English translations because I'm making this for an English-speaking audience. Krist's fans already know all of this, which is why he has queer fans in the first place, and a lot of them are just too tired by hate fatigue to keep correcting misinformation.

I'm not trying to get every person in the world to like Krist, I promise. He's not perfect. He's a loud mess, and while he has four cats who love him, they're also exhausted by him. I just happen to like loud, obnoxious people, especially when they're as kind as he is.

There are plenty of Thai actors I don't vibe with for any number of reasons ranging from serious to petty. You have my written permission to dislike some people.

The Instagram story he posted was a bad move, we're all agreed. He agrees. He's apologized multiple times over the years. Whether one accepts his apologies is each person’s right, and I understand if this is enough to turn people away.

I just hope it's clear that he's been a staunch ally of the queer community and remains so to this day.

Personally, I'm more upset about the question.

This isn't a question you ask anyone.

And this wasn't the first fan to ask him.

According to people who have been fans from the SOTUS era, Krist and Singto were both relentlessly dogged by fans about 1) their sexualities and 2) details about their relationship with each other. We've all likely seen it happen to actors today, but back in 2016, there weren't hundreds of BL actors vying for the spotlight, so the spotlight hit Krist and Singto in a way that we can't imagine today. Most of us, myself included, arrived in this fandom long after SOTUS's meteoric rise to popularity that ended up saving GMMTV from bankruptcy, but given how many fans still behave like they're entitled to know an actor's sexuality, I think it's safe to trust that it was relentless. Fans accusing Kit Connor of "queerbaiting" as recently as 2022 is proof of that.

At the end of the day, there are plenty of reasons to dislike Krist, just like there are to dislike any person on this planet. He's hyperactive, he's whiny, etc. He's not flawless, but I think he's more than shown through his actions that he isn't homophobic, either.

He's not some actor playing queer roles for clout. He's vocally supportive of queer rights, and he backed that up this week in the polls by voting for the most progressive party in his country who are actively pushing for marriage equality.

But like I said, you don't have to like him, so I'll end this post with a quote from a friend who doesn't like Krist for the funniest reason I've ever heard:

"I don't think Krist is homophobic. I just don't like him because he reminds me of every kindergartener who demanded my attention at the exact moment when I was carrying something that could spill – and then it did spill, and they laughed about it for five minutes."

[currentlylivingonaprayer]

my top favorite kimchay fanfics

In no particular order

(Even though nobody asked)

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40707996

dancing with our hands tied by MajorinMonster

After Chay gets jumped by a rival mafia gang he decides he needs a reputation so people won't touch him again. Kim is just there, trying to get back into chays good books.

9/10 recommend

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3061830

The idiots & idioms series by snickerdoodlles

Chay steals kims official wik account and post absolute unhinged things. Kim does nothing to stop him.

A must read for giggles

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45252880

Five Minutes by littlemisslawyer

Chays is a doctor and has been sent out of Thailand for many years. The day he comes back and wants nothing more than to take a break from work Kim has the audacity to get shot right in front of him.

Lots of cussing and chay calling kim 'pretty boy' and 'asshole/bastard'. Perfect

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43953225

Idolistic by ditchlilly

Wik centric fic. Kim likes to post false information of himself from a side account and chay somehow know what of the things he says are true or false. Kim gets suspicious and tries to find out who this boy is.

Lots of TENSION. And kittens. I absolutely love this one. Stayed awake till 3 am giggling so much I thought I would wake my family up. A must read. Definitely in my top 2.

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50830555

Progression by Azile (WitnessMarks)

Porchay trains to becomes stronger after their break up, kim, meanwhile, doesn't handel it well and then gets kidnapped. Chay is one of the people to come to his rescue. Kim comes back quite damaged and chay is one of the only people he feels really comfortable being around. Both of them are confronted with their still existing feelings for the other.

absolute masterpiece. Read in one sitting, even though it's still updating. Can only recommend. This story is batteling with Idolistic for first place.

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3489094

The KIM IS SO LOVED series by wayupthere

No comment. Read the tags, you'll know what it's about.

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45749062

Idle Talk by Iamabudgie

After someone posts a blind item on a gossip site, Kim is forced to confront something he has been delaying for months.

Absolutely amazing. Much deeper plot than you think when you first start it. Updates are months apart, but they deliver every time. Definitely in my top 3.

~~

Edit:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52988125

I Fell for You by @liesineyes

Kims family treats him like absolute shit. Chay and Porsche just want to find out out why, while also planning to show Kim real family love.

Love this story. Not many chapters yet, but beautiful and makes me sad and happy at the same time.

~~

Edit edit:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52593382

BREAKING NEWS by Pens

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48575617

Back on the Beat by Pens

It's kimchay works, with the most beautiful fanart I've ever seen and it makes my cheeks ache form smiling.

Also check out their tumbler account @shou-jpeg for more kimchay content.

~~

and of course the overall classics like an elegant mechanism by Laughsalot3412, or meet me where the light greets the dark by froginthesun.

I know some of these authors are here on tumbler, but I habe no idea how to tag them in a post, so I will tag them in the comments. Please tell me if I forgot someone. Check out their accounts too.

Also, if you have a recommendation, I'm open for them.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Navigation apps in Israel were instructed not to sure traffic jams anymore, so Hamas and Hezbollah terrorists won't be able to aim rockets at them.

The Minister of Defense made it clear that every benefit, support and compensation for the bereaved families of the Oct 7 massacre will apply to same-sex families, too.

Among Hamas' victims in the massacre are 235 people with non-Israeli nationality, an additional 74 are categorized as missing (meaning it's still unknown if they've been murdered or kidnapped), and they come from 41 countries. This includes at least 30 people murdered from Thailand, 10 from Nepal and 6 from China, at least some of them were beheaded.

Please explain to me how does beheading a student from Nepal help liberate any Palestinian, or why were non-Israelis butchered if the massacre was supposedly "resistance" against Israel?

The Israeli president revealed that among the documents recovered from Hamas terrorists were instructions from Al-Qaeda on how to build a weapon with cyanide.

This demonstrates how Hamas has been learning from other extremist Islamist organizations. They also adopted ISIS' use of the drug captagon to prevent a sense of fear in the terrorists, heighten their feelings of rage, as well as keep them going for longer. All of this (together with multiple reports that Hamas brought weapons for far more than just one day of slaughter) indicates that, while the massacre is the worst to have happened in the history of the Israeli-Arab conflict, what Hamas had in mind was probably even worse.

Israel screened today for foreign journalists 40 minutes of raw footage showing the massacre, most of it from Hamas terrorists' body cameras. Here is the full thread of one journalist, about some of the horrors seen in it. I'll share just one part of the thread, because I think #8 is really important:

The Israeli army has been releasing aerial photos showing how Hamas intentionally places its rocket launching sites next to civilians, so that either Israel is deterred from firing at these, to stop the rocket launching at civilians in Israel, or so that civilian Gazans will be harmed when Israel does act against these targets. For context, the Gaza strip DOES have uninhabited parts, where rocket launching would not endanger any civilians at all.

Today, Hamas has sent two attack drones and Hezbollah has sent one. The latter was flown and attacked from the direction of the sea.

An Israeli lawyers NGO has filed at the Hague to put Hamas and the Palestinian Islamic Jihad on trial for crimes against humanity.

Another personal story, this time of Atallah, a little Arab Bedouin boy whose father was told that, for being Israeli Arabs, they're more Jewish than Jews (and therefore legitimate targets to Hamas):

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