#fic: devil's playground

[f1gments]

DETOUR - HAYAKAWA AKI |早川アキ (M)

You and Aki are supposed to be on your way back from a mission, but the rain that’s been pouring non-stop has Aki pulling over to the side of an empty road for safety precautions. It doesn’t look like it’s stopping any sooner, so what better way to spend that time than to have sweaty, breathy, messy sex in the back seat?

MINORS DNI

Pairing: aki x fem!bodied reader

word count: 8.0k

R18, making out, smut, car sex, protected sex, semi-public sex, handjob, oral sex (towards Aki), vaginal fingering, nipple licking, cowgirl position, missionary, vaginal sex, teasing & dirty talk, softdom aki (?), boyfriend aki

he smokes for a little bit. also calls you baby a few times.

authors note: car sex fic among my list of wips that i’ve been wanting to put out for ages, so ya’ll can thank the amount of horny i had in order to push through with this fic lol. also big thank you to my darling @meownotgood for beta reading and revising! and also adding fuel to the aki horny. i give you big kith <3 <3

18+ explicit content ahead. please for the love of god DO NOT interact if you’re a minor.

Aki exhales a long, defeated sigh from the driver’s seat. 

“It looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.” he says, switching the car engine off. 

It's been pouring non-stop from the moment you left the city, but the rain has only grown heavier, to the point where it's difficult to see the road — or anything, for that matter. All you can make out through the droplet-soaked windows are the elusive silhouettes of houses and the blurred lights from the street lamps. The sky is gloomy and dark, puffy gray clouds obscure the sun. 

The two of you were supposed to be on your way back to headquarters after completing a mission Makima had sent you on. According to file reports and a call she received, the Rat Devil was going around terrorizing citizens in a small district on the far outskirts of Tokyo. 

The mission itself was simple: kill the Rat Devil and report back to Makima upon confirmation of its extermination. By the time you and Aki arrived, almost half the neighborhood was killed — or rather, eaten, so there wasn't any need for search and rescue. The devil was dealt with rather easily. You and Aki would have been at headquarters and done with all of this by now, if it wasn't for the sudden rainstorm interrupting that plan. 

So, here you are, parked at the side of an empty road with Aki, biding your time until the rain stops. 

You're a little bored, sure, but this isn't all bad. It feels good to relax a bit before you have to go back to headquarters; you can already see the giant stack of paperwork waiting for you. 

You hum as you shrug off your coat, before leaning your head against the headrest. You stare out the foggy window; there's a couple of houses up ahead that you can see from where you're parked, and beside them is a small playground. The whole neighborhood looks empty, as expected. You don’t think any kids will be coming out to play in this weather. 

The sound of the rain echoes a rhythmic pitter patter against the roof of the car. It's soothing, like it could lull you to sleep. You allow your tired eyes to close, and you almost drift off, but in a few moments, the sudden realization of being stuck in the rain, all alone somewhere secluded with your boyfriend begins to form an idea inside your head. 

It's not the best idea to be thinking of right now, sure. But considering it's been raining non-stop for ages now, and considering you need some way to pass the time, you wouldn't exactly say it's the worst thing you could come up with. 

You're just not sure about getting Aki to agree to it. You can already hear his response in your head: Really? You want to have sex right now? That's… We can't. Just wait until we get home. 

You've been dating Aki for an entire year now, and sex isn’t exactly new to you anymore, since you both gave each other your firsts on the fifth month of being together. But even now, Aki still blushes whenever you undress in front of him, or when you ask if you can suck him off during foreplay. 

He always tells you that you don't have to do anything for him, because he feels good just by watching you come undone on his fingers, his mouth giving you soft kisses on your clit while his tongue gives you long licks until your toes are curling as you cum. He's still the same as when you first met him, too shy to make the first move, and so dedicated to your own pleasure that he forgets about his own. 

And you know he's definitely too embarrassed to consider having sex in a place like this. You've never done anything remotely intimate with him in any place besides the bedroom. Hell, sometimes he's too embarrassed just to kiss you in public. 

You think you have an idea to convince him, though. 

You turn to look at Aki, who has one hand resting on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping a random beat against it. He rests his chin in the palm of his other hand, elbow on the side panel of the door. The rain continues to fall, drumming against the rooftop, as though it’s trying to flood the empty streets outside, to wash off all that is unjust and evil. 

Aki fidgets in the driver's seat for a moment, before you watch him pull out his pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his pants. He lights one up with the baby blue lighter you always see him use, and then he twists the key in the ignition, putting it in accessory mode so only the lights and radio turn on. 

He rolls the window down enough for him to flick the ashes out of it, making the petrichor invade your nose for a few moments. The rich, familiar smell of smoke he exhales replaces it, the wind drifts the scent towards you, along with the faint warm and woody cologne that emanates from him. 

You gaze at his handsome features in awe, admiring his side profile; the dull luminescence overcasting a shadow on his angular jawline and high cheekbones, eyes of welded iron and a gaze just as hard — Eyes that have seen more than anyone could possibly imagine in one lifetime. An upper lip that protrudes a little further than the lower, and cheeks of dusty pink; they soften his expression, and his demeanor of steel.

You shake your head before you end up getting lost in your thoughts any further. You inhale deeply, breathing in the remainder of smoke, and the gentle scent of the cologne clinging to his clothes once again. 

“Hey, Aki…” 

His attention goes to you the second he hears your voice, deep blue eyes scanning your gentle features and your unreadable expression. He notices that you've taken your coat off. 

“Hmm, what’s wrong?” Aki replies softly. “Are you feeling warm? I can turn the air conditioning on for a bit if you’d like.” He reaches for the air conditioning valve on the dashboard, but you grab his hand to stop him, shaking your head. 

“I’m fine. It’s something else.” You peer up at him through your lashes. His hand is warm. 

“What is it?” There’s a look of genuine concern apparent on his face as Aki puts out the cigarette in the portable ashtray he carries in his jacket. He scans all the parts of your body he can see — your arms, your hands, your neck, your shoulders, trying to see if there's any injuries, worried that you might have gotten hurt from the mission earlier. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

You shake your head again with a chuckle, and you grab both of his hands, squeezing them tightly. “No, Aki. I told you, I’m fine. It’s just that...” 

You can't help but trail off; feeling a little embarrassed, you start to fiddle with his fingers, averting your eyes. 

“Spit it out already." Aki sighs impatiently, making you chuckle again. 

“So impatient.” you answer, smirking, to which Aki gives you an unamused blank stare. 

“I was thinking we could do something fun to pass the time." 

Aki raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

You lean in closer, and since the space between you and him in the car isn’t very big to begin with, your lips are already inches away from his. 

You cup his chin between your finger and your thumb and whisper, “Like this…” 

At once, you've closed the distance, and your lips press softly to his. Aki's eyes widen, but soon, he's relaxing into the kiss, his shoulders slumping, his eyes fluttering shut. The smell of you consumes his senses: vanilla and lavender, utterly intoxicating. 

When the kiss deepens, he can taste the faint flavor of your lip gloss: cherry and mint. He kisses your lips over and over again like he can't get enough, soft but hungry at the same time. 

You move to climb on top of him, and Aki adjusts himself, leaning back in his seat to give you enough space to straddle him comfortably. Your tongue presses to his; you kiss languidly and deeply, taking time to explore each other’s mouths. Your lips feel so good against his own, so perfect. They're fogging up his mind, like you're demanding him to forget everything except for you — and it’s working. 

Your hands grip tightly onto his shirt as Aki skims his fingers down your shoulders and across your sides, resting them onto the curve of your waist. Right now, neither of you are thinking about getting back as soon as possible, or your lives, or anything like stupid devils and more missions. It’s just the both of you focusing on each other, and Aki’s mind is consumed only by thoughts of how good you make him feel. 

You both pull away breathlessly, foreheads resting against one another. Still catching your breath, you roll your hips into Aki's lap hesitantly, testing the waters. Aki groans, but he gives your waist a firm squeeze, stopping you from continuing. 

“We… we can’t. Not here." Aki looks at you through heavy eyelids. “Someone might see us.” 

You slide backwards a little on his lap as much as the small space will allow, until you feel the steering wheel press into your back. Your hand slowly travels up his thigh, fingers playing with the zipper of his pants. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to be quick then.” You flash him a grin, but Aki stares back with an unamused expression. You reach up, toying with the earring on his lobe, resisting the urge to pinch his cheek. “Come on Aki, we haven’t seen another car for three hours. I doubt anyone’s going to see us in this rain.” 

Aki doesn't respond, so you take matters into your own hands: in a few seconds, you've grasped the button on his slacks and popped it open. You're tugging the zipper down, relieving some of the pressure when you hear Aki inhale sharply, his eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn't make an attempt to push you away. 

“Stop that.” 

His voice is weak, it's shaky, it lacks the bite you normally hear out of him when you're at work. And even though he's telling you to stop, Aki's body betrays him. You can feel the bulge that's forming underneath his slacks, you notice how he lifts his hips a little to make it easier for you to tug his pants down. Your smirk grows wider. 

“Do you really want me to stop?” you hum, moving closer to whisper into his ear. 

“Baby-” Aki quips sharply, almost like a warning, but you continue your ministrations; you rub where the hem of his briefs meets his stomach with your thumbs, you kiss him softly behind his ear. 

“Don’t you want me too?” You pull back to meet his eyes, and you tilt your head to the side, your lips pulling up into a coy smile. Aki's heart skips a beat at the sight. 

Aki swallows thickly. “I…” 

It’s not that he doesn’t want you. It's just that he'd much rather have you somewhere more comfortable, more familiar. When he's looking at you like he is now, his head spins with the thought of driving you home, tossing the door open only to carry you to his bedroom and pin you to the bed. He imagines your hands gripping the sheets, your voice calling his name with his head buried between your legs, his lips on your clit and his mouth on your pussy. 

No, he definitely wants you, and he can't deny it, he can't stop thinking about it now that you've got him started. 

Before Aki can give you a reply, you lean into his neck, giving him a few soft, teasing kisses on his warm skin, before you pull back and look at him again with the same imploring smile. 

Aki sighs, half in annoyance, half in submission. You can see the affection behind his eyes when he looks at you; deep down, he’s a pile of mush, unbelievably endeared to you. He’s helpless when you ask for things out of the blue like this, especially when you give him such a pleading look with those doe-like eyes. 

Aki takes in a long, steady breath before he asks, “Are you sure you want to do this here?  Wouldn’t it be better if we wait until we get home?” 

“I’m sure. Besides,” You nod softly, smiling, “Don’t you think it’s a little exciting to fuck me in the car?” 

Oh, Aki thinks it’s very exciting. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, he gets a certain rush just by imagining it, it's a kind of feeling he's never felt before. His dick throbs in his briefs when he thinks of fucking you in the backseat of the company car, and in public, no less. 

Part of him is still nervous — What if you both make a mess, what if someone catches you? But another part of him wants to chase that rush, he wants to have you right here, and right now. 

He tries to temper the fog in his head, focusing on the feeling of you against him. It's difficult when his heart is thumping loud in his eardrums, and when his core is thrumming with anticipation and need.   

“I need you, Aki.” 

Sometimes, he swears you can read his mind. 

“I need you too.” he replies, and you don’t miss the faint pink color dusted on his cheekbones. Aki swallows, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Just this once. We'll do this just this once, got it?”

Aki motions his head over to the back seat, and you take the hint, quickly climbing into it. He follows suit shortly after, and everything is a blur of clothes coming off and hungry, heated and sloppy kisses. You're left in just your underwear, and Aki is left in just his loose work slacks. 

You can feel the familiar rush of white hot want course through your veins.You’re sure Aki feels the same way because in between kisses, when your hand goes back to stroking the tent in his pants, he seems to have only gotten harder. You give him one last firm squeeze, pulling away to position yourself on your knees in front of him. 

It's a tight fit; the company cars are spacious, but you're still crammed in between him and the back of the front seat, it leaves you to rest your head on his legs and press your chest to his knees. 

“What… what are you doing?” Aki stutters nervously, squirming a little in his seat when you reach for his slacks. You tug them down his legs the rest of the way until they're pooled at his ankles. 

“Making you feel good.” 

Your fingers feel warm on his skin when you push them under the waistband of his briefs. You help him out of them, his length bounces up to tap his stomach when you tug them all the way down. The sensitive, pink head tingles when it brushes against his skin, causing Aki’s entire frame to shudder with need. 

You waste no time gripping the base of his cock and spitting on the leaking tip, stroking him slowly. Aki spreads his legs a little wider for you as your palm swipes the tip, getting his length wet with your saliva and his precum; the sensation has him moaning in pleasure. 

Barely squeezing, you slowly move your hand up and down the shaft, you snicker a little when you hear him whimper slightly. You pump his cock lazily, and Aki reaches down, grabbing your arm to steady himself, thrusting his hips up into your hand, searching for more. 

And you give it to him; Aki’s head falls back against the headrest with a thud, and he grunts as you start to stroke him faster. “Feels… so good.” 

“More?” you ask, your voice husky. Aki nods feverishly in response.

“God, yes. Please. Don't stop, don't stop...” 

The slick noises filling the car and the sound of Aki's desperate begs add on to the growing ache between your legs, they mix with the echo of the rain tapping the roof of the car and the windshield. He mutters a strained fuck when you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and bring it to your warm tongue, giving the tip a tentative lick. 

“S-Shit…” Aki hisses, his breathing unsteady, “That's it… Keep going.”

At first, you start by just trailing kisses down his tip to the underside of his cock, and Aki shivers at the faint sensation. When you trail back up, starting to take him into your mouth, you feel his palm lay softly on the back of your head, and then his fingers knot themselves into your hair, gripping tightly, holding the loose strands away from your face in a makeshift ponytail. 

Aki watches you with his jaw slack, he quietly moans your name when your cheeks hollow, your head bobbing up and down his cock at a languid pace. 

Aki grips your hair a little tighter. His eyes meet yours, his gaze is heavy with lust and with love. “So good, you're doing such a good job.”

With your saliva involved, every time you suck on his cock with your lips closed, there's a nasty, loud squelch — It reminds him that this is happening right here, that you're sucking Aki's cock in the backseat. He's in so much bliss he's hardly thinking about it, he can only focus on the feeling of your tongue swirling around his dick, of your warm mouth and the tip of his cock slightly touching the back of your throat when he bucks his hips up. 

He rubs the back of your head gently, his eyelashes flutter when he looks at you. 

“Your lips… They're so pretty.” Aki tells you, and you pull away from his cock with a loud pop. 

“Yeah?” A teasing smile forms on your lips. “And you have a pretty dick.” 

Aki's cheeks instantly blossom with color, petals of dusty rose scattering across his handsome features. His pupils blow out deep, dark and wide. You've always thought Aki has the most beautiful pair of eyes, they're like a door to his soul. Pools of deep dark blue that you could drown inside if you weren’t so busy sucking the life out of him in the back of the sleek company sedan. 

You watch Aki draw his bottom lip between his teeth, hesitating, before finally, he gently pushes down on the back of your head, with so little force you almost don't feel it. 

“C’mon… keep going for me, just a little bit, please. Can you do that?" His voice cracks slightly, his tone high-pitched. You smile, nodding obediently, and you move back down to wrap your warm lips around him once again. 

“Mhmm.” The hum of your voice sends vibrations over Aki's cock, causing him to inhale a sharp breath through his teeth. You look up at him one last time, batting your eyelashes before sinking your mouth down on him completely, taking him all the way down your throat. Tears well at the corners of your eyes, and you shut them tight to will them away. 

Aki cries out, his thighs shaking. He stammers, “S-Shit, baby, too much, slow down...” 

He's trying his hardest not to thrust himself into your mouth. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head when he feels the tip of his cock brush the back of your throat again, and he clumsily pushes your hair behind your ears as you suck eagerly on his cock. 

It's so overwhelming, it's so much, it's more than he thinks he can take when one of your hands reaches up to grip the base of his cock, stroking in tune with your mouth, while the other massages his thigh, willing his legs to spread even further apart. But it feels so fucking good, Aki can't help but melt into you. 

“God,” he groans through heavy pants, “You take me so well, p-please, don't stop.” 

The way your hand glides up and down his cock along with your mouth is making Aki forget how to think straight. He feels dizzy, he knows he's getting close to the edge, and if he lets you keep going, he's sure he won't be able to stop himself from cumming. He grabs your wrist firmly — a silent demand to halt your actions — and he catches his breath. 

In compliance, you freeze, and Aki slips his hand up to hold the side of your face, to cup your cheek and slowly coax you up while he leans down. 

“C'mere.”

He pulls you into a fervent kiss, you press your palm to his chest and push him back into the seat until you can straddle his thighs and settle into his lap. 

Aki can taste himself on your tongue; it makes him feel high, but as you lift your hips, grinding your clothed cunt against his length, getting your underwear soaked and filthy and making Aki moan into your mouth, he suddenly stops you. He reaches down, he grabs your waist and causes you to freeze, pulling away from his lips, a confused expression on your face. 

No, no more. He needs you right now.

“I… I want to cum with you.” Aki admits, breathing hard, “I need to be inside you when I cum.” 

You nod with a gentle smile. “Okay. Of course.” 

You follow Aki's lead when he brings his palm to the small of your back, guiding you to twist and lay down in the backseat. The space is cramped, your head is propped up on the door, Aki has to slot his knee between your legs to make room for himself. The tight space makes it feel like he's even closer. 

Condensation has formed on the inside of the windows from the heat of your bodies. Aki cranes down to meet your neck. Your breath hitches at the first touch of his lips on your skin, right on your nape, and then down, his open mouth wet and warm on the flesh below your collarbone. 

“I’m gonna take your underwear off, okay?” he whispers softly without pulling away. You nod, and you lift your hips up slightly to allow him to pull down your lacy underwear. He tosses them to the side while he continues to leave gentle kisses on your chest.  

“Spread your legs open for me.” His words are like warm honey, sweet and dizzying when they drip from his lips to meet your ears. 

You obey, spreading your legs eagerly, as wide as the small space in the backseat will allow. Aki’s eyes grow dark with lust when he pulls back and sees your pretty pussy glistening in the low light, soaking wet for him — like a blooming flower, filled with sweet, sticky nectar. 

He grazes his fingers up your dripping slit, he sighs the moment he feels your slick drip out onto the digits. 

“God, you're so wet,” he croaks out, slightly breathless. His head dips, bangs hiding his face, and he tries to compose himself. “I'm gonna put one in.” 

Then, Aki is slowly pressing a finger into your tight walls, sinking it in all the way and curling it into your core, causing you to whine and arch your back, your chest pressing up towards him. You wrap one arm around his shoulders, and you grip his arm with the other, your hips bucking up as another finger teases your entrance before sinking deep inside. 

Your mouth falls open, your brows pinch. Aki kisses your forehead, he tugs you closer and leans down to brush his lips over your neck. 

“Feels good,” you whine, and Aki delicately rubs your clit with his thumb, sighing when he feels your walls clamp around his fingers. 

“Yeah?” He kisses your neck messily, curling his fingers into you deliciously. 

“I’m close, I'm close-” 

Your thighs close around his arm, and Aki slows his pace for just a moment. 

He asks, “Do you want me to stop?” 

Immediately, you shake your head, you plead for him to continue. Aki kisses your neck once more before he brings his lips to your ear, he presses his fingers into your sweet spot while toying with your clit, whispering honeyed words into your ear. 

You're so pretty, you gonna cum for me? Go ahead and cum, baby, I've got you. 

You tip over the edge just as he eases a third finger into you. You chant his name, your thighs shake and he drags his soaked fingers out to messily rub your clit through your orgasm with quick flicks of his wrist. 

Aki kisses you as you come down; it's like time is frozen, like it's just you and him stuck in this moment. Your lips melded to his while you breathe life into him, yet at the same time, take his breath away with each kiss you give to his lips. He only pulls away to catch his breath and briefly bring his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. 

“Hold on,” Aki reaches down onto the floor, searching for his pants. When he finds them, he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a silver condom packet. 

“What?” You prop yourself up on your elbows, eyeing him up and down. “Since when have you started carrying those around?” 

Aki replies matter-of-factly, “Since we started dating.” 

You smirk. “We have plenty of those at your house, you know. Thought you didn't want to have sex in public.” 

“Oh, please,” Aki rolls his eyes, “I wasn't counting on using them for something like this. It's just… better to be prepared.” 

It's not a complete lie, although, Aki can't deny he was thinking of the two of you getting caught in something spontaneous when he first slipped the condom into his wallet. He definitely didn't imagine this would be the place he'd end up using it, though. 

You reach up, plucking the condom packet from his fingers, and Aki glances up towards the driver's seat. The sky seems even darker than before, and the rain is still pouring down, battering the glass and obscuring the view. The windows of the car are slightly tinted, and with this storm, there's still no-one to be found. 

You tear open the condom wrapper, and you're sliding the lubricated latex down his hardened cock when Aki turns to look at you again. He settles his much larger hand over your own, he helps you tug the condom snugly on his length. 

“So...” Aki starts, and you look up to meet his eyes. “You were planning on doing this without protection?” 

He's so perceptive, you can't help but laugh. “Maybe. You're right, though. It's better to be safe.” 

Aki's eyes narrow. His expression seems unamused, but the more he thinks about it, the more he considers what that would entail — fucking you raw, the deeper his cheeks redden. Perhaps he should have gone with what you wanted. 

“Hey,” Your voice rouses him from his thoughts, “Sit back for me.” 

As he leans back, settling into the seat, you climb into his lap to straddle him again, pressing your lips to his. Your palms roam up and down his chest, fingertips tracing the scars littered across his toned body. 

His tongue snakes against yours, he kisses you deeply. Your teeth nip at his bottom lip before you detach and kiss his chin, then the edge of his jaw, trailing kisses down his to his neck where you suck beautiful fields of lilac and dusty pink into his pale skin. Aki gasps; his hands drift down your waist, the shape of your hips, and the arch of your back until they begin to knead the soft flesh of your ass. 

You can't wait any longer; you raise your hips and grip the base of his cock, running the tip over your wet folds. Aki looks down, he watches, he bites down on his lower lip. Then, he meets your gaze, his eyes glazed over, his expression pleading. 

Finally, you align his throbbing cock to your entrance, bringing yourself down halfway, slowly. You feel the fat tip of his cock enter you, you feel it stretch you out. Aki throws his head back, his eyes closed. He already feels like he could cum, just from this. Just from being halfway inside you. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, “God, that feels so good, fuck, baby-” 

You're both panting, and you've barely even taken him. 

Aki cracks his eyes open to watch you sink down on his cock, the length slowly disappearing inside you. He sucks a hiss between his gritted teeth when you settle on him all the way, taking all of him in. Your heart is pounding wildly against your ribcage, your head is starting to spin. 

“Too deep?” Aki asks between pants, and you shake your head. A few moments go by, you listen to the rhythmic drum of rain, Aki rubs soothing circles on your back and gives you a minute to adjust. 

It feels so good to finally be inside you. Aki breathes in deeply, he groans when your hips shift. You take another few moments to compose yourself before you lift your hips a little, only to immediately drop back down on his cock, causing a low fuck to escape from his lips. 

You start bouncing up and down his length, and he leans forward, latching his mouth onto your nipple. His hand gently kneads your other breast. You moan softly, hands reaching up to tug his messy hair out of his topknot, until your fingers can run through the strands and your nails can drag across his scalp, making him grunt and his spine tingle. 

“You like that, baby?” you coo, and Aki hums in approval, sending vibrations over your breast. His eyebrows are knitted together, his eyelids are fluttered shut. 

He swirls his tongue around your nipple and kisses your breast before pulling away. Your pace is getting a little faster, a little harder. The car is filled with the sound of skin slapping skin as you ride him, and the needy whines and moans coming from both you and him. 

“I love it, love it so much,” Aki sighs, “S-So wet and tight for me.” 

You grind your pelvis into his, and he grips your waist to help you along. You start to feel Aki raising his hips up from the seat. Ever so slightly, at first, just trying to feel you a little deeper. And then, desperately — he's matching your rhythm and rutting up into you, fucking you as you ride him with needy whines and fragile gasps. 

His expression already looks so fucked-out: his pupils blown, his lips parted, hair down and messy to frame his face. He's practically drooling. 

“That’s it, baby,” you purr as Aki thrusts up into you again, moaning from the pleasure. “Show me how much you like it.” 

“Ngh — fuck.” Your words only seem to spur him on more. Aki digs his nails a little harder into your hips, he shakes his head to get his messy bangs out of his eyes. 

“Oh, yes.” you moan, gripping his broad shoulders to steady yourself, “Right there, please, right there-” 

Sweat drips from his forehead, droplets cascade down his chest. He's fucking right into your sweet spot, to the point where you hardly have to move, you just let him thrust into you. Your ass is slapping against his thighs. Aki kisses your cheek before grasping your chin between his fingers and pulling your mouth onto his. 

The kiss is a wild clash of tongue and teeth, but you break away almost as soon as it begins, crying out when Aki buries himself into you hard. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, gasping over and over again in pleasure. 

Suddenly, Aki's pace starts to slow, he's holding you still and trying to catch his breath. His thighs are twitching, and his heart is pounding, it's so loud he can hear it in his ears. 

“Not… not gonna last much longer like this,” he mumbles, and you sit up to meet his eyes. There's an earnest, loving expression in the back of his gaze when he asks, “Can we change positions?” 

You don't answer, still catching your breath, but you nod your head. Aki rubs your hips, he lifts you and pulls out of you slowly, he kisses your jaw and your throat. You feel his arm curl around the small of your back, and he gently maneuvers your body until you're under him, your back laying flat against the seat. The leather is cool and smooth on your skin. 

Aki takes in the sight of you for a few moments, his eyes scanning your form. He admires the way you're splayed out beneath him; so beautiful, so angelic, as you always are. This time, though, it's a little different. It's a bit different to see you here, to have you in a place like this. It somehow manages to be exciting, but just as intimate as when he has you in his bedroom at the same time. 

He can't hold back from telling you in a sweet voice, “You're beautiful. So beautiful.” 

He closes his eyes, he listens to the drum of the rain for a second. Then, he grabs your waist, squeezing it carefully to let you know he's continuing, before lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance. 

Aki is incredibly gentle when he enters you again, like he’s handling glass, easing inside of you slowly. But once he's halfway in, everything is so hot and wet and tight that he's nearly on the verge of losing control, he has to resist the urge to just fuck you senseless. 

He exhales a shaky breath, you watch as his eyebrows furrow and God, it's so good, he's about to bottom out and it's such a snug, tight fit but it's just so right. All you can do is wiggle your hips and sigh feebly under the pressure, with Aki's forehead pressed to yours as he fills you. 

He places one of his hands on your side, while the other grips your leg from where it's falling off the edge of the seat. He tosses it over his shoulder, he buries himself into the hilt. 

“So good, Aki...” you gasp, your voice breathless, desperate. Aki leans down; his tongue flicks over your earlobe, he takes it between his teeth and sucks. His palms roam your body, gliding over your stomach and your sides. He kisses the shell of your ear, his warm breath fans out over it. 

“God, please.” Your head tosses back, and you're begging for him to give you more, only for Aki to ignore your pleading. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, and he kisses down your jaw, your neck, your shoulders. His lips reach your breast, he gazes fondly at the pretty shade of your skin before brushing his lips over your nipple. He licks it with the flat length of his tongue while he reaches down, bringing a free hand between your legs to rub soft circles over your clit with his thumb. You feel a wave of bliss twist up your spine, your cunt tightens around Aki's thick cock and his whole body shudders. 

A shaky moan comes with your next words: “Aki… stop teasing. Please.” 

You wiggle your hips, you whine and grip his shoulders tightly as he continues to kiss and suck on your breast, humming softly. 

“Need you to fuck me, now, please, Aki?” 

A ghost of a smile forms across Aki's face. He pulls away from your chest with a quiet pop, glancing up to meet your gaze. He mumbles, “You sound so cute… you want me to move, right?” 

He rewards you with the slightest thrust of his hips, rutting himself into you, just a little bit. It's enough to make you gasp, to make you grip him tighter and tangle your fingers in his hair. 

He knows you want him to move, he just wants to hear you say it. 

Face warm and with your eyes screwed shut, you murmur his name senselessly, over and over again like a prayer, a plea. You mutter please, please, please again and again as Aki's lips ghost over yours, and then press to the side of your throat, where he kisses and lightly nibbles, leaving impressions of his teeth. 

He tries to hold out, he tries to tease you as much as he can, only moving slightly, just enjoying the feeling of being buried deep inside you and the sound of your pretty voice. But it's hard to resist you, especially when you're begging for him. He longs to give you everything you ask for. 

“Alright,” he murmurs, voice soft and gentle, “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll give you what you want.”

Aki rests his head on your shoulder, and as he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbones, he quickens his pace, thrusting into you with deep, languid rolls of his hips. He reaches for your hands, pinning them above your head and threads his fingers with your own, holding them tightly. 

He pulls back and meets your eyes; your gaze flickers over his and you watch his brows furrow from the building pleasure. Then, Aki leans in, all the way until he's kissing you and his tongue is slipping past your lips. 

He begins to drill himself in fast, thrusting himself eagerly into you with long, deep strokes. The small space of the backseat causes his body to press up close to yours, and the perked buds of your nipples graze against his chest with every abrupt movement. Aki screws his eyes tightly shut, he lets go of your hands to hold the sides of your face as he kisses you. He focuses on the way your nails rake over his back. 

He kisses you leisurely, deliberately, as if he's trying to capture every inch of your sweet taste on the tip of his tongue. You whimper into his mouth; his cock is hitting the spot that always makes you melt, it's causing you to arch your back into him. His tempo doesn't slow, nor does it falter. He continues to pound into you, hitting that perfect spot and causing all your nerves to light up when his pelvis grinds into your swollen clit with each of his thrusts. 

His hand steadies on the curve of your hip, he keeps the connection between your mouth and his as his palm trails lower, further downwards until it reaches the warmth of your cunt. You're soaked with both of your desires, your clit feels slick on his fingertips when he toys with it. 

You grip him tightly, clutching onto him as if your bearings have been thrown and he is the only thing in this world that can keep you grounded — a solid rock amongst the heavy waves. You find sanity in the taste of his tongue, and stability in your hands grasping at his shoulder blades. He's close, so close. 

He pulls away from your mouth, his warm breath mixes with yours, and you immediately gasp, “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” 

Aki responds with a deep groan, his voice husky. “I won’t baby, I’ll give it to you as much as you want.” 

He leans down, kissing the tip of your nose. And then, his tongue presses to your neck, he licks a long stripe up your skin, eliciting a stuttered whimper from your lips. Aki leans his head on your shoulder, he sighs into your nape. It's so cute, it's so sexy that you want him so badly. You're begging desperately under him, when moments earlier you were the one teasing him, like the little minx you always are. 

You're always like this. You can tease him as much as you'd like, but he knows how much you need him. That's why you had him fuck you here, without being patient enough to wait for the two of you to get home. 

The rain is just as steady as it was when you began. It overpowers the echo of Aki's skin hitting yours, it's a quiet sort of lull that soothes you the moment the sound fills your ears. Everything feels slow, warm and sleepy and tinged with electricity. Is this how things always were with him? 

You reach for his face, you cup his cheeks and get him to look into your eyes. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, I love you so much.” Aki responds immediately, breathlessly, and he slows down the rhythm of his thrusts. 

In this beautiful instance of time, nothing matters, absolutely nothing but you. 

You take him into your broad oceans of adoration, care, and unadulterated love. You sweep him out into your calm oceans and away from the rocky shores which expose the jagged edges of his past, a life already lived, that still manages to cut at his bones, that still digs deep into his sanity and claws at the worst of him. 

Right now, you look heavenly, your hair splayed out onto the dark, leather seats, the warm light reflecting off your skin. Aki marvels at your beauty; the way the overcast lighting and shadows from outside cast over you makes you glow as if you're a piece of the moon itself, dislodged and sent down to earth to bring the brightest of lights into his life. An ethereal being for him to love and adore, who he's lucky enough to have all for himself.

Slowly, he works back to his previous pace, but his eyes never leave your form, he never stops gazing at you with such adoration and love. Your heart flutters ceaselessly inside of your chest. 

Honestly, Aki is so turned on he's starting to lose control of himself. The mere sight of you underneath him, in the backseat of the company’s car, in the middle of an empty street — it’s something Aki couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams. And yet, it feels so lovely to have you here, so perfect, he just can't get enough. 

The simmering pressure that's been building up in him, deep and potent, begins to rapidly pool in his core to the point where Aki is sure he won't be able to hold back for much longer. The coil in his stomach is tightening, winding and threatening to snap. His bottom lip is bitten to hell and back, and his parched throat murmurs your name with a harsh sense of yearning. 

Aki looks down at you with a hooded gaze, but he ceases to break eye contact with you. His forearms support his weight on either side of your body as he continues to thrust in and out, following the rhythm that always makes you come undone for him. 

Pleasure consumes him, it consumes you, you're joined in the most intimate way two people could become one. The act is sinful, but it's coated in the deep bond the both of you share, it's intertwined with pure love and utter devotion. 

“A-Aki,” You sound like you’re on the verge of tears, babbling as you beg, “I can’t, I have to… Aki, please, I-” 

You interrupt yourself with a loud cry, tossing your head back as you immerse yourself in the very peak of your euphoria. 

“Yeah?” Aki gasps back, fucking you deeply, perfectly, in the way that always brings you to the edge for him. 

“Let go, sweetheart.” He's barely breathing the words, he grasps your chin and stares into your eyes. His thumb brushes over your lower lip. “Come for me – Come all over me.”

It’s impossible to say no. Not when his voice is so soft and convincing, so enticing. Not when he's fucking you this good, bringing you to heaven with every deep roll of his hips. 

You can barely hear the rain outside anymore. The only thing you can focus on is the pleasure, the only sound filling your ears is the echo of Aki's heavy breaths and his desperate moans. You want to drown in this feeling forever, you want Aki's sweet words to melt into your skin, to brand you with his mark. 

The whole car is shaking from the weight of Aki's thrusts as he fucks you into the seat. You're right on the edge, and one more deep thrust throws you over; your thighs shudder, you let go with a scream of his name. Aki works you through your bliss, drawing out your pleasure until the feeling of your walls clamping around his cock has him meeting his end along with you. 

He groans your name, his head drops to your shoulder and his eyes screw shut. His thrusts grow erratic, clumsy, he mutters a mix of yes, and, I love you. He spills a warm load inside the condom as your walls throb around him, milking him for everything he has. 

The white fades eventually, like lamplight dimming behind a shade. Your vision is hazy, the both of you are a sweaty mess in the backseat, and when you breathe in, it’s all musky and good and sweet, just the scent of sex and the feeling of Aki's body pressed closely to yours, his arms wrapped loosely around you. 

After a few moments, Aki pulls out of you, and he pulls you close to him so you're huddled up to him. His heart is beating loudly in his chest, and you can feel it against yours. You breathe in and out, deeply, trying to steady your breathing. Aki does the same. Your hearts sync up to the same steady rhythm. 

The afterglow begins to settle into Aki’s bones. His mind is a complete haze of pleasure, and the only thing on his mind is you, you, you. He sits up a little, and he turns to look at you, only to find that you're already staring back up at him with adoration in your eyes. 

Aki stares into them for what feels like an eternity, stretches of time that must only be mere seconds, but feel like they've continued on for decades, horizons far beyond this unfairly short lifetime. Your gaze is his solace, his home. He knows he's too far gone. 

When he says those three words again, it feels greater than the first time, more than the second. As if with every new time he confesses his love to you, the truth of it engraves itself deeper into his being.

Aki breathes, “I love you.” 

You smile, you lean in and kiss his shoulder. “I love you too, Aki.” 

Aki nuzzles your forehead weakly. He gives the two of you a few more moments to regain composure, and then he pushes himself up, discarding the condom and collecting both of your clothes. He helps you get dressed, he tugs his clothes on and adjusts them so they're just as neat as they were before. You hand him his hair tie as you finish buttoning up your shirt, and Aki ties his hair up before climbing into the driver's seat. 

The rain has finally slowed down to a soft drizzle. Thankfully, when you climb into the passenger's seat and scan the road, you don't see anyone on the streets. You lean your head into the headrest, finally feeling the fatigue of the mission and the previous activities from earlier take over. 

Aki looks towards you. He makes sure you're alright, he reaches for the keys and turns them in the ignition, firing up the engine. 

You meet his eyes. One of his hands grips the steering wheel, and the other reaches for yours. He brings it close to his face, he presses a kiss to your knuckle. He lets go and settles his palm onto your thigh. 

“Come on. Let’s go home.” 

a/n: pls forgive if you see any errors, dumblr likes to fuck up my posts for some reason.

[karajaynetoday]

hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings:  i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs. 

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either. 

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely. 

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing. 

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you. 

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?” 

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.” 

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity. 

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session. 

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in. 

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.” 

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?” 

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans. 

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control. 

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out. 

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack. 

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx 

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

Xo

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant. 

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out. 

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before. 

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied. 

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there. 

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator. 

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit. 

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished. 

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone. 

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be. 

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window. 

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.�� Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called). 

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast. 

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes. 

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh. 

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended. 

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head. 

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix. 

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.”  Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing. 

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands. 

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension. 

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands. 

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten. 

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

 

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home. 

[marvelslut16]

Field Day

Prompt number: 27 "Let me remind you"

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Teacher!Bucky x teacher!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: T(een)

Word count: 1.1k+

Warnings: Swearing, a stupid hr policy based off a policy at one of my jobs, a horny woman at work, I think that's it.

A/N: Hi, hello, it's been ages since I posted a fic, and this is 2 days late late. I really really want to participate again this year, but I have 2 jobs now and I have some other important things happening this month, so I won't have much time to write. But without further ado, here is day 1!

“Let me remind you that we aren’t allowed to date coworkers,” you sigh, as Peggy tells you that you should finally give into your work crush and go on a date with Bucky.

Bucky is the sweetest soul you have ever met, he’s a little shy but once he warms up to you he’s just a giant teddy bear who will do whatever he can to make your life easier. He’s been your work crush for about a year now, when he switched from second to fourth grade, the grade you teach. Now you have department meetings together, teach science labs together, and go on field trips together. His sweet personality and the forced proximity made it impossible not to develop a work crush on him.

“Technically we can date coworkers, it’s just frowned upon,” Peggy tries to play devil’s advocate, hoping that her friends will finally get over themselves and go on a date. 

“Oh yes, Bucky and I can date so long as we report it to HR the moment we go on a date, and they can still decide to fire one or both of us,” you roll your eyes and give your best friend a look before turning back to the playground to watch the kids. “Isn’t that why you waited to start dating Steve until he went to teach at the military academy.”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Peggy giggles, just as Bucky lets his kids out his classroom door to join yours and Peggy’s for field day. 

“What are you two gals talking about,” Bucky saunters over to where you're standing near enough to the playground to see the kids, but far enough from them that they can’t hear what you're saying. 

“I was telling her that she should start packing her lunch instead of going out on Wednesday and Friday, much healthier. And obviously, she called me on the fact that Steve sends me lunch from restaurants most of the week,” Peggy smoothly lies. It’s a decent enough fib, but if you were Bucky you wouldn’t believe her. 

So where did you end up getting stuck for field day?” you ask Bucky, he was sick the day of sign ups no doubt being stuck with the worst job. 

“The dunk tank, damn Stevie leaving the school and leaving me with this stupid job,” Steve always volunteered to do the dunk tank, and now that he’s gone the entire staff quickly snapped up every other position. “What do you have this year?”

“The inflatable obstacle course,” you grin widely, you’d been petitioning the PTA to allocate funds to rent one for field day for the past three years now.

“I told you you could convince those parents to let you rent one, and the kids are going to love it!” you can’t help but blush at his praise. 

“Third times the charm,” you give him a small bashful smile.

“I’m in charge of dodgeball in the gym,” Peggy cuts in, reminding you that you aren’t alone and have an audience of almost a hundred kids as more classes spill out of their rooms.  

Soon enough the three of you go your separate ways and get field day started. Like every year, the day flies with minimal complaining from the kids, lots of laughing, and just a few scrapes and bruises. The kids all loved your addition to the course this year, all cheering in excitement when they get to your station. Before you know it your class is back at your station and field day is wrapping up, so you take the kids to the refreshments table to grap a dixie cup off gatorade and a cookie. 

“Oh dear god,” you murmur under your breath, catching Peggy’s attention as she walks up to the table with her class. 

Bucky’s also walking up to the refreshment table sopping wet, black t-shirt and basketball shorts clinging to his rock hard physique. Bucky is an attractive man, anyone who disagreed was either lying or blind, so this wasn’t a new revelation to you by any means. But knowing he has abs is one thing, but seeing his shirt clinging to them is a completely different one. Your heart starts to hammer harder and harder the closer he gets to you, damn Peggy had to get in your head about your crush earlier and you’re on the edge of  throwing caution to the wind, and yourself at him. 

“What were those rules again,” Peggy whispers, giggling in your ear. 

“Can’t remember,” your voice trails off just like your thoughts. It’s unreal and unfair that Bucky could be as nice and as drop dead gorgeous as he is. No man could ever live up to him, and you pity everyone that dares to try. 

“Only one person dunked me, and it was one of yours,” Bucky says gruffly, the twinkling in his eyes gives away his humor and pride in the student.

“One of mine?” you grin from ear to ear, your own pride showing at your student. One of your little fourth headers was able to dunk him, when the older kids couldn’t. “Who was it?”

“Me!” Brayden, your secret favorite student, hollers from behind you.

“Way to go Brayden!” you exclaim, the rest of your class cheering as you give him a high five. 

“It was hilarious,” Luke, one of Bucky’s students pipes up. “We were at the human wheelbarrow station next to the dunk tank and we saw everything! One minute he was on the seat, and the next he was coming up from the water coughing on it.” 

“Are you okay, Mr. Barnes?” you giggle, turning to look at him. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes on his, something the other female staff aren’t doing themselves. 

“I will be, once my ego heals,” your two classes laughing at his joke. 

“Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I’m making my chili that you love so much,” you ask Bucky when the kids are out of hearing range. Peggy stares at you wide eyed, it’s like she can hear your inner monologue, in awe of your bravery and taking this chance. 

“I would love to,” Bucky has a soft smile on his face, like he’s sensing that everything is about to change for the better. Fuck HR, and fuck this job if it keeps you from being happy and with the man of your dreams. As long as you have Bucky everything will be okay, and you’ll both land on your feet eventually, even if it means finding a new district. 

[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.”

[funkycloewn]

I've once again come from the dead to post lmaooo

After having avoided the pilot for so long in fear of getting sucked into the world and fandom, I finally watched Lackadaisy! (My fears were right btw as it has a grip on me rn) I love it and subsequently read the comic so I knew everything and wouldn't get spoilered.

Anyway, a little time after I came across the amazing interactive fic called the Under The Devil's Moon made by @libras-interactives

I enjoyed a lot (and can't wait for the next chapter/update) and couldn't help but make ocs due to this fic being a sort of self insert thing

These characters shown are only two out the five I made :]

It's sorta rambly but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! (Especially you, Iibra 🥺)

Name: Margaret Quinn

Nickname: Daisy

Date of Birth: October 26, 1889 (31 Years Old)

Personality:

(Mostly the usual callgirl personality with some stuff added into the mix)

Years of being in the industry, has shaped this feline to be calm, gentle and soft spoken. She knows what her customers want and acts accordingly so. Though, she doesn't particularly show it — that would be bad for her image as a callgirl — she is quick to give a person a label, to categorize them. She doesn't mean to be judgy but this mindset has helped her out countless of times, so she continues on; getting to know that someone is the only way for her to lift off the verdict she holds. With the ones she loves, Margaret is very caring towards. Making sure they're well fed with both food and love is one of her top priorities. (Though, recently that has been a difficult task to maintain) This, unfortunately, can make her pushy and stubborn even when she means well.

Romantic Relationship:

Out of all the characters to choose from I chose our friendly local bartender, Viktor Vasko. At one time I was thinking of either Zib or Sable but after reading about how he would treat Chester, I was sold. I can't for that romance to unfold! :D (rhyming unintended)

Other:

• She was born and lived most of her life in the outskirts of New Orleans

• Her mother succumbed to a yellow fever outbreak, leaving her and a few other kids orphaned.

• This led to her forming a group with said children and the four of them residing in an abandoned shack.

• Margaret knows how to fix things at least temporarily because of this (e.g. pipes and infrastructure).

• (This one is a little violent so warning for that :'D) Both her front paws are missing their claws. This is due to a farmer who got sick of her constantly stealing his chickens.

• The pearl necklace she has, was given to her by Flynn. She doesn’t like anyone to know that and avoids the question when asked who she got it from.

• She likes fidgeting with the pearls. The way they softly clack when moved and the feeling of them soothes her.

• Due to her motherly nature, she will "adopt" (translation: care and look after) anyone under the age of 25 with who she is somewhat close to, especially when they are boys

• She sees Jack and Marius as older sons of hers

• Rocky could (will) be a contender for the spot of a fourth son

• She always carries a box containing a sewing kit, buttons and patches

• This has come in handy plentiful of times for Jack, mostly. On rare occasions Marius is in need of them, though I would think he's picky on what she uses; they have to match.

• Though, she says she doesn't know who Chester's father is, she knows. She just doesn't like to acknowledge it.

Voice Claim: Tiana from Princess and the Frog

Name: Chester Quinn

Date of Birth: January 6, 1917 (3 Years Old)

Personality:

This little troublemaker, has a great fondness for being one with the earth. By that I mean, he loves digging. Chester likes creating craters at playgrounds or parks, all the while letting himself be covered in freshly dug up soil. Almost all of his clothes have a grass stain and Larochka fears that he might have stained his chubby little hands for eternity. Speaking of fashion, he hates wearing shoes. A tantrum is bound to occur if you simply try to make him wear a pair. Even if you somehow achieve the impossible, he will just claw them off and chuck them. However despite all that, he's well meaning and can be gentle at times. He enjoys snuggling with him Mama or Larochka. Chester is very social and when out he's always looking for a way to make people smile.

Other:

• If he likes you, he'll make you a 'special mud pie' (a mud pie sprinkled with hand picked flowers; the more flowers, the more he likes you)

• He's handsy, mostly because he's an affectionate boy but also due to the fact he has poor eye sight.

• While he's chubby right now he grows to look more like his father, even somewhat in the face department.

• Fortunately for everyone and the tom himself, he grows out of his habit to refuse any kind of footwear. Don't tease older Chester about his phase, though, because he will get embarrassed and he will look like he just ate a sour lemon.

Voice Claim: Greg from Over the Garden Wall

Cleaned up and with his eye color when he gains his melanin

Wonder who the dad is lmaoo

Lastly a size comparison (not sure if it's accurate tho lol)

[aziraphales-library]

recently enjoyed this fic!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407502/chapters/46185148

noticed there's no single dad/parent fic tag, wondering if you got any fave single parent fics out there admin!!!

We do actually have some single dad fics here, and this post is now the second on our #single dads tag, joining our plentiful #kid fic one! These are all fics I remember enjoying and came to mind immediately for including single parents/guardians...

I Hear You're in Need of a Nanny by emptymasks (G)

Aziraphale was trying his best to raise his son on his own, but at a certain point it was difficult to be running the bookshop while also keeping his eyes on Oscar all day. Crowley liked working with children, and children liked him, they’ve just always been drawn to him. A lot of people prefer hiring a female nanny to a male one, and as much as he thinks it’s a little ridiculous, it works out fine for him. He was happy to identify and present as female and tap into his maternal instincts. He’d been wanting to take a job closer to his apartment, but there’s not that many people wanting to hire a nanny in Soho; then he comes across a job advertisement in the local newspaper posted by a Mr. A. Z. Princer. When he meets Oscar, he finds a little girl tired of being told by the world that she's a boy. Single Parent! Aziraphale & Nanny! Crowley, Human AU

Give me a title, I'll give you my heart by NohaIjiachi (T)

Crowley blinked, and the man blinked back. The man currently holding a slipping, squirming Dog, a drenched, light blue shirt sticking to his chest and soft middle, and silver-y blond curls dripping all over the place above a pair of the most steely-azure eyes Crowley had ever seen. Dog seemed to recognize him, because he stopped squirming and started wagging his tail, that went thump-thump-thump against the increasingly flustered looking man’s upper arm. “Hey, Mr. Crowley!” Adam greeted cheerily, popping from behind the man and leaning against the door frame with a cheeky hand-wave. “We were just giving Dog a bath. What’s up?”   “Ngk,” Crowley replied, his brain currently in the clutches of what Crowley intimately called his ‘Useless-Pan-lizard-brain’.

A Journey Into The Unknown (Which Shall Lead Us Ever Closer To Home) by BlackUnicorn (NR)

Anthony J. ‘just call me Crowley’ Crowley is…content – his little queer café in the heart of Soho, his son, his best friend, his snake. Aziraphale is…existing – day in, day out, in the same job, with the same people, and the same half-forgotten dreams. Going through the motions. Never would their paths have crossed if not for a boy, a teenager, really, running away to the city in search of something better. That’s how it starts, anyway…

Fledging by FeralTuxedo (M)

Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him. A human AU/kid fic.

It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine by Dervila, elf_on_the_shelf (E)

After Adam's parents die in a car crash, Aziraphale is forced to start taking care of him as more than just an uncle. Don't get him wrong, he loves the little devil, it's just that he is completely clueless and could rather use some help. In comes Crowley, Adam's new nursery school teacher with his amazing skills in dealing with kids. Could he be the answer to all of Aziraphale's prayers - Adam-related and otherwise? Well, it looks like he might be just that, judging by the weird things Aziraphale's heart seems to be doing whenever he sets eyes on the man. Now, if only the tall ginger returned his feelings...

Barriers, and the Breaking Thereof by Cardinal_Daughter (M)

Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack. Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

It Was Always You by mltrefry (T)

A chance encounter during one of the worst times of Ezra Fell’s life reunites him with his once best friend and the one who got away. Though, that would imply he ever had him in the first place. Anthony Crowley and his son, Warlock, relocate to the quieter city of Tadfield from that of London. In the process, manages to find again that one person who always made him feel less alone, the one person he was pretty sure he was never going to speak to again. But the road to true love never did run smooth (something that’s been true from their very beginning). Despite the easy way they fall back into each other, their lives don't seem to follow suit, and if it's not one challenge its another. But despite everything they find themselves facing down, the ten years without each other taught them one thing: they’re better together than they are apart.

And because I know someone else will mention it if I don't...

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison (E)

The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it. And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it. And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go. But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped. Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea...

And the one you mentioned...

Safe Haven by McRaider (T)

When Anthony Crowley stepped back into Aziraphale's life for the first time after eight long years missing, it became exceedingly clear with him came a world of trouble and heartache. But Aziraphale never could say no to his beloved Crowley. Can he help Crowley heal after a failed marriage, a gas-lighting ex-wife with an evil plan?

- Mod D

[97keanu]

"ˣ'ˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ

ʷᵃˢʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᵗʰʳᵒᵒᵐ ˢᵒ ˢʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵈʳⁱⁿᵏ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵈˢ"

Dave Lizewski x demonic!Reader

Premise: In this chapter, Dave takes Katie to Melody Lane Tavern, along with You and the rest of the group because somehow, he isn't really sure why, this has turned into a group outing. When you see Dave and Katie chatting it up, you decide to get a little revenge by dancing with Todd on the dance floor before the real concert starts. Unfortunately, Dave seems inspired and begins dancing with Katie. You find out how far your heartless mean girl soul is willing to go to get revenge for the jealousy you feel.

Later, you find out what happens to bad girls who decide to double down and get interested in the lead singer.

Tags/CW: Dark Fic, Dark Themes, Morally wrong choices, Nerdy!Dave, Jealous!reader, Jealous!Dave, DRAMA, a lot of miscommunications, semi-sex crazed!reader, reader who is a mean girl who likes to fuck her feelings away, wrong person wrong time, right person is just out of reach, refusal to admit crushes, mutual pining, revenge sex, aggressive, doggy, blowjobs, soul connection, red string of fate, soul connection sex, public orgasm, hidden orgasm, dubious consent on that one, semi-mentions of drugging, blood, gore, canon typical gore, reader is taken advantage of via demonic spell, reader is kidnapped, cliff hanger but there are a lot of dark themes in this one so needed a little break where we stop.

A/N: This chapter is packing a LOT. We are going to start out pretty fun and I'm throwing the Todd Haynes girlies a bone (if you forgot who he is in Kick Ass, he's Evan Peters <3). Later in the chapter we meet the creep, Nikolai, and unfortunately there is horror and angst once again. Our two lovers are in for a long night.

Read part one here, and read this part on ao3 here read part three here

words: 7.2k

Likes/reblogs/comments inspire me to keep going!

Early spring has a chill in the air that makes Dave's bones shiver. Winter still hasn't unleashed her grasp on the small town of Devil's Kettle, and Dave is pulling his jacket closer to his body for warmth as his breath trails in front of him. He has a strange feeling that the chill isn't just from the cold. No, there's something off about tonight, he just has no idea what.  Besides that, he had horrible dreams all last night. He can't remember much of them, but what he does remember involves blood running down stone, the rushing sound of water, and for some reason, your voice screaming out for him. Speaking of you, Dave is currently following your puffy jacket silhouette in the dark as the two of you walk up to Melody Lane Tavern. He sees you shoot him an interesting look over your shoulder, he wishes he could ever get a real read on what you are feeling. Even though he finds himself knowing you so deeply, anticipating your needs most of the time before you even voice them, he never knows how you truly feel. Which is to say that right now, you're shooting him a look that he can only describe as repressed anger, but he has no idea why you would be so angry with him. He hates when he thinks you’re angry at him the most, he can’t help but feel like everyone else who thought you two made an odd pair might just end up being right about it not working. That's another thing, he has no idea why you of all people would ever give him, world-class nerd, the time of day. Yes, you two have been friends ever since you plucked him off the playground and proclaimed best friends forever in front of all the other five-year-olds there, but this fairytale should have ended a long time ago for him. He was so sure that by the time you two reached middle school, you would see the truth, hear all the mean things the other kids would say about him, and walk away like his mom did his dad.  But no, you actually stayed, and on top of that, you never even made him feel like a loser. You never said anything about him liking comics or being obsessed with superhero movies. Even when Dave told you that he wishes he could be a superhero, like a real-life superhero, you just listened and told him that you 'found him pretty super'. It was one of your rare tender moments with him. Not to say that you two aren't extremely close, but it does feel like half the time he never really knows what you actually think of him, beyond being a best friend and someone you can depend on. 

For a while, especially when puberty hit and his hormones went crazy, he wondered if he could ever actually be with you, in more than a friend way. But Dave also knew that every other boy in school was hounding for you, and you confided in him that you hated how it made you feel like an object. Your adamant denial of boy after boy really made Dave believe he had zero chance with you. In fact, he tried so hard not to see you as a romantic interest so as not to ruin the lifeline friendship he had with you, since at the time you were his only friend. 

No, Dave learned years ago to keep his feelings for you hidden deep, and by now it's as easy as breathing not to act on them. Even if sometimes you drift through his mind while he gets some much-needed release at night, he feels guilty after, knowing to his core that you would never love a guy like him more than a friend. And he was content with that just to be near you, but he also knows if that's the case, then he needs to move on to someone actually in his league. 

That's where Katie Deauxma comes in. Todd and Marty have been hounding Dave for years to find some girl, any girl to talk about with them. While they have been lusting after anything feminine and that walks, he's never chimed in. In fact, they're not as close friends as he wishes he could be because of that. It makes it so awkward. Not to say Dave isn't a man with needs, but he is not a total horn dog the way they are. 

This was a point of contention between the three boys. At first, they actually tried to get Dave to admit to secretly fucking you all these years, or at least being some sort of cuckold to your obviously promiscuous ways. You're one of the most popular girls in school, of course, you're a whore, right? Well, Dave knows for a fact that you've never had sex. You would have told him that, he's your best friend. Even though that information would have hurt him, despite his constant refusal to accept or admit what's under the surface for you, he believes he would know if you had had sex. That's what best friends do, tell each other stuff like that. 

After Dave finally had a break and stopped talking to Todd and Marty for a week, they didn't bring up their suspicions that something had to have transpired sometime between the two of you. Instead, they moved on to trying to get interested in any girl at school that wasn't you. 

That's when Dave finally noticed Katie. She sat next to him in Biology III and for the whole semester, Dave never gave her a second glance. When she and him were partnered on a project last week though, he learned she was actually really nice, and he kind of liked her laugh. She wasn't as beautiful as you, not by far, but she wasn't not pretty. No, she had her own charms, and in fact, she was much more in Dave's league than you would ever be, and that was a more pressing fact. Along with the other fact that Dave was a Certified Virgin, who had never had even a kiss before, Katie seemed like a safe bet. Obtainable. 

And now here he is going with you to see her at this concert tonight, which he still can't quite believe was an accident on your part for turning it into a group outing. He just doesn't get why you would do that to argue anyways. So now the two of you are meeting Todd and Marty here, while Katie brings along her friend Erika. 

Dave feels you grab his hand and pull him into the bar as Marty and Todd have a senseless game of pool in the corner. He allows you to pull him to towards them, and he catches a glimpse of you two in the mirrored backsplash of the bar. For a moment, it almost looks as if you are the one bringing Dave to a date, the way you’re pulling on his hand and biting your glossy, juicy lips with a smile. He can’t help it, his heart flutters around his ribcage, and he has to close his eyes for a moment to make it stop. He knows he can’t think like that, especially when he’s trying to have a date with Katie right now. 

Todd and Marty stop their goofing around to welcome Dave and you, and you can see a twinkle in Todd’s eye as he looks you up and down. That’s something else, Dave knows for a fact that his friends, Todd more so than Marty, are totally obsessed with you. They think it’s awesome they get to actually hang out with a popular girl when it once in a blue moon happens that all of you are put together in an outing such as this. And Todd isn’t even subtle about how badly he wants you, he gets hard just seeing you enter with a low-cut top and mini skirt. Oh yes, Todd is going to have the most wicked thoughts about you tonight when he’s in his bed alone, Dave can practically see the scenes play out in his mind right now. Dave isn’t sure why the idea of Todd having such a hard-on for you angers him so, but it does. If Dave were a different man, he would knock Todd out just for looking at you the way he does. But he doesn’t have that kind of authority, Dave isn’t entitled to worry about who drools over you are not. 

“Dave! You finally made it, are you ready to totally woo Katie tonight?” Dave could audibly groan from how loud Todd is saying it, and as Todd does, Dave notices your eyebrow twitch out of the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, sure dude, hopefully it goes over well as a group thing…” Dave says half-heartedly, honestly feeling a bit lost right now in the decades-old bar, not really sure why he is here in the first place.

He knows why, of course, but something about tonight just feels totally off. Honestly, his muscles feel so tense, like he needs to run, get out of here. He also has this deep feeling to take you with him, something tells him you’re not safe here tonight, none of you are. He wonders if this is what the unknowing teens of a B-list horror movie feel at the start of the night, this heavy cloud over their heads that they keep denying is going to surely drown them if they don’t take action. Just like those teens, Dave chooses to ignore the feeling and sit down at a table with the group. 

As he does, Katie and her friend Erika come through the doors of the bar, Katie getting up onto her tippy toes to look around for Dave. He immediately jumps up from the table, knocking his knees against it like the dork he is, and trying to not acknowledge the pain, instead waving Katie over the best he can through gritted teeth. God, he hopes he doesn’t look like a complete loser right now. He feels terribly insecure at the moment. 

“Katie! Over here!” Dave calls out, and Katie finally spots him, pulling Erika over with her. 

They fit into the booth with ease, Katie sitting next to Dave, who is sandwiched between her and you. Dave can't see you seething while he chats up Katie. 

No, instead he leaves you next to Todd and Marty who are arguing over which girl in whatever video game of the week is the hottest. You cannot believe how head over heels nerdy Dave is for Katie. Your heart sinks, and the burn it leaves is practically radiating off of you, even Todd notices your reaction. 

"Hey, you alright?" His geeky voice asks nervously. Even though he and Dave were good friends, he hardly ever got to talk to you. You really didn't give him the time of day either, but he couldn't help that he thought you were one of the hottest girls in school. He often wishes that Dave would give up the details between you two, there's no way there's nothing going on between you two, right?

You ignore Todd for a moment, focusing on how Katie just made Dave laugh instead, and that's when a wicked plan began unfolding in your pretty little head. You turn to Todd. 

"Yeah, I'm just peachy, Todd." You put on a fake smile and bat your long lashes at him. "Actually, would you like, totally come dance with me?"

Todd's face goes red, his words unable to come to the surface for a moment, then he nods, excitedly. 

"Y-Yeah, I'd, I'd love to!" He looks back over at Marty who seems in disbelief that Todd is getting to dance with you. 

You turn to Dave who is blushing and asking Katie all about her day, and scooch. 

"Hey, Dave, can you let us out of the booth? Me and Todd are going to go dance." You say it so sweetly, so innocently, and yet Dave's blue eyes go bigger than usual, confused. You continue to move towards him so he and Katie have to get up. 

When you and Todd are out, Dave says something he can't help himself from. 

"Why? Why would you do that?" He knows you don't like Todd, not even really as a friend, why would you ever go dance with him? Todd's face looks at Dave angrily for his comment. 

"Because why not?" You say with a smile and take Todd's arm, leading him more towards the dance floor. Dave is speechless. He sits back down with Katie. 

He has the hardest time keeping his eyes off you and Todd. Katie begins to pick up the conversation from before, but Dave's interest is split. He sees as you rub your body into Todd, Todd at first looking like he might faint, then gripping into your hips and actually helping you! How could he do this to Dave? 

Katie tries to grab Dave's interest again, she was actually having a pretty good time before this. She glances at Erika, who is next to Marty as if to say 'What the hell?' to Dave's reaction. Erika shrugs and now Marty is trying to invest her in a conversation about Star Wars that she's surprisingly not uninterested in. 

"Dave? Do you want to go dance too?" Katie finally asks him, and he has to blink and rethink what she just said to take his attention off of you, where you're grinding your ass into Todd's crotch. 

"What? I mean…" He glances back to where Todd looks like he might just cum in his pants right there and then, and his own anger starts to drift somewhere inside him. He knows he has no right to be angry with you, you're not his girlfriend, and you're way too good for him. But if that's the case then why the fuck are you dancing with Todd? 

Dave looks back into Katie's eyes and nods, his brow furrowed. 

"Actually, I'd love to dance, Katie. Let's go." It's the most confident thing he's spoken all night, and for a moment Katie is wooed by how bad he seems to want to dance with her. 

Dave leaves the booth with Katie and begins to take to the crowd where you and Todd are dancing. He hopes you see him as he puts his hands on Katie's waist, not quite bold enough to dance as provocatively as you are, or sure of if Katie would enough that. 

You're still dancing to the pre-concert music, your eyes closed and feeling weirdly excited that Todd's cock is hard against your ass. You never really wanted to talk to him since he's such a geek and way too much of a loser, but he isn't ugly. No, you always thought it was strange how Todd was actually pretty good-looking, but his personality was never really your cup of tea. It doesn't matter much anyways, you're doing this to make Dave jealous. Speaking of, where was he?

You open up your eyes and spot the seated Erika and Marty with no Dave insight. You scan the crowd immediately, and your eyes land on Dave and Katie dancing, your jaw tightening. Did he really wanna play this game with you? For some reason, tonight you're feeling like you'd risk it all to make a point. You watch Dave until his eyes catch back to you, and you hold his gaze while you bend all the way down and show Todd your ass. You're surprised that some of the crowd goers are even watching, a few cheering when you do your filthiest moves. You can see as Dave's mouth falls open for a moment, and you can't help but smirk. You wonder if that's what set him off because suddenly he's leaning in towards Katie, and it looks like he's going to kiss her. 

You could scream, the only blessing being that if he did kiss her, you missed it as the crowd gets more encircled where you and Todd still dance. You can't see Dave, but you hope he can see you. You flip around and face Todd, where he's totally head over heels for the whole experience. He has a totally goofy grin on his face, and he looks you in the eyes and does something you're surprised by. He brings you in and crushes his lips against yours. 

Now, you know you could have done it to him, as revenge for Dave kissing Katie, but something had stopped you. You're not sure if it's because the switch that made you attracted to Todd hadn't flipped or something else, but when he kisses you, you can't seem to find it unpleasant. In fact, you close your eyes and lean into the kiss. 

You've kissed a few of the few boys at school you every so often found some fun in, but Todd is actually a pretty good kisser in comparison to anyone else you've kissed. You feel like your lips are tingling when they're pressed to his, and somehow your hands are up and twisted in his messy mousy curls. You can almost hear Todd moan if it wasn't for how loud the music was. As you pull away, Todd only becomes more eager for you, kissing down your neck, somehow hitting all the spots that turn you on. You can't help the heat that spreads down your back and between your legs. Maybe you can do something to really get back at Dave, but would it be too much? 

You have no idea if Dave can even see you anymore, but you feel so compelled to drag Todd to the restroom right now. He wouldn't be your first, and your sex drive has never been low. Besides, maybe a good fuck would make this night easier, and make your heart less tender. You know somehow you will regret this later, but here you are, whispering your plan into Todd's ear. He looks at you like he's dreaming, totally into it and dazed by the fact that you actually want to fuck him. It's more of him who's dragging you to the restroom instead of the other way around. 

You quickly find a single-stall bathroom, opening it, and closing it behind you two. Todd already has his hands on you, he wants you so bad. He doesn't even know if he should tell you he has never had sex before, but god he is so lucky that he gets to do it with one of the most popular, sexy girls in school. He is halfway through getting your skirt down when he stops to look you in the eyes, none of this makes sense.

"Are you sure you really want me to…?" He starts, his breath heavy from how much he's been kissing you. You grab him and pull him in. 

"Yes, I know, it's weird for me too how badly I want to fuck your nerdy cock, but can you do me a favor and just bend me over already?" You don't know what's gotten into you, tonight has been so strange, but you oddly feel like it's meant to happen this way. You can't deny how horny you are either. 

Todd doesn't even need to hear anything else, he's ready to take all of your commands. You bend over the sink and look into the mirror with a slightly bitchy smile, and Todd needs to fuck that smug look off your face right now. He drops his jeans and grabs your ass, wrenching your panties down, the moment making him bold. 

His cock is so hard against your ass, and you can't believe he has the audacity to tease it between your ass cheeks. You almost gasp when he does though, surprised at how big he is. You never took him for having that big of a cock, but it's moderately girthy and long. The feeling of it against your bare skin excites you, and you feel his precum painting your ass. You look into the mirror and give him a look that lets him know you're done being played with, you need his cock right now. He obliges happily, spreading your legs and lining himself up, wetting the tip of his cock with your own wetness. 

You jump from how quickly he slams into you, not expecting this energy from such a dork. You gasp from the feeling of being so full so quickly and look at Todd, seeing how satisfied he is with your reaction. God, is this nerd really going to fuck you like this? You were used to being more dominant, but you bite your lip and cry out as Todd continues to move inside of you, his cock is just so hard. 

You hope Dave can tell how much you're enjoying this. Something tells you he can feel it, you don't know why, but it's as if you can almost feel your energy centered on sending itself to him. 

Todd lifts your leg up with ease, again surprising you with his strength. He leans that leg onto the sink countertop, and you cannot believe how deep he's getting in your pussy, the feeling making you forget about Dave for the moment. Todd pushes your body until your face is practically against the mirror's glace, your breath making condensation against it. Todd is totally lost in the feeling of your tight pussy, his breath husky and his muscles tight. 

"Fuck….you like this you little whore?" He says, almost to himself, quietly like it's a kink he's not sure he can have with you. For some reason, the fact that this loser had you so vulnerable and was fucking you so hard was turning you on. When he called you a 'little whore' you couldn't help but feel your pussy tremble. 

"Oh yeah?" You say, breathy and looking back at him. "Why don't you tell me how you like fucking this slutty cunt?" 

Todd seems emboldened once again and picks up the pace, his thrusts almost hurting but you find the sensation to be amazing. 

"I can't believe you're such a filthy girl that you'd let a loser like me fuck you without a condom." He almost growls out, and you remember that you in fact did forget to use protection. The thought sends a mixture of fear and pleasure through your body. The idea of how dangerous this is somehow makes it better. God, what is with you tonight, you never thought of yourself as someone who would do something like this.

Todd continues you fuck you, and you can clearly feel him getting closer. You decide you do something before he fills you up with his cum. You pull back from him, and he looks confused for a moment before you turn around and drop to your knees. He down at you with a lazy, lust-filled grin like he's won the lottery. 

"Oh my god…" He whispers out, looking down as you look back up at him and take hold of his cock. 

You stroke him gently, placing your perfect lips around it and tasting yourself. You reach down to your own clit between your legs, your knees on the dirty bathroom floor. You can't believe what such a slut you were being, but it didn't matter. What mattered was getting Todd's cock down your throat in a way that turns you on. 

You feel Todd placing a hand on the back of your head as you get into the rhythm of it. You glance up and see how much he's enjoying it, as well as a look on his face that tells you you're never going to live down letting him fuck you. You can also tell by how he starts fucking your face like he's been waiting for this, likely dreaming about the chance to get in your pants. And now he's a bit smug about it, sending his hips thrusting deeply til you're practically choking on it. Something about that makes your pussy clench as you rub tight and fast little circles on your clit. You can taste his precum seeping out onto your tongue. He's getting so close. You close your eyes and enjoy him face fucking you, getting lost in how dirty you feel for doing this. 

"Keep those eyes open for me…" He breathes out, half commanding, the other half letting you know that he needs it to cum. He needs to be able to see those pretty eyes while he drains his cock into your mouth. 

You look back up at him, your eyes almost watering from how he's fucking your throat, your breath so hard to keep. Holding it turns you on more, the asphyxiation of it making your brain and pussy go crazy for it. This nerds cock really has you completely dumb for it right now, you feel like such a whore. You keep eye contact with Todd and feel that as you do, you are getting closer yourself. 

You actually have to back off stimulating your clit, so close to the edge that the littlest movements keep bringing you almost there. You can feel your eyebrows worry and as you look up at Todd he is throwing his head back and slamming his cock down your throat, cum drenching the inside of your throat, it's so hot. You let yourself join him as he does, and you cum, your legs tightening so hard you shake. Your moan is muffled and gurgled by his cock in your throat, and you can feel your own eyes close as you get lost in the sensation. You force yourself to swallow even though it's difficult, and Todd slowly comes out of it. 

He looks down at you, his breathing heavy and his eyelids tired. He slowly pulls his cock from your mouth, and it's like a switch flipped. He's leaning down to help you up, even though he feels like a total king for being able to do what he just did. Todd also feels like he needs to take care of you after something like that, he had no idea he would end up being so aggressive. He gently pulls you up and helps you bring your skirt and panties up to cover your dripping pussy.

“I-I, I can’t believe you let me do that…” Todd is trying to keep his hands on you where ever he can, and it’s already irritating you how clingy this nerdy no longer virgin is. You move your hands to keep him off you. 

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal Todd.” You say snarkily, and turn from him when you think you’re finally ready to leave the tiny bathroom. At the very least, your heart feels better. You feel centered, and ready to enact anymore revenge tactics you need to if it will get to Dave. 

“We, we probably should’t tell Dave about this…” Todd mumbles, messing with his curls with anxiety. You turn back for a moment, and smile widely. 

“No! You should tell him, let him know what he’s missing out on.” You can’t help how energized you feel right now, you give Todd a wink and leave the restroom. As you do you think he mumbles something else about Dave actually having feelings for you, as if. If that were true, he wouldn’t have brought Katie fucking Deaxuma here tonight. He would have already confessed his real feelings…right? 

✧✧✧

Dave stopped dancing with Katie when he noticed you and Todd had gone from the crowd. He tried to keep it up with Katie, but his focus was just totally elsewhere. What really surprised him was when Katie actually stood up for how Dave was treating her. She took Dave’s face right in her hands, and looked him in the eye and asked if he was here with you or her tonight. Dave knew the answer in his heart, but his mouth confirmed that he was here for Katie. She seemed satisfied, and took him deeper into the crowd, her body moving against Dave’s in no way a girl ever has. Maybe Dave can get his mind off you and actually enjoy this if he tries. And he does. He really does try to lean into her soft skin, holding onto her hips as they sway to the music. But as time goes on, and you’re out of sight he suddenly feels so strange.

It’s almost as if he can sense you, but he can’t see you. And what he sense right now really doesn’t make any sense to him, but it is making his cock hard right now. Fuck, and now Katie thinks it’s because of her grinding her ass into Dave, not this weird feeling Dave has about you. It’s almost like he can sense your pleasure, like he can feel how good it feels for you. He has no idea that you and Todd are having an excellent time in the restroom right now, but he can feel it so clearly, it’s almost driving him insane mixed with Katie’s grinding. 

Dave can’t help himself, the feeling of pleasure is washing over him in waves. He is already a horny man, it doesn’t help that he has all the friction of his dance partner and this strange connection with you. The weirdest part is he has felt this before, late at night, when he was alone in his bed. He still doesn’t know that the reason he gets so horny at night for you is because you’re likely touching yourself thinking of him in your own bed. The connection is something he has felt for you for so long it is as easy as breathing, he doesn’t even question why he knows where you are, what you’re feeling, and when you touch yourself at night. It actually makes Dave’s brain melt a bit if he thinks too hard about it, he doesn’t really want to admit to how much he feels for you in all these different ways. 

The other pressing matter right now that he feels is Katie’s ass, which he is getting so excited for he could almost ruin his jeans. He prays that he won’t, he couldn’t handle the embarrassment, but as the feeling builds he starts sweating, breathing heavier and heavier, and trying to come up with a game plan for what he’s going to do if he blows his load right here and now. He can hardly think though, it’s so hard when he can feel you coming closer to climax yourself. He can almost see you as he closes his eyes. 

He imagines you right now, on your knees touching yourself, he can see it, I mean really see it. He has no idea who you are with, or if this is even real, but God does it feel real. It feels so real he can imagine you sucking on his own cock, taking it down your pretty little throat and moaning into it from how much you love the feeling. Dave has completely forgotten about Katie, who is oblivious to the fact that her date is caught up in another woman’s pleasure. Dave grips Katie’s hips and imagines it’s your hair, pulling you deeper into his cock, until he can barely fit anymore. He can sense you coming closer and closer now, and his cock is raging against his jeans, ready to explode at any moment. 

That’s when he feels it, so suddenly, you falling over the edge, and his own cock is twitching, leaking out the longest orgasm he has ever had. Dave tries everything in him to not cum right now, but he can’t stop it, it’s happening and now Katie is getting thrust into his cock. He has to hold his breath to not moan out, but here he is cumming in his pants while you have some kind of spell over him here. Katie turns around when she notices how weird Dave is acting, and Dave’s eyes fly open when she yells his name over the music. 

“Dave?” She looks at him confused, the dim lights in the bar are helping the fact that a wet spot is forming on his jeans, and Dave can hardly speak, his mind still stuck with you, in the afterglow. 

“I…I’m sorry Katie, I have to run to the bathroom real quick.” Dave blurts out, and doesn’t really wait for Katie to respond. Katie is left there feeling totally confused, but has no idea what just happened. 

Dave is working his way through the waves of the crowd, which keeps seeming to get thicker and thicker as everyone waits for tonights band, which Dave has zero interest in really, but he knows you are some what obsessed with the boy band. Right now, he isn’t really worried about that however, right now he needs to clean himself up in the bathroom. 

When he reaches one of the single stalls, he is surprised to bump into you, his voice leaving himself, his eyes looking at how your hair is tousseled and your clothes are dishevled. A sinking feeling starts pouring itself right into Dave’s very soul. You look at him with a smirk and leave to go see the band, not even saying a word to Dave. In fact, he can almost feel you roll your eyes at him when your back is turned to him, which hurts more. 

He goes to open the door and finds Todd in the bathroom, trying to fix his own clothes and hair, extremely surprised to see Dave right now. 

“Dave! Hey…hey man, uh, how–” Todd tries to come up with any words that will make this situation less awkward for him right. Dave cuts him off before he can even continue. 

“Please don’t tell me what I think just happened, happened Todd.” Dave’s possessiveness of you can’t help it, he knows you’re allowed to fuck whoever you want, but he needs to know you did not just fuck Todd fucking Haynes. 

“Um…No man, no, she just asked me for some help with something, it’s not…” Todd is struggling to come up with a lie, it’s almost insanely clear, but Dave’s heart can’t take it. He just nods and leaves the restroom, deciding the let his jacket cover up any spot on his jeans by wrapping it around his waist. 

He leaves and begins walking with no real direction when he spots you again. This time you look like some sort of nymph, or succubus, sitting on the edge of the stage, watching the band set up. Dave can see you chatting with the singer, that raccoon looking fuck. The singer looks up and actually locks eyes with Dave as he parts through the crowd towards the two of you, and Dave immediately feels a cold chill run down his spine. This man is bad news, he has to get you away from him, it’s almost instinctual how badly he knows that this man wants to hurt you. Even if you potentially just fucked one of his buddies, the feeling Dave has right now is more urgent than that. 

Dave finally makes it to the stage, and you turn to him, and Dave knows something is wrong. You have this look in your eyes, it’s unnerving how empty you seem. You don’t even really acknowledge Dave, you are so busy trying to get this weird, older singer’s attention. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dave grabs your arm, trying to get your attention, but the singer steps in, dipping down to speak to Dave since he’s so much taller on the stage. 

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, besides, she was just heading out to grab us some drinks at the bar, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” The man stares at you with a viscous, disgusting grin, and Dave can feel all the anger of the night welling up inside of him. Before Dave can speak, it’s like you’ve been commanded by the man, hoping off the stage and getting ready to go grab drinks. 

“Oh yeah…” You say, your voice totally devoid of real thought, almost drunken already, though Dave is sure you haven’t really had anything to drink tonight, not to mention you’re only 18 anyways. “You just have to try one of these 9/11 tribute shooters, but you gotta drink it fast or else it turns kinda brownish!” 

You giggle as if you’ve told one of the funniest jokes, and before Dave can stop you, you’re slipping through the crowd to go get drinks. Dave is totally lost on what to do, but the band members seem to be going about on their own tangent now, and what Dave catches pisses him off even more. 

“So, Nikolai,” One of the bandmates start speaking to the singer. “Do you really think she’s a virgin? I mean she seems kind of…” 

Dave interrupts, slamming his hand onto the wooden stage, a few people besides Nikolai and the bandmates looking at his outburst. 

“Listen to me you fuck.” Dave has no idea where this spirit is coming from, but he rolls with it. “You bet she is a virgin, and a girl like her would never give it away to a loser like you, not to any kind of fucking loser, so just leave her the fuck alone!’

Dave can feel his face go hot, he knows deep down that after seeing how you were with Todd, you probably aren’t even a virgin, but he is projecting his anger onto the men infront of him. Along with the belief that he is saving you from some scummy 23 year olds who don’t deserve to prey on you at all, he feels righteous in his outburst. His shoulders drop when the bandmates almost laugh at him, then continue to ignore him. God, maybe he really is just a loser who is obsessed with you. He isn’t even supposed to be feeling this strongly about you like this, you’re his best friend, why should he care if you hook up with someone? The pit in his stomach still tells him he should protect you from these men, though. 

After a moment, you’re back with a tray of red, white, and blue drinks, totally oblivious to Dave standing right there, still in that strange state Dave doesn’t know what to do about. He feels so helpless right now it hurts. Dave watches as you climb back on stage and gawk, twirling your hair and biting your lip to talk to Nikolai. 

“I think we should go…” Dave says to you, and you look back at him with the cruelest look you’ve ever given him. 

“Don’t you have a date tonight, Dave? Why don’t you go find Katie…” You completely disregard him, and Dave is devastated. The way you speak to him hurts in a way that he didn’t think you would ever do. Dave is speechless, and Nikolai is taking you now, moving you somewhere backstage. Dave is lost in the crowd, his feet somehow moving him and he finds himself back at the table where Erika and Marty have gotten to know each other, Katie sitting totally lonesome with her cheek on her hand. 

✧✧✧

Dave stopped dancing with Katie when he noticed you and Todd had gone from the crowd. He tried to keep it up with Katie, but his focus was just totally elsewhere. What really surprised him was when Katie actually stood up for how Dave was treating her. She took Dave’s face right in her hands, and looked him in the eye and asked if he was here with you or her tonight. Dave knew the answer in his heart, but his mouth confirmed that he was here for Katie. She seemed satisfied, and took him deeper into the crowd, her body moving against Dave’s in no way a girl ever has. Maybe Dave can get his mind off you and actually enjoy this if he tries. And he does. He really does try to lean into her soft skin, holding onto her hips as they sway to the music. But as time goes on, and you’re out of sight he suddenly feels so strange.

It’s almost as if he can sense you, but he can’t see you. And what he sense right now really doesn’t make any sense to him, but it is making his cock hard right now. Fuck, and now Katie thinks it’s because of her grinding her ass into Dave, not this weird feeling Dave has about you. It’s almost like he can sense your pleasure, like he can feel how good it feels for you. He has no idea that you and Todd are having an excellent time in the restroom right now, but he can feel it so clearly, it’s almost driving him insane mixed with Katie’s grinding. 

Dave can’t help himself, the feeling of pleasure is washing over him in waves. He is already a horny man, it doesn’t help that he has all the friction of his dance partner and this strange connection with you. The weirdest part is he has felt this before, late at night, when he was alone in his bed. He still doesn’t know that the reason he gets so horny at night for you is because you’re likely touching yourself thinking of him in your own bed. The connection is something he has felt for you for so long it is as easy as breathing, he doesn’t even question why he knows where you are, what you’re feeling, and when you touch yourself at night. It actually makes Dave’s brain melt a bit if he thinks too hard about it, he doesn’t really want to admit to how much he feels for you in all these different ways. 

The other pressing matter right now that he feels is Katie’s ass, which he is getting so excited for he could almost ruin his jeans. He prays that he won’t, he couldn’t handle the embarrassment, but as the feeling builds he starts sweating, breathing heavier and heavier, and trying to come up with a game plan for what he’s going to do if he blows his load right here and now. He can hardly think though, it’s so hard when he can feel you coming closer to climax yourself. He can almost see you as he closes his eyes. 

He imagines you right now, on your knees touching yourself, he can see it, I mean really see it. He has no idea who you are with, or if this is even real, but God does it feel real. It feels so real he can imagine you sucking on his own cock, taking it down your pretty little throat and moaning into it from how much you love the feeling. Dave has completely forgotten about Katie, who is oblivious to the fact that her date is caught up in another woman’s pleasure. Dave grips Katie’s hips and imagines it’s your hair, pulling you deeper into his cock, until he can barely fit anymore. He can sense you coming closer and closer now, and his cock is raging against his jeans, ready to explode at any moment. 

That’s when he feels it, so suddenly, you falling over the edge, and his own cock is twitching, leaking out the longest orgasm he has ever had. Dave tries everything in him to not cum right now, but he can’t stop it, it’s happening and now Katie is getting thrust into his cock. He has to hold his breath to not moan out, but here he is cumming in his pants while you have some kind of spell over him here. Katie turns around when she notices how weird Dave is acting, and Dave’s eyes fly open when she yells his name over the music. 

“Dave?” She looks at him confused, the dim lights in the bar are helping the fact that a wet spot is forming on his jeans, and Dave can hardly speak, his mind still stuck with you, in the afterglow. 

“I…I’m sorry Katie, I have to run to the bathroom real quick.” Dave blurts out, and doesn’t really wait for Katie to respond. Katie is left there feeling totally confused, but has no idea what just happened. 

Dave is working his way through the waves of the crowd, which keeps seeming to get thicker and thicker as everyone waits for tonights band, which Dave has zero interest in really, but he knows you are some what obsessed with the boy band. Right now, he isn’t really worried about that however, right now he needs to clean himself up in the bathroom. 

When he reaches one of the single stalls, he is surprised to bump into you, his voice leaving himself, his eyes looking at how your hair is tousseled and your clothes are dishevled. A sinking feeling starts pouring itself right into Dave’s very soul. You look at him with a smirk and leave to go see the band, not even saying a word to Dave. In fact, he can almost feel you roll your eyes at him when your back is turned to him, which hurts more. 

He goes to open the door and finds Todd in the bathroom, trying to fix his own clothes and hair, extremely surprised to see Dave right now. 

“Dave! Hey…hey man, uh, how–” Todd tries to come up with any words that will make this situation less awkward for him right. Dave cuts him off before he can even continue. 

“Please don’t tell me what I think just happened, happened Todd.” Dave’s possessiveness of you can’t help it, he knows you’re allowed to fuck whoever you want, but he needs to know you did not just fuck Todd fucking Haynes. 

“Um…No man, no, she just asked me for some help with something, it’s not…” Todd is struggling to come up with a lie, it’s almost insanely clear, but Dave’s heart can’t take it. He just nods and leaves the restroom, deciding the let his jacket cover up any spot on his jeans by wrapping it around his waist. 

He leaves and begins walking with no real direction when he spots you again. This time you look like some sort of nymph, or succubus, sitting on the edge of the stage, watching the band set up. Dave can see you chatting with the singer, that raccoon looking fuck. The singer looks up and actually locks eyes with Dave as he parts through the crowd towards the two of you, and Dave immediately feels a cold chill run down his spine. This man is bad news, he has to get you away from him, it’s almost instinctual how badly he knows that this man wants to hurt you. Even if you potentially just fucked one of his buddies, the feeling Dave has right now is more urgent than that. 

Dave finally makes it to the stage, and you turn to him, and Dave knows something is wrong. You have this look in your eyes, it’s unnerving how empty you seem. You don’t even really acknowledge Dave, you are so busy trying to get this weird, older singer’s attention. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dave grabs your arm, trying to get your attention, but the singer steps in, dipping down to speak to Dave since he’s so much taller on the stage. 

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, besides, she was just heading out to grab us some drinks at the bar, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” The man stares at you with a viscous, disgusting grin, and Dave can feel all the anger of the night welling up inside of him. Before Dave can speak, it’s like you’ve been commanded by the man, hoping off the stage and getting ready to go grab drinks. 

“Oh yeah…” You say, your voice totally devoid of real thought, almost drunken already, though Dave is sure you haven’t really had anything to drink tonight, not to mention you’re only 18 anyways. “You just have to try one of these 9/11 tribute shooters, but you gotta drink it fast or else it turns kinda brownish!” 

You giggle as if you’ve told one of the funniest jokes, and before Dave can stop you, you’re slipping through the crowd to go get drinks. Dave is totally lost on what to do, but the band members seem to be going about on their own tangent now, and what Dave catches pisses him off even more. 

“So, Nikolai,” One of the bandmates start speaking to the singer. “Do you really think she’s a virgin? I mean she seems kind of…” 

Dave interrupts, slamming his hand onto the wooden stage, a few people besides Nikolai and the bandmates looking at his outburst. 

“Listen to me you fuck.” Dave has no idea where this spirit is coming from, but he rolls with it. “You bet she is a virgin, and a girl like her would never give it away to a loser like you, not to any kind of fucking loser, so just leave her the fuck alone!’

Dave can feel his face go hot, he knows deep down that after seeing how you were with Todd, you probably aren’t even a virgin, but he is projecting his anger onto the men infront of him. Along with the belief that he is saving you from some scummy 23 year olds who don’t deserve to prey on you at all, he feels righteous in his outburst. His shoulders drop when the bandmates almost laugh at him, then continue to ignore him. God, maybe he really is just a loser who is obsessed with you. He isn’t even supposed to be feeling this strongly about you like this, you’re his best friend, why should he care if you hook up with someone? The pit in his stomach still tells him he should protect you from these men, though. 

After a moment, you’re back with a tray of red, white, and blue drinks, totally oblivious to Dave standing right there, still in that strange state Dave doesn’t know what to do about. He feels so helpless right now it hurts. Dave watches as you climb back on stage and gawk, twirling your hair and biting your lip to talk to Nikolai. 

“I think we should go…” Dave says to you, and you look back at him with the cruelest look you’ve ever given him. 

“Don’t you have a date tonight, Dave? Why don’t you go find Katie…” You completely disregard him, and Dave is devastated. The way you speak to him hurts in a way that he didn’t think you would ever do. Dave is speechless, and Nikolai is taking you now, moving you somewhere backstage. Dave is lost in the crowd, his feet somehow moving him and he finds himself back at the table where Erika and Marty have gotten to know each other, Katie sitting totally lonesome with her cheek on her hand. 

✧✧✧

You have no idea how you got to the back of stage, but here you are, doing rounds of shots with Nikolai, the lead singer of Low Shoulder. The whole in the very center of your being where jealousy and Dave usually housed was fading away after each drink and giggle you had with the band. You feel totally out of it, somehow only a few drinks have you feeling drunker than ever. Everytime Nikolai catches your eyes, the way he looks so deeply into them makes it feel like he is the only man in the whole world. You feel almost proud of yourself for keeping up with these older boys, you don’t feel like they are treating you like a child for still being highschool at all, in fact you feel like they are totally into you. You feel so popular right now, it makes you ecstatic. Dave slowly keeps slipping your mind, more and more. You keep talking with the band, until they finally tell you they have to go on and perform, but you’re their special girl for the night so you can stand off to the side, backstage if you will, and watch where no one else can. The thought sends you over the moon happy, you feel so inclined to do whatever Nikolai says that you can’t do anything else even if you wanted to. 

The band leaves and begins playing, the crowd excited and ready for some real live music after all the recorded ones. You spot Dave and Katie in the crowd for a moment, Dave’s eyes on you, and you surprisingly feel nothing at the sight. Why would you when Nikolai is standing there, so completely better than anyone in this room. You can practically feel the hearts lasering out of your eyes at him, you vision feels like a vignette around him, he seems so bright, you are simply a moth to the flame that is a dirty 20 something boy. The idea that this makes no sense doesn’t even come to your mind at this point. They just continue to play on, their song singing of a lost friendship, and you are sure that Dave’s eyes are boring down on you, that’s the one thing you can feel, that grounds you. 

It isn’t enough though, you are so entranced by the band that you don’t even smell the smoke. The flames are practically licking at your back like the devil himself is trying to get a taste of your tender flesh before you notice. And when you do, you just stare at those orange flames as they begin taking up the curtain of the stage. The band is now dropping their instruments, and the next thing you feel is Nikolai grabbing your body, pulling you away. The crowd is screaming, the horror is hitting everyone who is trying to claw their way out. You don’t even think your heart is beating faster than normal, this is no normal reaction to such a thing. 

You are pulled from the building, the smoke rising and rising, a few people getting out, but you can tell there are many still stuck inside where the flames are engulfing the structure. You look dazed at it, still being taken farther away from the disaster. 

Just before you are pushed into the bands van, you see Dave, he’s sprinting towards you like his life depends on it. He is screaming your name, reaching out for you. He has soot and dirt on his face, like he had to claw his way out. Katie is trailing behind him, and the sight of her makes that pit open up inside of you again. You turn from them, and allow yourself to be pulled into the van, Dave’s hands hitting the metal side of it, his screaming continuing, he is running after the van as it pulls away. 

The last time you see Dave with your own eyes is through the back window of the van while he desperately tries to keep up.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Hey, question! In your Makima fic (sorry I forgot the name, but I adored it so much, it was amazing!!!) reader and Makima got married… did they get married in Japan? And considering it was also in the late 90’s… I had a funny thought:

What if Makima forced the prime Minister with her control devil abilities to allow gay marriage in Japan just so she could get married with her lover 😂

Oh you're talking my fic Man is the Breast, Heaven is the Playground. They didn't get married in that story, they just promised to be together forever with the two of them making a contract ー in exchange for Makima never using her abilities on the reader, the reader would stay with her forever

It's just that with the level of possessiveness Makima has concerning the reader, she worded it ambiguously enough for it to be a contract that spans every lifetime that followed the one the two of you are currently in. She didn't really want to die and come back again with no guarantees that she would be loved again, so she ties you to her the best way she can

There is a the sequel to that story though, A Blazing Star Sought Refuge in my Chest which is another oneshot but with multiple 'chapters'', so to speak'. I don't want to spoil that entirely if you haven't read it, but in the continuity of this duology, they never get married due to the reader dying part way through. To be sort of fair though, Makima considers the contract you made to be marriage in its own right

The contract agreed between you both are essentially vows, in her eyes. But she admittedly wanted to be married in the human sense of the word too

But just as you made a contract of a lifetime with Makima in the prequel, the two of you run into one another again as a reincarnated version of yourself and Nayuta. The two of you sort of get married here...

Your funny thought probably could have taken place though if the reader hadn't died lol. There's very little that would stand in

[oddmawd]

For the 35 questions, can I ask you about numbers 8, 9, 12, 19, 21 and 25? Thanks! *sends hugs*

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

i don't find Doffy or Smoker to be particularly difficult? once i outlined each story and determined their motivations, it's been easy enough to keep them on track in terms of characterization and development (though i was intimidated by doffy early on)

also Brook in The HΩuse on Rumbar Boulevard has been a joy to write, he's a breeze and SO MUCH FUN

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

i've been poking at a Marco (One Piece) fic and tbh he's tough, it's hard to nail his demeanor and speaking voice (i refuse to add 'yoi' all over the damn place when writing in english LMAO)

also Kurama (YYH), but not because i personally have trouble writing him per se...i just have a very specific characterization of him in mind and it's pissed people off before (like bro people are SO PRECIOUS ABOUT HIM!??? wtfffff)...i have felt self-conscious about my plans for him in The Sight Unseen as a result...also the OC i've paired with him isn't the fandom's normal OC archetype for a kurama fic and i've gotten the rudest fucking comments about it saying Rei is not "special enough" for him LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO.........it's wild what people find acceptable for this fictional blorbo (like they think they can somehow dictate which OCs are 'allowed' or not) but you do you booboo, live your truth, LMAO

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

oh god how long we got? LMAO

i've been posting lately about The Art of Queen Sacrifice, my upcoming Doffy/OC fic...it takes place in an AU setting that's more in line with a historical pirate setting, with no Devil Fruit powers, and i'm really eager to show it to you all....OBLIGATORY MOODBOARD REPOST:

i also have a ton of OCCULT PIECE stories to share...i have fics planned for Marco, Katakuri, Shanks, Mihawk, Pedro, Crocodile, Buggy, Sabo, and many more...i just love exploring the lore of that gigantic AU, and every story is a new opportunity to map out new connections and the history of the modern, urban fantasy AU setting

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

it's one or the other and NO in-between at all

i love writing canon compliant shit...There's Fire and The Grasp of Gilded Strings are both as canon compliant as they can be considering One Piece is unfinished, and i designed both stories to fit seamlessly with canon without disrupting it...i want them to read as additional side-stories that complement the canon, and for both of them, i'm achieved that (though of course future Smoker or Doffy developments during or post-Egghead, which is where we are now in canon, could derail my plans)

tbh, setting things post-canon for complete series is my overall preference when remaining canon compliant...canon can never "unmake" anything i write when the series is complete, and i used to write exclusively for completed series before falling in love with One Piece

on the opposite side of the spectrum, OCCULT PIECE is a clear indicator of how much i love completely AU settings...i love making my own playground within the bounds of fandom <3

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

i don't write pairings of canon characters, so OC/CC is my preferred pairing to write (and read)

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

SO MANY OMFGGGGGG

the entire OCCULT PIECE world is alive in my head and i daydream about it constantly...i think Sanji is at work in the Baratie restaurant in the OCCULT PIECE world and he occasionally serves meals to the couples in the OccP universe, so it's funny to think about him serving Zoro and the Witch on a date

i think about Rei and Kurama going dancing a lot...also i headcanon that she's the OC in The Hunt sometimes, and if that story is their married life, i can't help but think about what she and Kurama got up to on their honeymoon LMAOOOOOO...planning on writing that one down someday because it's gonna be 🔥

also i daydream the conclusions of There's Fire, Beyond the Fracture and Gilded ALL THE TIME, i've basically lived out those stories a million times already LMAO

FIND THE "35 Questions for Fanfiction Writers" LIST HERE

[fizzigigsimmer]

New Ask Game for Writers 🪷

Very low-pressure rules: Tell me which fic of yours was the most fun to write (if you want to). Like, which one did you have a blast writing? Feel free to share, to rec, to tell us WHY they were fun, etc.

tagged by the amazing @bigdumbbambieyes!

It was a lot harder to come up with an answer for this question than I expected. I have a lot of fun with everything I write, but some fics are more challenging than others. Doesn't make them less fun for me, though and the challenge can be it's own type of fun.

lol so I had to tell myself to stop overthinking it, and surprising even myself I am going with my Harringrove Hannibal AU: He Who Holds The Devil. I love NBC's Hannibal and little plot bunnies for a Harringrove exploration of that narrative had been hopping around in my head for awhile. It's dark subject matter, a serial killer falling in love with an FBI agent and seducing them into the dark...but man is it DELICIOUS! The show lends itself really well to the Stranger Things Universe due to the way it uses magical realism to explore its characters psyche but I'm not gonna lie, writing was tough.

It was challenging because I had to find the right tone so that it felt like the show (Hannibal) which is steeped in prose and is very cerebral, but also make sure it still felt like Stranger Things. I also discovered for myself how difficult it is to give the devil a love story. Violence and death at every turn, but somehow you're still invested in whether they will or they won't find their way to each other.

I loved writing Steve as the wolf in sheep's clothing. A deeply flawed anti-hero who desperately hates himself and is just as desperately trying not to be a total piece of shit. He's an unhealed victim. Broken bad. He's games the system. He toes a line and pretends at a moral code he abandoned years ago. A manipulator, but not yet a predator. He hates that he wants to be.

And I will tell you right now, Billy begs for a chance to be written as THE WORST and still somehow the one character you want to win. The fun I had with this. Hehe I literally stop what I am doing once a day to jot down some little thought I had for the sequel because Billy this way is just SO GOOD. The things he does, and the lengths he's willing to go to purely for the pleasure of doing it had to be horrifying, while also maintaining his humanity. What's more, I had to figure out ways to make the reader question everyone else's humanity - whether or not he's right and we all might just be a little bit monstrous. I live for philosophical debates on morality so this was like a huge playground for me.

So yeah, I got to write Billy and Steve at their worst and most unhinged, while still being absolutely INSANE for each other, and it was a great time.

This was also my first big bang project and I got partnered with two great artists, and @robthegoodfellow came in clutch as a beta reader. And honestly, getting to chat with them, and also everyone on the discord was so enriching on top of being fun. Being able to share the experience with others as I tackled my fear of big bangs was amazing.

my no-pressure tags: @adelacreations @medusapelagia @dragonflylady77 @spaceofentropy

[deflated-leaf]

darry/paul post-canon fic????? :00000

...... mayhaps

here on ao3!!

They built a new playground on top of the empty lot the Socs claimed as their makeout spot. Darry knows this because Paul used to take him there when they wanted to get high. There used to be a tree with initials and hearts and someone was here’s carved into it. The two of them once carved D + P inside a heart on that tree. As a joke, of course, though no one but them would know. Paul once fell flat on his face in some mud because he was too drunk to run from the cops. Darry almost tripped over a tree root because he was laughing so hard. “Darry?” He whips around. No one has called him that in— Oh my God. Speak of the fucking devil. "Paul."

[formosusiniquis]

Stevie Just Hit the Wall

finally the part two of this fic that has been in the works for the last month

“I can't believe you still have that shirt.” And she knows it’s the one from high school. The open mouthed devil is faded and cracked from a trip too many through the washing machine. The neck stretched just enough that she can make out the ink lines of a few tattoos that were definitely not there in the 80's.

“I think it might actually be Jeff's, he was always bulkier than me. I know I'm not as scrawny as I was in high school." He grins, it's a little worn at the edges too. Smile lines worn deep into his face.

She ignores the self deprecation, Eddie looks good. He's always looked good, and fame has let him ditch the feral cat leanness that he'd carried through school. Leaving a tone that comes from working hard and softness from living well. "How is Jeff? The band?"

A heavy eye looks her up and down, she's changed since high school too. Filled out in different ways, and against the soft grey walls of her living room she can only wonder what he thinks when he looks. Something good she hopes as he chuffs a laugh, answering, "Jeff and Gareth are about to celebrate a stupid long anniversary. They argue about when they actually got together, so it's either 12 or 15 years. Joey wants to know why you're lowering your standards."

Her teenage home had been different, her and her mom in a strange middle ground of mourning her dad in the old house and living a new life in Claudia's. She can see Eddie there though. A little uncomfortable in the too big house in Loch Nora with the white walls. A little shy as he waits beside Claudia's afghan covered couch. The way he'd have fiddled with a pill on the blanket, twisting at that little mark of something well loved. The way he stands now looking up at her through his eye lashes like he's not one of the biggest names in metal, like he's a teenager hoping the girl who was still waiting for her fucking boobs to grow in was actually excited to go out with him. She still knows how to laugh like that girl, a breath starved giggle.

He bounces on his toes, meeting her eyes head on at that, "Actually they all want to know why you're giving me an-- a shot."

She can hear the 'another' that he's left off, this must mark the start of their 'just like high school.' A bit of role-play to mix things up and make up for the time they've lost. "Maybe I think you're handsome and charming and kind."

His hair is still long enough he can wrap it around his finger, twirling it once, twice, before pulling it to hide a corner of his face, "Flattery works on me."

"Lucky me."

"If you two are done being nauseating . Make sure you have her home by eleven, Munson." Robin, comfortable and not likely to move for a while, shouts from the bedroom.

"I'm a grown woman, Robin. I don't have a curfew." She's a grown woman, but her face still feels hot.

"'Just like high school'" Robin chirps back a playground imitation of one of their voices, hard to decide which when it sounds like that, "You've got to come home in time to call your best friend and tell her whether the date sucked or not."

"Better give you two something to talk about then. M'lady," he sweeps into a bow not quite as low as she'd seen in school.

"Lock the door when you leave, and hang up the clothes in the closet please!"

"I won’t! Use protection, I’m not helping you raise any more kids!”

read the whole thing on AO3

[emsuemsu]

@hprecfest day 8: canon-divergence

Canon-divergence in all it's glory means rewrites to me. And I know that the devil herself has worked hard on writing the original books and creating this playground for us, but these authors have worked harder to give the people what they actually want and deserve. And even though I don't read rewrites that much there's a few that's really embedded into my goddamn DNA. So here's three rewrites; two covering basically the same time period (and being oh so different) and one HBP rewrite:

The Hierophant by @hsvh-hp 🩵 29,506, draco/harry

"Again and again, no matter how I lay them out—" And Trelawney pulled a card dramatically from underneath her shawls. "the Hierophant, reversed. . ." Draco lowers his wand on the Astronomy tower. By sunrise, the war is over.

Now this fic is fresh from the oven and I'm basking in it's baked to perfection glory. It's really funny but not in a cracky way, it's just really unhinged and I love it.

If We Could Get to the Moon by @valokki 🩵 121,428 words, draco/harry

Draco has successfully hidden his odd feelings for Harry Potter until the Yule Ball makes them suddenly burst out. Harry notices there's something new about the Slytherin, but he can't quite figure out what. A story that begins in Hogwarts's fourth year and ends around the middle of the eighth. There's a lot of angst and probably even more fluff.

I really enjoyed reading this. It's such a fun, cute, heartbreaking and captivating story. It's really light-hearted, but at the same time not at all?? This fic has references from some of my favorite things (skam and don't ever wipe tears without gloves, which has a much better finnish translation) and it's so utterly good.

It Was All Just a Game by write_me227 🩵 616,512 words, draco/harry

If there's one thing that Draco Malfoy yearns for, it's seeing Harry Potter in pain. How that happens, he doesn't care. When Potter's name is pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, Draco sees it as the perfect opportunity to fulfill his greatest desire. Except Saint Potter has luck swimming in his veins. He needs to be distracted... And the best way to do that is to make him fall in love.

Ohhh boyyyy. I've been reading this since summer??? and I'm on chapter 11. It's good but guys I'm scared. The tw list at the end is good to check before diving in if you're unsure, this story deals with a lot of heavy stuff. This fic spans from 4th year to 8th and it is evidently a goddamn journey. My light at the end of the tunnel is the promised eventual happy ending lol

[noteveryoneis]

Some weird snippets that I won't write a whole fic for because reasons:

It feels like they’ve been in this room for ages. 

According to Ava’s phone, it’s only been a couple of hours since they’ve entered the room, but she swears time has slowed down and that her phone is lying. The sun is already set outside, night is starting to come and the daytime’s heat is slowly but surely starting to drop. She can’t wait to drive back home with the windows down, fresh air in her hair and radio blasting something like No Diggity or All Too Well (probably not this one, it’s starting to hurt too much now).

She might be biased too, but that’s not the problem here. The other parents haven’t been on school grounds since at least a good twenty years, so they had all the time in the world to forget what it felt like to be sitting on one of those narrow and straight chairs with loose bolts. Meanwhile Ava left it before it was even over a little over ten years ago, so it feels like coming back to her interrupted last years of high school and it sucks. 

It feels fucking weird to be in this room with all the other parents who came as couples, smiling and listening to the teachers as they explain shit Ava has heard already ten years ago — school rules can’t possibly have changed that much in a decade, can they? A few are alone, like her, but they’re still much older than her, like Mrs. Salvius over there who used to tell them to be careful on the road as she passed them in her shiny pristine-clean car while they biked on the cracked asphalt — And now they’re both in the same room because their kids are in the same class, life is fucking weird. 

Ava doesn’t look like any of them, in her funky patterned button-up and her worn-out Converse, her cap left on the table — she might be a deviant but she still has manners. She doesn’t look or act or think like any of them and they all know it, looking away from her when she turns around and avoiding her like she has the devil on her shoulder. Ava Silva was never known for being the best example for kids in town, especially after the whole thing with JC. It was stupid to even hope that they would have forgotten about it during the decade she spent away, leaving this town behind before coming back a few weeks ago. This town never forgets, neither do its residents.

All the other kids have left to hang out on the playground — can it be called a playground in middle school when playing is already an activity for babies? —, sneaking away from their parents even though they were probably all supposed to stay. Nova didn’t, staying sitting next to Ava, face turned towards the window in silence, lost in her daydreaming. Ava asked her a few fifteen minutes ago if she wanted to join them, but Nova had shaken her head, saying that she was here to support Ava through this whole excruciating evening and that leaving was defeating that purpose — a part of Ava wondered if the other kids weren’t picking on her like they were already back in the city, because quiet kids are always the best targets and Nova is a word for word definition of that.

She looks so much like her father right now, little Nova, with her dark tousled hair falling over her shoulder, but the way she makes herself small, forgotten and guarded, that is entirely a Nova-thing, Ava sometimes can’t help but understand a little the stupid and baseless rumors about whether or not the kid is JC’s.

Her phone buzzes just as the math teacher stops his long litany that neither Ava nor Nova listened to, a picture from Camila. In the photo, Nina and Neves are both sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over their drawings and the stickers Camila bought them, apparently unaware that Camila is taking a picture of them with how they seem entranced in their own conversation, little fingers pointing at the stickers — there is a sticker on Nina’s hand and another on Neves’ forehead, no doubt they probably fought for a while before Camila took the photo. Ava shows the picture to Nova, who smiles at her sisters and nods politely, before sending a text back to Camila.

Its almost over theyre about to explain the language options and all

Camila sends a thumbs up back.

Nova has her paper open in front of her, keeping track of the subjects that have been presented. On the language options panel are the ones Ava remembers: Spanish and German (it’s a small town with an even smaller school, so small that basically all the levels are in the same campus — it’s helpful for Ava, that way she’ll just have to drop Nova off at her middle school, watch Nina make her way into the primary school and take Neves to her kindergarten classroom, although Nova has made it very clear that she will go on foot every morning, as she likes the quiet and the cold air on her face before an exhausting day of social interactions). But there are also a few new languages: French, Italian, Arabic. Damn, this is better than when Ava was here — she took Spanish even though she was already fluent, both because that way she could get good grades without moving a finger and because twelve-year old Ava really wanted to get close to the cool guy: JC (stupid twelve-year-old Ava, stupid stupid).

Lilith Villaumbrosia enters the room in all her brooming glory, like they’ve disturbed her slumber by entering her school and that she’s about to make it their problem. She really grew into her role of the librarian, Ava can tell — she knows Lilith is the librarian after Nova came home on that first day telling her about ‘Miss Villaumbrosia who works at the school library and hates everyone’. Ava is really tempted to wave at her just to fuck with her, but she doesn’t want to draw more attention onto poor Nova, and so she just settles for a grin when Lilith’s gaze sweeps the room and inevitably lands on her. Her jaw clenches, she looks towards poor Nova who closes her eyes and blows through her nose, like she just knows that Ava’s stupidity is about to make her teenage years a living Hell — Ava really is genuinely sorry about that, but she’s not too worried, they’re going to realize that the kid is nothing like her parents in about a month anyway (and they’re probably going to feel really relieved about that until they meet little Nina who tells marijuana jokes at school and whose greatest achievement is saying the whole alphabet while burping).

Finally, after a few seconds of really intense staring that Ava is definitely set on winning, Villaumbrosia looks away (Score!).

“The French teacher was held back by another parent, she’ll be here in just a mom— She’s here.”

The door opens to another woman who enters the room in a bit of a hurry, cheeks slightly red from running and a few strands of hair escaping from her bun. Ava feels her heart stop in her chest and her brain melting inside her skull all the way out of her nose.

“I apologise for making you wait,” the teacher says in her full British accent that is definitely not doing things to Ava’s single brain cell, walking towards the board in front of the whole classroom. “I’m Miss Young, a few of you already know me from the primary school where I teach 3rd grade, it’s a pleasure to meet the others.”

Ava buries her burning face in her hands, Nova’s confusion coming in waves from her left — “Ma, are you okay? What’s going on?”.

What is going on is that Mrs Young isn’t just the most beautiful and intriguing woman Ava has ever seen, no, she also has to be Nova’s soon to be (because the kid speaks Spanish already and thinks German is from the basement of Hell with how hard it is to learn) French teacher. And she also has to be Nina’s Teacher Beatrice ‘who didn’t laugh at my marijuana joke, mama’.

And Ava’s hot neighbor who she’s been watching go on her morning run every day from her kitchen window with her coffee in hand.

Jesus Christ. Whoever is up there really loves to fuck with her.

[riddledeep]

WHISTLE AND SOREN: IN SHORT

Brief bios about the second fairy and anti-fairy children born in thousands of years

WHISTLE SOREN FERNFIRE

Occupation: Full-time student; future gemstone mine owner

Birthday: May (Breath)

Height: 3′9″ (Tall for a fae)

Age As of Devil’s Backbone: 163,254 (Mentally young teen)

Alignment: Neutral Good 

MBTI: ESFJ (Assertive)

Love Language: Quality time

Handedness: Left dominant

Hometown: Claystrif - Also known as Patio World; contains intricately carved works of art and the glass shrine to Mother Nature and Father Time

Core: Birdhouse

Core Color: Blue (Layer 1 Yellow; Layer 2 Blue)

Crown Lift: High

Wand Type: Threedspiral

Fagiggly Color: White

Preferred Shapeshifting Form: Canary

Bio: Whistle was the first baby in the common fairy subspecies born after Poof. His parents - Coleen and Richter Fernfire - are fabulously wealthy snobs who oversee several gem mines... They're constantly trying to one-up Cosmo and Wanda and make their precious son as big a celebrity as Poof is. No one cares.

Whistle himself is relaxed and overly friendly. He and Poof have been on the same Little League saucerbee team since they were in Spellementary. They both continue the sport through high school and work out together. They had a lot of playdates growing up and know each other pretty well... despite Cosmo and Wanda's exhaustion and irritation towards Richter and Coleen.

Despite his pushy parents, Whistle doesn’t expect to become a celebrity himself. Still, he’s constantly giddy that he gets to hang out with famous faces like Poof, Foop, Goldie, Anti-Coriander... He has a crush on all four and would date them all if he could. Super-fan or stalker? You decide!

He's "open" about his attraction to Anti-Fairies, but will stutter, flush, and giggle if you bring up the topic of romance. See also, "Happy Holidays."

Whistle is a hard worker who seems to perform well in everything, especially physical activities like sports. He's always happy to offer tutoring, run errands, and do any favor you ask for. What a great guy!

He moved into Poof, Sammy, and Finley's dorm after Foop dropped out when the May Blossom War began. However, he changed rooms when Foop returned for high school.

Whistle appears in "Approval," Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Pixies, "Happy Holidays," "First Impressions," and more 'fics to come. He often appears in saucerbee scenes or works about school, such as when Foop saw him and Soren on the playground in "Sentry."

Related:

Family Tree || Common Fairy - Social Ladder || Fairy Class Overview || Poof, Foop, and Hiccup's Bios || Sammy and Finley's Bios || Eclipse House Heights || Apartment Layout

ANTI-WHISTLE SOREN ANTI-FERNFIRE

Occupation: Student; young aristocrat; future spa owner

Birthday: February 13th, 2009 (Breath)

Height: 3′5″ (Tall for an anti-fairy; average for a fae)

Age As of Devil’s Backbone: 163,254 (Mentally teen)

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

MBTI: ESFJ (Turbulent)

Love Language: Words of affirmation

Handedness: Right dominant

Hometown: Luna’s Landing - Anti-Fairy World’s capital city, located in a crater and lit by glowing crystals

Core: Birdhouse

Core Color: Blue (Layer 1 Yellow; Layer 2 Blue)

Crown Lift: Average

Wand Type: Ebony

Fagiggly Color: Teal

Preferred Shapeshifting Form: Snow monkey Rhino

Bio: Anti-Whistle (Soren) is a regular little socialite who had the misfortune of being born to rich parents who couldn’t care less about their image. Sure, the Anti-Fernfire family has run the spa and castle-like hotel that Anti-Fairies have migrated to for hundreds of thousands of years, but his mom would rather do paperwork with Anti-Cosmo and his dad would rather fiddle around with his inventions. What's a little spa heir to do? ... Take control at a young age, that's what.

Foop and Anti-Whistle aren't stepbrothers, but they are crechemates: Anti-Whistle lives at the Blue Castle and is someone Foop grew up with.

Anti-Whistle and Foop are painfully similar in a way neither will admit: They both prefer taking charge and can't stand working in unorganized conditions. But while Foop struggles with analysis paralysis, the threat of losing his inheritance hanging over him in a way that keeps him in line, Anti-Whistle's at risk of losing his inheritance if he doesn't act. Despite his nerves and frequent panic attacks, he seizes control, comes out successful, and is widely admired by the same crowd that shuns Foop as being an out-of-hand fireball. Good thing that won't come back to haunt the political landscape...

Despite being arguably more successful at running things than Foop is, Anti-Whistle is a massive suck-up who is constantly trying to impress Foop with his political skills... Foop knows Anti-Whistle will be useful someday so he doesn’t want to cut ties with him, but he finds him incredibly annoying. It's a shame the guy would probably be a great partner to rule beside...

Foop’s dream is to be the first Anti-Fairy to graduate from the Fairy Academy, so he sees fellow student Soren as the rival who stands in his way. When Anti-Cosmo returned from his mysterious disappearance (à la “You’ll Never Know”), Foop finally went back to school and was assigned to be Anti-Whistle’s roommate. That didn't last long, and Foop was placed with Poof, Sammy, and Finley again instead.

As part of their counterpart link, Anti-Whistle has crushes on all the same people Whistle does (Foop included) and doesn’t really know how to deal with these feelings... Whistle is overly excited to talk to his crushes while Anti-Whistle is a panicky mess.

Anti-Whistle makes a few appearances throughout 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash and other projects. He usually appears in Blue Castle scenes during Foop's youth or 'fics about school, such as "Sentry" (where Foop sees him on the playground and young Soren gets spooked), "Naptime" (where Foop throws a sleepover), and "Approval" (where Whistle brought him along to the high school dance).

Related:

Family Tree || Fairy Class Overview || Poof, Foop, and Hiccup's Bios

[adarlingwrites]

Series Begun: 2023-01-02

Series Updated: 2023-08-12

Description:

A fox and a vixen try to outfox the other, flirting with the thin line between love and hate, only to realize that what they play runs deeper than a mere game. Welcome to the devil's playground.

Notes:

8/10/23: Now that the full game is out, I will be closing this series with one last spoiler-heavy story, and will be focusing on my new fic, The Devil's Canvas, which takes place in a continuity where Raphael meets Fortune before the events of the game. Thank you to all of the sinners who stopped by to read. I haven't felt this creatively fulfilled in a while. - In summary: this is a collection of stories about two walking red flags who can't seem to admit that they care for each other. This series started during Baldur's Gate 3's Early Access, so please excuse any inconsistencies with the lore or moments that might seem out of character once the full game is released. I might rewrite scenes once I play the game when it comes out in August!