#he will stumble over his words just because a question about what he had for breakfast is NOT on the preplanned Exy Talking Points list

[yuons]

THE CHASE, they only need your attention

🐳 downbad! enha x f!r .. 12OO+ 也 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒

윤 : hi ! gf sruka and caelita gave me ideas 💌

HEESEUNG

“hi pretty, did you miss me?” his low drawl from beside your ear made you jump. when you catch the familiar voice you quickly school your expression into a scowl.

“what do you want, lee” you say with faux apprehension, even though your lips were twitching in amusement. heeseung tilts his head, sliding his hands into his pockets, “you.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes, slightly pushing past him before his arm slides to your wrist, “come on, angel, just one date? if you hate me after it you can humiliate me in front of the whole school.”

the offer sounds tempting, really, heeseung’s image was one of the things he always been serious about, “and if i don’t hate you?” you try, a flash of interest cross his pupils.

“if you don’t, then, maybe consider dating me?” he grins, pulling you closer by your arm. you press your hand on his chest and let your eyes linger there for a while before flicking up to his. your finger tracing lightly on the hard lines of his chest through the shirt before pulling away, leaving him flustered, “we’ll see.”

JAY

“you know, you’re quite good for a newbie,” you look up from your guitar notes splayed out in front of you, jay’s figure towering over yours. he pulls a chair near you and invites himself to your space.

a small pout forms on your lips, “you’re assuming i’ve never played before.” jay’s eyes go wide and he stumbled over his words, “wait, that’s not— i was— i didn’t mean it like that! i was just—“ he cuts himself short when your laughter fills the space.

and god, does he want to bottle that sound for himself to keep. your chuckles die down, before you smile at him, “i was just messing with you, and, thank you by the way. my skills are kinda rusty, but i’m trying.”

“i can teach you,” jay blurts out before thinking. only a moment later after he saw your raised eyebrow and the amusement dancing across your eyes did he realize how eager he sounded, “i mean, if you want of course— i’m willing to help you.”

you smile at him, “okay then, see you..?” you trail off, suddenly jay feels stupid for never introducing himself to you, “jay.”

your smile widens at that, “alright, nice to meet you, jay.”

JAKE

“need some help there?” jake smiles watching you struggle with a question. you press your lips together, albeit your heart was starting to pick up its pace.

“no, i’m fine,” you quip. a second later, you feel him slip into the seat beside you anyway. you sigh when you feel him staring at you, “i said i could do—“

your words get caught in your throat, he’s looking at you with that stupid smile of his. grinning so wide that you were contemplating on whether to disappear or to just kiss it away. maybe then he’d be the flustered one.

“hm? you staring now, pretty?” he says, and you quickly look away. brain trying to make sense of the words you’re reading. but when you feel him slide closer to you, slowly grabbing the pen out of your hand. he writes down the formula for you without a word. all you can think about is how warm his hand is when it brushes over your own.

SUNGHOON

“you make this look so easy,” you say, attempting to balance on the ice. sunghoon, whose a few steps away from you just strides comfortably.

“that’s because i’ve had years of practice,” he retorts. you told him you could do this yourself and even though he’s pretty sure you can’t, he let you go and silently watch you from afar.

“hey, actually this might not be that—“ your foot slips in the ice and you were bracing for impact until you feel a hand on your waist, grounding you, “steady” you feel his voice by your ear.

sunghoon helps you balance yourself again and glide back to the edges, stepping back on land. “you okay” he asks, brushing off the ice that got on your leg. just then did you realize that his hand hasn’t untangle itself from yours.

SUNOO

you feel his hand before you see him, your hair being ruffled into a jumbled mess. you pout, letting out a soft groan when feel him plop down beside you.

“morning sunshine,” he smiles, holding back a laugh at you very visible pout. your hands come up to pat down at the ruse, “i just brushed it a few minutes ago, do you always need to greet me that way?”

“i was trying to distract you,” he says, eyes twinkling. you deadpan at him, “from what, my piling stacks of homework?” the unfinished paper stares back at you mockingly.

sunoo chuckles, voice soft, “exactly, winding down for a minute won’t hurt.” you bite your lip thoughtfully. and he thinks it’s unfair how you look so pretty even when you’re running on a few hours of sleep and probably too many energy drinks.

he hears you sigh and mumble out a ‘fine’ before laying your head on his chest. sunoo freezes for a moment before letting his hand carve through your hair. “you’re warm,” you mumble and he’s already planning on not moving an inch for as long as you stay there.

JUNGWON

for once, jungwon wished you’d congratulate him. he watches you talk with the others and hug your friends right after they got their awards for winning the debate competition. so when you reach him, he was looking at you expectantly. he adorns a tiny smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“nice play, yang,” was the only thing you said before moving on to talk to the girl beside him but he stops you, “that’s the only thing you’re gonna say to me?”

it was quite comical seeing his face fall, the glasses on his nose sliding off a bit before he pushes it back up and stare at you with a pout.

“what else do you want me to say?” you muse, crossing your arms over your chest, watching him open his mouth and close it again before huffing. “i don’t know— you were congratulating the others, don’t i deserve one too?”

you let the silence fall over you. the reverence of what he said lingering in the air. for a moment, jungwon regretted ever saying anything. but then, you laugh. and god was it pretty.

“congratulations, won, you did good,” you smile, brushing up his glasses that has fallen once again. jungwon’s eyes follow you as you move on to the next person. well now he simply just needs to win every competition there is, only if it means having you congratulate him.

RIKI

“don’t get used to it,” you scoff. at your voice, riki turns to see you smiling, handing a cold bottle to one of his teammates. the guy’s hand comes up to ruffle your hair playfully and you quickly slap it off.

“your dirty hands are gonna mess up my hair,” you say before glancing to your side. “oh, hey ki,” you catch the slight frown on his lips. he disregards you for a moment before turning to his teammate, “coach called you.”

“really? i didn’t hear—“ he quickly cuts off, “he told me.” you catch the tone, it was unnecessarily sharp. when riki turns to you, you have your own pout.

“what was that for?” you say, his eyes flicker from your lips back to your eyes. “why’d you fetch him water?” he lets slip, lips pursing right after.

your brows furrow, and then a second later it relaxes and your eyes widen like something had just dawned on you, “you’re jealous.”

riki frowns at that, “what? no i’m not, why would i be?” he doesn’t stop there, “it’s just, why would you get him water out of nowhere, do you owe him some—“ you cut him off by pressing a kiss to his cheek. pulling away as quick as you did and chuckle at him like nothing happened, “dont worry, he’s my brother.”

taglist is open + daily clicks

[m1stm3]

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from the start by laufey

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

teen! satoru x reader

wrote this on a whim teehee!!! i hope yall like it >:3

cw’s!!: fluffff!!!, puppy love, oblivious teens, just all cutesy feelings :3

wc: 584 (yayyy!!)

“i dunno, satoru… you don’t think this is a bit… much?”

your words are soft compared to the blood rushing in satorus ears, almost muffled as if you were speaking underwater.

“wh-what do you mean?”

his words leave him in a barely there squeak, his shoulders drawn up tense like he was about to flinch at his own words. he didn’t even have the time to act collected.

“i just- you dont think this is a little mean? anyone else would be heartbroken if you were to do this to them…” your shoulders slump slightly while you speak, your eyes still fixed to the pretty letter you held between your fingers.

it was so cliche you could’ve gagged. a note passed in class, a set meeting spot after school, and a blush pink envelope sealed with a little red heart (don’t forget the several digimon stickers that adorned both the envelope and the contents inside). you felt like a protagonist in a romance anime that you would’ve squealed over in the late hours of the night.

“mean?” he would’ve been confused if his mind wasn’t going a thousand miles an hour, but right now he was only questioning himself. he can admit, he kinda blacked out a little while writing out the sweet note, but even suguru was surprised with how genuine it sounded! not to mention that he read over it at least ten times before finally committing to sealing it! and the courage it took to ask you to meet with him-

“it’s just… this is really far even for you. i know you and suguru like to tease me sometimes and it’s usually funny but-“

oh.

you thought it was a joke.

“wh- NO!” if you were a meaner person you would’ve teased him about how bad his voice cracked, but you only looked up at him with wide eyes and a look of bewilderment.

“‘no’?”

“no. nonononononono-“ he’s shaking his head so adamantly he honestly might give himself whiplash (it almost looks like you told him he had a bug in his hair or something) and you only notice the fierce redness on his cheeks when he stops with his jerky movements.

“it’s not a joke i promise- i really meant everything i wrote in the letter.” his words are frenzied, like he was expecting you to walk away if he didn’t explain quickly enough.

you pause for a few beats.

“ah.” nice going.

it only takes a few seconds of silence for him to start rambling again.

“shoko was pushing me to finally say something because she was getting sick of me talking about you all the time and i still wasn’t even gonna do it when she said that but then suguru said he was gonna set you up with nanami if i didn’t say anything so-“

and god he would’ve thought the soft press of your lips against his cheek was completely his imagination if he didn’t watch you stumble over your own feet slightly while pulling away.

you’re quick to recover and fleeing the scene as soon as you get the chance with a call of “text me later, okay?” over your shoulder. he doesn’t even know if you hear his small squeak of confirmation, but that doesn’t matter because you definitely hear the way the 6’2 teen squeals to himself when he thinks you’re out of earshot.

[kireilien]

back to my boyfriend bc im loyal can we talk about shy ky maybe give it a little back story like when reader (me.) and ky first met he was super shy could barely talk to reader (me..) without getting all red

ur actually not loyal looks around but i’ll indulge in this … and yk how much of a freak i am so shy!ky but also perv!ky ♡︎

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; no explicit dynamics but implied service dom!kyrell, fem!reader, race neutral reader, male masturbation, porn watching, panty stealing/sniffing, this can basically be like gooner!ky

oh how ky would have the biggest crush on you!!!

he sees you around all the time because you two share the same circle of friends, he’s even seen you at the same function a few times, but he’s always been too shy to say anything. his friends know he has the biggest crush on you, but his face and ears would get all red, cute smile plastering his face, unable to even think about approaching you.

but when your friends drop hints that it’s going around that kyrell valentine choi has a crush on you, you start seeing something more.

when you first talk to him, sure you were shy because this is the first time you’ve ever talked on him, but ky was worse! he’s stumbling over his words, talking to you in broken sentences and gritted teeth, you feel so bad! you reassure him that he can talk to you like a friend and grab his hand, telling him he could calm down.

oh you didn’t even know what you just did.

ky seeing your hand on his, he feels the softness, can smell your sweet hand lotion on it— is it bath and body works? or is it pink? he’ll find out later— when he comes home to his room, his head is in his hands and his cock is so tight against his pants. he has to open up twitter and search for something. but he finds out something horrible. he can’t even watch his go-tos anymore. why? they don’t look like you.

he’s trying to jack himself off but something isn’t hitting. when he scrolls to find one, he finally can jerk it. he doesn’t even notice after cumming all over the tissue that the model had similar features to you. down to your hair, to your skin, to your ass and tits, everything. the reason why he couldn’t jack off before was because none of his porn looked like you.

this was only the start.

when you start meeting up more, he’s still his shy self but, he starts getting more romantic. in your eyes, you’re already set on bagging him. in ky’s eyes, it’s a way for him to ignore the fact he can’t cum to anything else but you now. remember how ky faintly smelt your hand lotion? when he was being his gentlemen self, he kissed your hand goodbye. cute, right?

no. he found your lotion and bought it. he now uses it to jack off his cock so when he’s jerking it, it smells like you. he’s never seen himself cum that much and that fast.

when you invited him over to your place, he was so respectful. keeping his hands to himself, sitting at a distance from you, complimenting your room. but obviously you closed that gap between yourselves and even made out a little. when ky bids goodbye, he pops the question. you say yes. boom. you have a normal boyfriend now, right?

wrong. when you were getting some water, he picks up these cute panties of yours in your dirty hamper and shoves them in his back pocket. you didn’t even notice they went missing, which is a good thing because when ky got home, he immediately unzipped his pants, squirted some of your scented lotion on his cock and starts inhaling the shit out of your panties.

how disgusting.

but ky can’t help it. he can’t wait to fuck your pussy so right, just how you want it. he’s so utterly obsessed with you he’ll do anything to make you feel good. it’s compensation for buying your lotion and taking your panties.

back 2 catalog

[ninyard]

I have this hc that Kevin Day- As great as he is at press and interviews- is actually kinda bad at good phrasing of serious, non exy tweets/social media posts. Like your earlier post about him being so awkward at being an all that people think he’s either super homophobic or closeted.

Like he doesn’t realize how much his looks/voice/face-to-face charm are more captivating than say… his articulation of anything outside of technical exy talk

YESYESYESYESYES

He’s so perfect in front of a camera. He’s so charming talking to interviewers. He’s such a gentleman talking to fans. He has the most perfect, beautiful, coached answers to any and every question about Exy, about his teammates, about the other teams. He has a stunning smile and a wonderful way with words and everyone falls in love with every word that leaves his mouth.

Ask him what he’s doing over the winter break. Ask Kevin Day what his favourite food is. Ask him what his thoughts are on [insert movie here], or ask him to explain how he feels about [any topic that isn’t exy].

As much as I joke about Kevin being dragged on social media constantly, and as much as I don’t think any of those tweets are in character or would actually happen, I DO think he frequently has to delete tweets or apologise for things online because he’s so bad at wording things when 1) his agent has told him what to tweet or 2) it’s not about Exy.

What Kevin means to say: There is beautiful diversity of LGBT+ people in exy, it’s a sport that already breaks down barriers by being mixed-gender, and having so many out and proud queer players in the sport is really refreshing and good to see

What Kevin tweets: There’s too many gay people that play Exy

What Kevin means to say: I want to be clear about my own struggles with anxiety so people are aware that they’re not alone; that talking about mental health is becoming de-stigmatised, and it’s important to remember that “celebrities” have mental health problems too, that they’re just ordinary people at the end of the day. They’re just like any other person with mental health issues.

What Kevin tweets: Nobody cares about celebrities with mental illnesses.

Something like that. Poor guy can never say anything right.

I learned something recently about accepting that sometimes people “speak in draft”. They get the thought out of their head before it’s fully formed, and sometimes they’ll need to go back and revise what they’ve said because it’s not exactly what they meant to say. People speak in draft because they’re not always going to say the perfect words to perfectly convey their points all the time. Kevin tweets in draft. But he… can’t really take it back. He tries to reread and reread things over and over again to make sure it’s okay to tweet but he is so terrible for tweeting things and having to delete them because nononono I didn’t meant it like that.

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[amaranthinespirit]

roommate!simon riley when your vibrator dies before you can finish, and he offers to relieve that tension

your feverish body splayed across the bed, covers thrown into a heaved pile surrounding you as a thin layer of sweat coats your skin and dampens the sheets under you. pathetic gasps of desperacy slip past your lips despite the thin walls as you pressed the vibrator against your sensitive clit.

you could feel the buildup in the bottom of your tummy, the heat of release that pooled slowly rising and threatening to spill over. your legs bucked, your whole body trembling in desperation as your other hand squeezed your breast. strings of muttered pleases escaping your pouty lips.

it was right there, you were about to wash over—to drown in the sweet snap of that taut knot in your body. you pressed the tiny, bullet vibrator harder against your abused clit, hoping it would give you the release you so desperately chased after.

until it died. it wasn't a gradual slow down to let you know it was on its last moments—it just stopped.

you whined in frustration, feeling the orgasm about to wash over you all too quickly drain—after it had taken you all this time to build it up.

you were panting, body still trembling as another groan escaped your throat. you tossed the vibrator carelessly across the room, hearing it thud against the wall as your hands came up to cover your flushed face.

in the next room over, simon had heard the little whines and gasps you had let slip by, smirking whenever his name would reach his ears. he had heard you for months—the walls were thin—but he had never decided to act on anything.

it wasn't like he wasn't into you—because he was and he was in his room, fucking his heavy cock in his right hand pretending it was yours. it never worked—his hands were far too roughed and calloused compared to your soft, delicate skin.

but he never had the opportunity to approach you about it—until now.

when he heard that noise of frustration fall from your lips, the light thud against the wall, a knowing smirk teased the corners of his lips.

he pushed himself from, adjusting his sweatpants as he did so before he landed in front of your door.

he knocked—he had some decency after all—but he didn't want long for an answer before pushing his way in. he didn't know what he was going to find—well, he had an idea—but boy, you surprised him.

a choked gasp flew from your lips at the knock, not even getting the chance to at least cover up by the time he was standing in your—now open—doorway.

you had sat up so fast, it was dizzying, but you brushed it off as you tried to tug the covers over your bare body, but it didn't help they were half falling off the bed and slightly heavy.

his gaze traveled appreciatively over you, shamelessly staring at your slick covered thighs and glistening pussy, a damp spot on the sheets below you.

you yelped as you noticed his staring, clamping your legs shut as you attempted again to cover yourself—each tug at the blanket was like a fight for an ounce of dignity. you weren't sure you had any now.

your chest still heaved, body flushed and slightly pink with reddened skin over your left breast. you swallowed thickly, stumbling over your words as you avoided his gaze, "what...do you...you need something?" you finally managed out.

his brow quirked up at your question, humming as he examined—analyzed—your movements. movement made of embarrassment and shame to be caught like this.

"dunno, luv," his voice was dangerously low, and gruff. he cleared his throat, slowly stepping towards the side of the bed, "looks like y'might need sumthin', hm?"

he stalked towards you like a predator, his eyes dark and half-lidded in a way that made shivers run down your spine and your pussy wetter.

he chuckled as you shook your head. he could feel the embarrassment radiating off of you as he stood right beside the bed, the side you didn't occupy.

the bed dipped with the weight of his knee, his body heavy against the springs as he bent over, a hand coming to your bare hip. he watched the goosebumps ripple from the touch of his calloused hand.

his other hand landed on your knee, slowly prying them apart as he hummed lowly in appreciation of the sight of your soaking cunt, glistening under the low light of your room.

his hand slid your knee, down your thighs until he rubbed two fingers down the center of your pussy. the slick collected on his fingers as they glided through the folds with ease because of your arousal.

"hm, you sure about that, luv?" he teased as he heard the pathetic moan that you tried to stifle slip past your chapped lips.

he brought his thumb down against your clit, swirling over the oversensitive bud before pinching it between his fingers. he huffed out a chuckle at the mewl you let out.

he teased your slit, barely dipping his fingers against your walls before pulling them away to slide through your folds while he continued to tease and bully your poor clit.

he watched the way you became a mess under his hand, no doubt getting wetter by his hand than with the vibrator he spotted thrown by the side of the wall. he nearly laughed at the sight of the small thing, his finger practically the size of it.

don't worry, you were better off being taken care of in his hands, by his fingers as he brings you to release by just toying with your clit.

and he'll give you more if you let him.

[amourcheol]

blurring the lines

❝Why learn the complexities of desire all by yourself, when your dearest friend can merely teach you?❞

bridgerton! au | friends with benefits! au | smut, fluff | 32.6k words

s u m m a r y : you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.

c o n t e n t : best friend! joshua, best friend! soonyoung too, references of real erotic literature from the 1700s because this is not an amourcheol fic without historical accuracy, joshua acts like a man (yikes), soonyoung a true mvp, diamond's member shenanigans mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (regency protection is goofy mb), overstimulation, corruption kink (!!!), body worshipping, mc is horned up, surprising amount of fluff in this lawl

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : the first installment for the bridgerton series is finally here! you can read this as a standalone, so don't feel any pressure to start something huge!! thank you to alice and addy for hearing me yap about this all the time and thank you to anyone who reads this work <33

playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

AS PER USUAL, KWON SOONYOUNG WAS LATE FOR HIS MEETING WITH YOU. 

You glanced at the clock for possibly the twenty-seventh time that afternoon, twisting your lips in a scowl as you swirled your now lukewarm tea. Of course the man, who thought being on time was unfashionable, would refuse to leave you as an exception. You should not have expected any other possibility—you, you thought, were the fool for expecting a man to keep his word.

Another ten minutes, and you were already writing the enraged letter in your head when you heard the distant din of carriages stopping in a rush beyond the doors, and instantly you jumped from the chair you restlessly waited in. The servant that entered the room began to inform you of an arrival, but you did not listen to the end of his sentence, dashing out into the hallways of your home, the entrance door closing within reach. 

You made to open the door, expecting to see the resident eccentric plastering his best pleading expression on his devious face, enacting the role of an apologetic wrongdoer. 

What welcomed you instead had your entire universe standing still. 

This time, you would have forgiven Soonyoung for breaking his word. 

Because there, in the place you had settled and gossipped and lived in for years upon years, was another addition. There, in the centre of the doorway, was a man who, too, had shared in the meddling, had stayed over and regaled his own tales with you till you fell asleep alongside each other. 

Lord Joshua Hong smiled at the sight of you, and you barely contained your sob as you darted towards him.

He had only begun to open his arms before you jumped straight into them, and he staggered back, chuckling into your skin. He wrapped his hands around you, tightening his grip the more you let the choked gasp escape, emotions now unable to be restrained. 

You could not help yourself—Joshua was not supposed to come as early as he had, you thinking that his trip to the Continent would last another fortnight. You were certain of it, since you had read over his last letter enough times to memorise his neat cursive, assuring you of his imminent return. 

You said it yourself, lips close to his ear. “I thought you had another two weeks.” 

You felt him hum at your claim—mulling over his response. “I longed for home,” was his response, grasping you just the bit tighter. That only had you smiling, accepting the embrace twice over.

It was a while before Soonyoung cleared his completely-clear-already throat in a melodramatic fashion. “I did not receive this welcome when I returned from the Continent,” he greeted from behind the new arrival, side-stepping past you two. 

Joshua lifted his head to retort, “That is because _____ does not care for you.” 

When the younger saw you merely shrugging, he huffed. “Can you sod off back to Paris, please? She is so much worse when you are around.”

As you finally pushed your dear friend at arm’s length, you quirked an eyebrow at the accuser. “You did not receive this welcome because you, Soonyoung, were particularly insufferable on your return. I recall you refused to speak in nothing but French for the fortnight afterwards.”

“Because that language is so attractive!” he declared, walking further into the townhouse. “Even your dearest friend would agree with me.”

But the said-man shook his head, shooting him with what you thought was a comical glare. “Whatever their attraction in the language, I will commend them, at least, in their literature.” He then looked behind him, revealing the luggage barely hidden from the carriage windows.

You followed his line of sight. “Have you not unpacked?” 

“I arrived not an hour ago,” he said, jerking his head towards the younger, “and now Soonyoung insists on holding a soirée this evening to announce my return.”

“First of all, Lady Whistledown has already predicted it, so might as well prove her right!” he demanded, walking over to you and him. “And secondly, you have a few hours to prepare yourself.”

“A few hours to settle myself after months of journeying,” he grumbled. “Can I not simply announce my arrival by strolling around St. James’ park?” 

“Out of the question!” Soonyoung refused, rubbing his hands together in glee. “And I do not know why you feign apprehension to a little socialising! The evening will only gather around a hundred of my closest friends.” 

“By God, have you befriended all of London?” you sighed, shaking your head. “Still, you know I will attend, or else you will never stop complaining about it.” 

“See? _____ understands!” Soonyoung grabbed the eldest by the shoulder. “Come on, it will be fun! At least spare me a few hours.” 

Joshua only frowned in thought, ready to decline the spontaneous invitation. Maybe he would have done it outright, but then he turned to you, a finger and thumb upon his chin. “You will be there?” 

You nodded—that alone was all it took to cement his decision. “Then count me in,” he said to his friend. 

And as Soonyoung complained anyway, ranting on Joshua’s low opinion of him, the latter only winked at you, smiling with a mischief he miraculously maintained even after all these years. 

It had you returning his mirth. Welcome home, dear friend.

AS EXPECTED, LORD KWON SOONYOUNG’S SOIRÉE WAS LESS AN INTIMATE GATHERING AND MORE AN OUTRIGHT BALL. 

Regardless of the host’s constant refuting, Joshua was certainly not pleased, who had reserved his energies on spending time with those close to him, and not the entire ton’s eligible ladies and mamas. With the social season commencing soon, the eligible ladies and gentlemen were already sizing each other, finding allies or opponents within the battleground of the ballroom. 

The recently returned gentleman, he realised with no small amount of horror, had become something of a most eligible bachelor London’s society had witnessed this year. Granted, he was of a beautiful countenance, and had the wealth to accentuate his good looks, but he was under the impression that three months in the Continent would have dampened his thriving reputation in society. What he failed to grasp was that absence always makes the heart of the yearner—and their yearners’ mamas, apparently—grow fonder.

You watched him twirl a rather pretty girl as you took another bite of the finger sandwiches set out ornately on the long, white-clothed tables behind you. Soonyoung, who was right beside you, observed his friend, speaking up. “I swear he has been on the floor for an hour now.” 

“Three-quarters of one,” you corrected, savouring the cream cheese, meshed with tomatoes and cucumbers. “And every single time it has been a different lady pushed in front of him.” 

“He is the talk of the ton right now.” He took hold of a sandwich from the table, eating the entire thing in one go. “A few weeks in the European air has made him more attractive, no?”

You shook your head at his rather suspicious comment, but it was not wrong—Joshua glowed with a shine many lacked within society, as if his body wished to exonerate his freedom to journey wherever he wished. “If I was him, I would have excused myself three dances ago.” 

“Alas, our friend is a perfect gentleman,” Soonyoung drawled, crossing his arms. “And you would be the rotten bachelor destined to be alone.”

You rolled your eyes, looking at him. “Huge claims coming from someone who has danced once this entire evening.”

“At least I have danced once, my dear.” 

You frowned, glancing back at the ‘perfect gentleman’. It was not as if you were not offered—you simply had another partner in mind. “I am too hungry to dance,” you said instead, itching to reach for your fourth bite-size sandwich for the evening. 

“Whatever you say,” he chanted, reaching to grab the very food you pretended to hunger for and handing it to you.

As you took a bite, the quadrille was at an end, applause echoing throughout the ballroom. As the ‘perfect man’ bowed, offering whoever he danced with a dazzling smile, the girl could only admire him, stars in her eyes as he turned his back on her.

It was almost unnerving, how instantly his eyes found yours in the crowd. 

With a determined gaze he whisked his way around half the mothers that wished to present their daughters, a honey-sweet smile enough to keep his admirers at bay as he forged his path towards you. Once he finally escaped the crowd, he wasted no time, setting his flawless smiles upon you.

“My apologies, angel,” he began, slowing down before you, “the ton’s mamas refused to leave me alone.” 

“Do not pretend you despised your admirers,” you chastised, about to eat the rest of your snack when you saw your friend’s eyes lock onto it. 

The moment you offered it to him, he reached out and plucked out the half-eaten sandwich from your hands. “Thank you,” he said, finishing it promptly. “And no, attention is great at times, but not when I had other things in mind.” 

“All you have to do is say no,” the younger suggested, as if it was the easiest choice. 

“It is your fault,” Joshua accused, grabbing a drink from the table beside you. “Perhaps if you refrained from inviting half of London I’d have some peace of mind.” He then gently nudged you, grabbing your attention. “I was robbed of the chance to waltz with you.” 

“Your bestest friend was complaining about that not ten minutes ago,” Soonyoung confessed, which had you glaring at his amusement. 

The man locked you in an inquisitive stare, almost smirking. “Is that so?”

You made to lighten the confession by shrugging, a bare-lift of your shoulders. “What other reason did I have to attend tonight?”

When he smiled at you, an unfiltered grin that was closed off to the rest, it had you returning it earnestly. Soonyoung, however, lost any hilarity at hearing your declaration. “Another very important reason can be to support me, you vile creature.” 

But the two of you dutifully ignored him, Joshua parting his mouth as he settled himself next to you, his side barely brushing against yours. “It is good, though, that you came tonight. I have something for you.” 

“Is that so?” You got out, observing his hand sliding inside his coat pocket. He took only a moment before he fished out a small, rectangular package, wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied together with string. “Oh! So you just…kept that with you this entire time?”

“I meant to give it earlier, but you saw my diversions.” He handed over the present. “Open it.” 

Flipping it over, you gave it a once-over before unravelling the string. Holding onto it still, you unwrapped the carefully folded paper. Once the barriers had fallen, you could barely contain a gasp as your eyes set upon the most intricately decorated novel, barely larger than your hand. It was a special collection you could only procure in France, as travel-sized literature had not yet become popularised on English soil. You studied the cover, swirls of gold etched onto dark, polished leather, the bookmarked string nestled within the pages. 

“Joshua…” you got out, running your fingers over the hardback. “I…how did you even know I wanted La Religieuse? It has been banned everywhere!” 

“All the harder to find it for you,” he agreed, finishing his wine and setting the glass next to him. “Fortunately, Wonwoo knew of a special bookseller in Montmartre that specialised in more revolutionary literature. I found the special edition of Diderot’s work there, and bought it that instant.” He then scoffed. “He was mentioned in every one of your letters. I’d have been a fool not to understand the message.” 

You glanced at him, eyes dancing. “Good to know you can read between the lines.” 

“But of course!” he leaned a little closer. “I know you better than anyone in this room.” 

You fought hard, but eventually lost the restraint to smile wider. You could not help it, see—it was true. He knew you on a level quite unmatched with any individual. It was a fact you found yourself feeling an immense pride for.

“Thank you,” you said, holding onto the novel for dear life. “I will read it the second I return home.” 

“Do not thank me just yet,” he countered, trailing his gaze to the exit, where a sliver of the grand staircase was visible. “You have not seen the entire trunk.” 

“Entire trunk?” you repeated, not quite believing him. “You did not.” 

But he was beaming smug, as if achieving a great victory. “See for yourself, angel.” 

As you followed his line of sight, Soonyoung, too, observed your changing of plans, quirking a brow. “What happened to waltzing with Joshua?” 

“There will always be more evening soirées from yours truly, no?” your smile turned saccharine at the shake of your friend’s head. “Now where did you put his luggage?” 

He threw a pointed finger towards the half-hidden staircase. “The spare study, fourth door on your right. And do make haste, or else your mother will come after me!” 

“You can manage just fine!” you called after him, stepping out from the group as you looked to the eldest. “Wish to escape, too?”

“I wish, but duty calls for me.” He sighed, patting the host’s shoulder heartily. “Once Soonyoung has rinsed me fully, I will come up.” 

Nodding, you bid the gentlemen adieu before turning on your heel, making sure no one in particular witnessed your hurried exit from the ballroom. Following instructions, you journeyed up the grand stairs, each step conquered quickly as you anticipated the gifts brought from foreign lands. Once you came across the fourth door, you turned the knob, entering the familiar room. 

Your eyes darted over the vast study, barely lit up by the light of the full moon which managed to shine through half-drawn, velvet curtains. Lines of shelves, reaching from ceiling-to-floor, were filled to the brim with old books, varying from literature he himself had recommended to older accounts of the Hong family, written by his ancestors and now being accounted for by the heir you waited for. It would have been strange, since this was not the Hong seat, but Joshua visited Soonyoung enough to work officially in his estate, highlighting their friendship.

As you walked fully in, your low heels sinking in the soft Persian carpet, your gaze fell on his mahogany desk, harbouring a myriad of open books and papers scattered across its surface. You did not know why he did not simply clean the mess he created on such an expensive table. 

Tutting, you immediately walked over to the desk, reaching down at some of the fallen papers and neatly assembling them into similar heights. Aside from the accounts, there were also works of fictions—novels from abroad, private poetry collections of the rising writers in London, even collections from decades earlier. Curiosity piquing, you held one of the books, observing the title—Les Liaisons Dangereuse, L’edition 1782. An older French novel you had never heard of—Dangerous Liaisons it was translated to. 

You set the book down, creating a new category besides the accounts. Two other novels revealed themselves from under the one you held, the first one another French novella, and the other one from a London publisher. Holding up the first, you once again beheld the title. The School of Venus, or the Ladies’ Delight, Reduced into Rules of Practice. 

Venus. Limited classical education had taught you enough to know that Venus was the goddess of love. Ladies’ Delight on the other hand confused you. What delight were these ladies experiencing, and why was Joshua reading about it? The other book was in a language you understood perfectly, holding it in both hands as you scoured its heading on the second page. Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Vol. I & II, 1748. 

Releasing a short breath, you put it down, perhaps hoping to delve into the contents when, beneath both of these works, you found a book which had piqued your curiosity to the very ceiling. 

It was another book—no, a journal, as it was smaller in size, the pages wider, thicker. Leaning down to study the work, you came across the neat, italic curls of the writer’s words, as if the ink had dried recently. A definite journal, then. The page was set at random, continuing an adventure written beforehand. Your eyes, an inquisitive lens, scanned the writing, bracing yourself to enjoy whatever your friend was reading.

…as I touched her face, her cheek, like instinct, moulding within the planes of my palm, her warmth, an infectious condition, spread to my hand. I had mused beforehand of the beauty of the Parisians, but these Venetian women had gained a precedence. They found, with such perfect ease, the catalyst to the breakdown of my collected conduct, earning my sighs as I kissed them with a newfound interest, a yearning to satiate in the dark corners of the coffeehouse. 

You paused, brows furrowing. This was certainly unlike any other novel you had read. You skimmed the leather-covered front, golden curls of the title shining in the moonlight. Confessions of a Gentleman in the Continent. J. H. 

J. H. You could decipher those initials within any page. 

Holding the journal in your hands, you snuck a glance at the door—closed, with the din of the ball far away. 

Every essence of logic implored you to put the book down. 

You closed the book, instantly releasing a short breath. J. H. Joshua Hong. You did not know what it was, but something unsettling stirred within you at his name—you had procured something you were not meant to find, uncovered a grave secret, meant to be hidden forever. What you should have done was leave it as Joshua had left it, never provide him with an inkling that you had found such strange treasures in his private sphere. His strange, literary treasures.

What you foolishly decided to do was turn the page.��

Hovering over to the chair, you mindlessly settled on its cushioned seat as you began reading the journal, fingers idly turning the thick, crisp pages. The dread morphed into something so undecipherable you had to stop your reading. 

Passages upon passages of Joshua’s feelings record his sensations—sensations you had never felt, never even knew of before this night. The sentences imprinted in your mind as you began to hunch over, following each word like a mysterious code needed to solve the riddle of your feelings. 

The luscious talk in which we engaged, pressed up against the crackling walls, in which modesty was far from respected…Another sentence, another scenario of his observations…Produced naked, stiff and erect…of a valour she had never seen before, and which, for the interest of my own seat of pleasure began to take furiously in it…Your heart almost dropped. Her senses were rightfully much flurried, too much concentrated in that now burning spot of hers which kindled from yours truly…burning because of me, from my ministrations. 

Burning. Pleasure. The words were tossing and turning in your head, but you refused to stop, not when the woman committed an action which had you losing your rationale. 

This time, you rasped the narration out. “I observed the spry thing steal her shaking hand up her petticoats, and…with fingers on fire, seized and yet more inflamed that centre of all her senses…” You stopped, suddenly feeling the presence of your own petticoats, clinging to your legs—as they always do. “I breathed with an enticing pain. I felt my own senses on fire, watching her writhe and compress the lips of that—” A shudder of breath at the next words— “That virgin… virgin slit, and following…as far as I could find purchase, brought on at last the critical ecstasy, into which nature spent…with excess of pleasure, dissolved and died away within my hand.”

The sentence stopped, your vision almost glazing over at the content you had taken in. Never before had you read—come across, even—such literature. Of course, captivating writing had brought you to extreme emotions, when you were angered at a character’s betrayal, or cried at the deaths of a beloved love interest. This feeling, however, was foreign; something that was born not from the heart, like your usual reactions, but everywhere. Slowly tingling, sparkling like embers from a fireplace. The fingers on fire had you witnessing the languid movement of your own, lighter than you last remembered—as if they were truly burning to cinders. Even your thighs you twisted as the unnamed woman had done in your pages, a tightening barely there. 

And the virgin slit…something unmarried, an entity unsullied. A shuddered breath escaped you as you brought yourself out of the trance, blinking back at what you had engulfed. 

You knew, then and there, that you had to leave.

You made to depart the study, but you quickly glanced back at the novel. It was as if it had its own life force, its own pull, luring you closer once again. No, no! you reasoned with yourself, because these genres of literature will always be noticed if borrowed—stolen. You could not take the book, even if your life depended on it. 

That was why you thought it outside of your control, when, despite reason, despite good sense, your hands reached out, swiping Confessions from the table and hurrying to the door. 

You would have even been successful—would have been, if you had not opened the study door so covertly, and knocked against the very man you wished to avoid. 

“Argh!” a grunt escaped, followed by your own yelp as your contraband fell with a thud! to the floor, right at your feet—and Joshua’s, who, after stumbling back a little, finally focused on you, confusion altering his features. “_____? Oh God, I apologise for making you wait so long,” he dusted at his coat as his gaze, to your absolute horror, trailed down to what fell because of him. “Soonyoung refused to let me leave…”

He never finished, pausing when he worked out the book which fell from your hands.

If there was any way to escape this present situation, you would have sacrificed your firstborn to ensure it. Because the fates were cruel, you could only stay rooted as you watched him bend down on one knee, picking up the leather-back. He glanced at the title at the front, and every bone in his body stilled, losing any essence of warmth as he parted his mouth.

It felt like a lifetime later when he spoke. “Where…” He held the book upward. “Where did you find this?” Involuntarily your eyes flickered to the table, and he followed, turning his head to the study, which he noticed immediately was tidied—tampered with. “You went through my things?”

“I did not mean to!” you exclaimed, gaping at his sudden charge towards the desk, you hot at his heels. “I just thought it looked like a mess, so I tried cleaning it—”

“You are not a servant,” he cut off, darting over the new order of his account books, as well as the fiction which you had assembled. “You are not required to look after me like that.”

“I know, but—”

“And sneaking out with my possessions? Without my permission?” He smacked the book on the table, making you flinch. “I thought you better than that.”

You were better than that—well, at least until tonight. You ransacked your mind for an excuse, any form of escape, except your words were absolutely pathetic. “You have never minded me reading your novels before,” you attempted. “In fact, you encouraged me to scour your shelves.”

He looked at the book again—a moment too long—and went back to set a slight glare upon you. “Well, my journal is not a trivial novel. It was private…not meant for you.”

You knew that. What did not settle well, though, was that your dearest friend, who had shared his every worry, his every confession to you, had been doing things you had no inkling of, and set such…extraordinary feelings from you. 

You had to know what more lay in those pages—and why you had felt the way you felt in those pages which your eyes did scour. “I read it.”

His glare faltered. “How much?”

That question was answered with another. “What was it, Joshua?” You stepped forward, a timid gesture, so you could catch a look at the hardback again. “I…I read some pages, and…what was she doing?”

His hand on his journal pushed it back. “I do not know.”

“Liar,” you got out, and he pursed his lips. You knew him irritatingly well. “You are keeping things from me.” 

“It is not keeping things from you,” he countered, frustration rising in his voice. “It is…protecting you from those…things.” 

“Tell me what those things are, Joshua,” you demanded, quietly but not softly. “It has rattled you enough. That has never happened to you.”

But he was silent. Eerily quiet, merely the rustle of his clothes, the soft thunk of his novella settled back with the French novels which raised your suspicions. A boundary made—a rejection established. 

Perhaps you would have respected it in another lifetime—in a world where you had not indulged your curiosity, set your eyes upon entities which were not for you to explore. Perhaps you would have respected it even if Joshua had offered to enlighten you—maybe blushed and ran away, and vowed never to look through his possessions again. 

The writings had rattled you, though, more than he realised. Social etiquette—good common sense would have expected you to respect his opinion, opinions of society, and drop the subject. 

Joshua Hong, however, was your greatest friend. No societal expectation could change that. 

So you opted to push the limits. Refuse the silence to be the end of this matter.

“I read enough, you know. To feel…” A pause. “I cannot even describe to you how I felt, because I have never felt that way before.” You tried to find the right words, a single confession out of order and he would stop listening—or so you thought. “There was an extract you wrote, Joshua, which had certain…descriptions…” Burning. Pleasure. Naked. Fire. Ecstasy. “There was a girl who was doing something. I am unsure what she was doing specifically, but…what she felt watching them…”

A soft exhale released from you, and almost instinctively Joshua released his own breath. “I think I…um, I think I felt a remnant of it.” 

He blurted out, barely a whisper, “You what?”

You looked at him—barely managed a nod. “I do not…don’t even know what she was doing with her fingers—” Joshua’s sudden coughing interrupted you, holding a fist to his lips to stop himself—“But whatever it was…I want to know what it was.” 

You watched the man stay deathly still, yet the emotions racing behind his face were certain. Not only were you rattled, but had passed this strange sensation to him. Had he never felt it before? You wondered, surprised by the similarity of his reaction to yours. 

He then responded to you, and you realised your mistake. “You cannot.”

Another boundary. Another opportunity to cross it. “Why?” This time, you stepped closer to him. “Why can I not know?” He was silent once more, and this time, you would not accept it. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“Because you are a lady!” he finally cut out, an agitated sigh coming straight after. “You are not to know such…such material.”

A lady…that you were aware of, but that still did not answer the question. Joshua watched, Joshua did whatever he had done to a lady. The answer was not good enough.

Judging by the increasing agitation in your friend’s countenance, he knew it too. It was at that point, though, when you truly noticed his harsh sighs, the tight fists—one at his mouth now trudging to the table, and the other secured at his hip—figure rigid. How affected he was by your questioning.

As if he mirrored the same sensations as you experienced.

“Is it…” You pursed your lips. “Is it because you were feeling them too?” 

A blink back—the only recognition of shock. You held onto this, continuing, “Tell me the truth, Joshua. You said yourself, no? That a lady cannot know, but you did not say a gentleman cannot either. You were feeling it too, were you not?”

His eyes were widening with your every word, and he stepped back, almost as if to run away. You did not need an answer from him now—it was abundantly clear that he had undergone such passions, as if it was not certain as you read it. There was only one question left in your arsenal now.

Joshua could have collapsed to the study floor. He heard the questions, and suddenly all he could do was gape at you. The determined curiosity in your eyes, the resolute stature of your body, closer than he last remembered. Oh, he would die before answering such a thing to you. He could not. He could not. 

“_____, it is late,” he began after a long time. The slight hope on your face leaving instinctively dampened his spirits. “It is already rash that you came here without a chaperone and I refuse to let you become the centre of ill conversation.”

And there it was. The supposed end. 

You did not realise how disappointed you were until you found your voice again, much graver than you expected. “So that is how it will be.”

Fine. If your best friend would not entrust you with such information, you would find the next person who would not be so apprehensive. A fortunate situation that you already had a man in mind.

As you turned on your heel, you heard him ask, “Where are you going?”

You did not stop your walk away, looking over your shoulder as you retorted, “To Soonyoung. At least he will be honest with me, if you choose not to be.”

He must have said something, but you did not deign to hear, only looking to the door, which was slightly ajar. You held your hand out, ready to open it further. 

Another force—another hand, larger than yours, slammed the door shut, jumping you out of your skin. Quickly you swivelled to see Joshua, breathing slightly uneven as his hand stayed right beside your head, resting against the wood. “Good God,” you got out, “What was that for?”

“You cannot go to Soonyoung,” he said instead, gaze frantic. 

You furrowed your brows. “Why?” 

He frowned. He could tell from your irritation that you assumed it was jealousy, a worse morphing of cowardice. 

It was not jealousy—nothing like that. Soonyoung was like a brother to him, and he knew that if there was anyone else you could have gone to without eliciting scandal, then it was that eccentric. He would explain everything to his friend, and be done with it without furthering his own curiosity. 

With that in mind, he would also tell you everything. Joshua was aware that there were skeletons in the closet of such matters, and your door was already slightly ajar. Should you go to Soonyoung to seek counsel, he would break down the doors, and suffocate you with the bones of such sensitive information.

What you asked was no normal feat. What you asked was sensitive. Precious. Soonyoung was trustworthy, but he was not careful. 

Joshua, on the other hand, was careful. Very careful, if he thought so himself. 

“He would not…explain it properly,” he offered instead. 

“At least he will explain it,” you countered, twisting your mouth. “I’d rather something than nothing at all.” 

His brows knitted together, desperation rising. “You have to understand me, _____.”

“Not after this.” You tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes—for the very first time—were incredibly hard to ignore. “Let me out the door.”

His reply, although perturbed, was clear. “I cannot.”

“Then tell me, Joshua,” you demanded. “Tell me what she was doing.” 

He should have stayed silent forever. What he should have done—as a gentleman, as you yourself had deemed him—was keep his mouth shut. 

A semblance of his sanity slipped once he uttered the fated words.

“She was touching herself.”

A stillness washed over you. Touching herself. 

“I know the passage you speak of,” he said, and his voice was something foreign, not from his body. “When I… and…yes, she touches herself.”

It was as if your skin caught fire. “Why did she do it?” 

He looked at you as if you were a madman—he himself seemed as such. It was the madness which made him continue. “Because it gave her pleasure…” Pleasure. “She wanted to feel good…give the narrator…well, me…a show.” He could not help, instinctively hanging his head down to your dress, the creases where your legs had scrunched a little together from weighing against the door. “And it was between her legs where she felt it the most.”

Every word that left Joshua’s lips brought a tinkling of delight beneath your skin—this time, with their mere mention, your thighs bunched together, eliciting the same sensation that you had felt when reading that fated account.

Because he was so close to you, he, too, felt your slight shift. As if he, too, realised the change you endured. “Can you feel it?” he whispered to you. 

You could not answer him—a nod sufficed. He shook his head slowly. “This is why I did not want to say anything…look at you.” He regarded you, in your slowly squirming glory, looking up at him in such sensational confusion his patience wore thin. Patience for what, though, he dared not say aloud.

“What is this?” you asked him, almost pleading. “What am I feeling?”

“Pleasure,” he finally answered, plain as the night that now fell over the Kwon townhouse. “And it can develop, swell into a greater feeling…” He watched you gulp at his explanation, and something wicked in him forced a quirk of his lips. “It starts down there…grows from there, travels around your body until it engulfs you…”

You could not breathe. His words were like those of a siren, intoxicating your very senses. It was so unfair—the girl in the journal was actually doing something to herself. You were being undone by mere explanation.

Your friend caught onto this realisation too, for he watched you, drank in your breaths, turning heavier with each comment. “And there is a height you will reach when you keep touching yourself, and…” Without realising, he wetted his bottom lip, and you gaped at the action, brows rising, eyes glazing over. “You run after it like a prize, should not stop…”

“Why?” you got out—or did you really? Your consciousness was a blur. 

“Because, angel, when you are at the end, there is a sensation you will feel, unlike…ah, unlike anything you have ever experienced.” His free hand joined the other side of your head, and you were caged in his presence. Strange, how you had never noticed how overwhelming his stature became when you could barely recognise your own body. 

Very carefully he lowered his head to you, mouth against your ear. “Like the critical ecstasy, into which nature spent…with excess of pleasure, dissolved and died away.”

Your breath hitched at the recitation. The man was quoting his own words. 

This had to stop. You had to stop.

The curiosity remained, as tangible as the very feeling—the critical ecstasy.

Whatever Joshua had described to you, you wanted it. Needed it. Perhaps he was teasing you, as he always did, but the weight of the words hung upon you both like chandeliers, the candle lights like prickles of these ever-encompassing emotions that threatened to take over. 

“Joshua,” you said in a low voice. 

He pulled away from you to ask you what you wished for. Then, he truly observed you, took in the connotations of your calling. Your pleading. He had a fear he did not need to ask anymore—he knew you too well. 

It was cruel of him. He felt it in his bones, but he knew that he had crossed too many boundaries. One more transgression, and everything would be done for.

If only you would stop looking at him like that.

“I want to feel it,” you uttered, barely voiced out. “Whatever she was feeling…show me.”

There it was—your life in his hands. 

There was a power to this. A man’s life consisted of many different forms of power—his birth, his titles, his estates, even the people that worked upon them. Joshua recognised his power, knew he was privileged enough to wield such influence within the ton to be written about it.

This, however, was unchartered territory. 

Not that he had not delved within women before. No, he was familiar with the workings of ladies in this circle, even from those beyond the borders of this country. How many nights he had spent, being destroyed and renewed in a decrepit lodging with forgotten souls from a different time. Joshua’s skin prickled at the memories, but nothing could have brought more stinging sensations than the words that escaped your mouth.

Tonight, in this grand study of his, courtesy of his so-called power, he was utterly void of it. He was powerless. He could not. He should not. 

This was to be the final answer. That was when you added the fatal addition.

Did not even stray from his helpless gaze as you muttered, as quiet as the air around you, “Please.” 

Please. Joshua took a mere moment to part his lips, the damned please washing over his entire body before he leaned in, weight of the world in his hanging head. 

He thought of nothing else before brushing his lips against yours. 

The flutter of a touch upon your lips was a consequence—in seconds, you were not your own, not in control of your body, when your mouth reacted without you even realising. He was moving slowly, feeling you out. Soft were his lips, but you should have known that detail already. Had you not observed them in the chandelier light, almost burned at how they shone like diamonds? 

How fortunate you were then, to have these diamonds enveloped around your mouth, accepting them, moving against his own. He was warm upon you, almost burning up, undoubtedly from the inward crisis you observed moments prior, when he nearly let you down. You sensed his approval this time, his one hand leaving the door and gently cradling your chin, angling it to deepen the kiss. Such a small action enhanced your delight, almost smiling against him. Your heartbeat was straying from your chest, thumping so loud in your ears it was all you could hear—the beating of your heart, and the cushioned sounds of his lips. 

He was everywhere. In your arms, in your mind, haunting your spirits as he slowly, ever so slowly, opened your mouth. A soft grunt finally escaped him, a sound he had buried deep within. The man himself had no realisation that he was holding such a sound in, perhaps terrified that he was enjoying himself, relishing how your lips were velvet, and his mouth sailed in the direction of your pleasure. 

The idea that you had brought such a sound out of him had your hands attempting to reach his shoulders, slithering up his arms and reaching their destination, hanging tightly on. Your lungs demanded refreshment, chest aching, but you refused to pull away, not when Joshua kissed you in such a manner. Where had you been hiding? How could you have lived in such ignorance, when Joshua offered ecstasy, provided pleasure, sipped you the holy grail of human instinct?

You wondered half-deliriously why the ladies in his journal had not been kissed often, when this was a feeling more overwhelming than any of the pages you had skimmed over. Perhaps your dear friend had consumed some addictive substance, left the remnants on his mouth before showing you what he feared. You could not get enough of him, chasing his lips, following after his lead like an obedient animal, so careful not to break the dance of rapture and have him regret it.

If only you could sneak a glance inside his mind.

Every thought in his head screamed at him to slow down. Your lips were a delicate flower, in need of a sprinkle of water for sustenance, not the entire monsoon to drown it dead. Joshua knew this, was ardently aware of it, but he could not stop himself, cease this dance with you and give you peace. Peace was not an option, not when you were languid under his hold, obliging him so well. His hands were now upon your face, cradling it as he pushed you further against the door, creaking under the pressure. 

You broke from his lips at the pressure, sucking in a breath, but he was not satisfied, pouncing upon you once more. He captured your mouth and swept away any form of speech, stealing your words and engulfing them for himself. His tongue was sliding against the seam of your lip, an invitation for more, and you wanted it. You were opening your mouth further, and he slid inside so effortlessly it had you unable to stop the groan, escaping you without realising. It was child’s play for him, finding your own and swirling it along yours like a waltz on the dance floor, a quadrille he had practised in midnight corners, and mastered without your knowledge. 

Here he was, though, carrying out the final mastery with you. Closing his lips over yours slightly, sucking on your tongue, and your lungs were expanding, heart swelling, every single organ functioning inside threatening to break down. Whining like a famished soul, your hands now clung to his face, fingers grazing his neck, and he furrowed his brows into the open-mouthed kisses, adding a pressure to his sucking which sent your very senses into overdrive. 

You thought you could do it—you genuinely believed you could have done more, perhaps begged through hungry eyes and sharp sighs to continue this dance, show you all the tricks you managed to miss. 

But then he pulled away from you, detaching his mouth from yours, hands clutching you against the door as he groaned, closing his eyes. You were panting yourself, fingers curling as they fell to his shoulders, gaping at his slack figure, rising up and down with his heavy breaths. 

He met your gaze, the heavy-lidded desire churning in your irises. You were still aflame, burning beneath every touch he ghosted on your skin—the absolute want reverating off the door he backed you against. It was insanity, truly, what his antics had done to you.

His best friend—a blubbering, panting mess before him. He did this. 

It was then, after you engulfed the world’s oxygen and finally gained some semblance of sense, that you noticed the frantic nature of his stare.

You could barely speak, an effort as you got out, “Joshua?” 

His name on your mouth. He could not help the step away, pulling away his hands, although they ached. He was backing away some more, widening his eyes, and you did not understand till he brought his fingers to his lips, spit-slick with consequences. Consequences that he brought onto you.

You reflected his actions, feeling the wet slick of your bottom lip. You wanted to feel guilty—your stomach was only set aflame once more.

“I…we…” he stopped, a hand sifting through his locks, eyes darting everywhere. “We shouldn’t have, we…”

“Joshua,” you began, because you finally found your voice—or at least some form of it. “Wait, we can—” 

“You must go,” he said instead. “No, I must go, I must…must leave…” The back of his legs bumped into the table, the very desk which the damned novels were scattered across. 

You watched his slow ruination. “You cannot leave. Soonyoung did this soirée for you.”

“Huh? Right, yes.” His head dipped down, raking through his hair as if he would find a solution within. “Shit. Shit.”��

Almost frightened, you walked over slowly to him, attempting to reach out. “Joshua, why are you—?”

“_____, listen to me.” His finger pointed to you—the door you were sagging against, moments prior. “You must go this instance. If someone found us like this, it could…” a ragged sigh. “No, I cannot go into it now, I…I know this sounds suspicious, sudden, I understand but…” 

You could have taken his word, but he was frantic, and your best friend was never frantic. “Did I do something?” 

The question had his spirits dampening even further. “No, no, of course not. I did.” 

And then he was walking towards you—stepping past you when you thought he was going to something, something you were not certain of, but scared could have happened. “I shall call you a carriage,” he declared, more to himself than the person he was supposed to carry this out for. “You slip out after I am downstairs.” 

He was about to leave the study, but he was stopped—he glanced at your hand, wrapping around his forearm. His gaze climbed upwards to settle on your face, still exposing uncertainty at his change. “Joshua.”

Joshua. His name on your lips once more. He could only ask you one question. “Do you trust me, _____?” 

You looked back at him, your grip tightening. What the two of you had done was beyond your understanding. No novel could have articulated your feelings just then, expressed the turmoil that reigned inside you. You had experienced your first kiss, a little more with a man you thought was beyond your fingertips, and now he wished to run away from it all.

What you should have done was hold on—but you trusted him. He was, after everything, your dearest friend.

A nod sufficed, enough for him. When you loosened your grip, he stayed for a beat longer, drinking in the trust you promised you held, washing it over his own frenzy before he offered you a smile.

He slipped away from the study, and everything that occurred within it. 

You could not close the door fast enough, swivelling around and sagging against the wood. Feeling your legs buckle, you let yourself slump to your feet, your gown bunching around you, cushioning your fall. He left, but your heart still thundered. Battering against your ribcage, begging to be set free and end the madness that stirred, because you still had no idea, no conception of what had just happened, and what could have happened. 

Whatever questions bombarded your soul, only one remained the most prevalent. 

What in God’s name just happened?

JOSHUA HAD BEEN AVOIDING YOU SINCE THAT FATED INCIDENT.

Countless times you had called upon him, only to be met with no reply. You had first assumed he was occupied with settling business, considering he had arrived recently into town, but after a week of continued silence, your concern had overshadowed logic. You were determined to search him out. 

He had never given you silence—even when he was journeying across the Continent, he updated you through his detailed letters, pinpointing every city he had stayed a night in, every important figure he had dined with, Hell, even confided his moments of embarrassment. It was not like him to keep himself from you. It was not in his nature to run away from you. 

What he had done was an act of cowardice—and Joshua Hong was not a coward. 

No, he was not one of the faint-hearted, especially in the beginning of what happened in that study. He was not in a coward when he indulged your curiosity, not when he was gifted you a kiss—kisses like that. If Joshua Hong was a coward, then the entirety of the ton deserved humiliation for its timidity. 

You decided to damn a little societal etiquette, informing your maid that she was to accompany you, not bothering to pass this information onto your parents. Not that it mattered much, since your mother was entertaining a few of her friends, and your father was not in the city anyway. 

Down the familiar roads you hurried, your poor chaperone urging you to slow down as you narrowly avoided the rush of the carriages, spooked horses neighing as you crossed the road. You lifted your skirts up to keep the hem clean of the wet gunge of concrete, mud and puddles of rain mingling on the cobblestone streets. The terraced houses of Mayfair were recognisable anywhere, and because you were fortunate enough to live close to your dear friend, the trip lasted a little more than five minutes. As you tread the steps up to the Hong bachelor lodgings, though, you caught the notion that perhaps Joshua may have resided in the Diamond Club lodgings. Then your nervousness returned, rising when the grand doors opened, and the butler answered. 

“Is his Lordship present?” you asked, and nearly sighed with relief when the man nodded, leading you inside. “Don’t mind me, I know my way.” You turned to your maid, raising a hand before her. “You stay here. I will be back soon.”

You did not wait for her objections as you sped into the halls of the house, ignoring the European finery on the walls, turning your right where your ears caught familiar voices, conversing in whispers in the drawing room. Hearing a particular hushed tone had your nervousness replaced with a newfound agitation. 

Now the convention was to announce the guest to the people already present in the house. Because there was no servant you allowed to follow you, you sauntered into the room, stopping before the doorway.

There he was. Joshua, as akin to a perfect gentleman as he always presented himself, clad in white and cream-coloured clothing. His one leg folded over the other as he looked to Soonyoung, who was contrasting his palette, adorning browns and blacks as he sipped on his beverage. The two men turned their heads at the interruption, and both widened their eyes. 

One was most excited, grinning at your appearance. The other—the one you sought out—shot up from his seat, as if struck by lightning. 

“Gentlemen,” you greeted, icy enough that Soonyoung scrunched his nose at it, instantly setting his teacup upon the side table. 

“Did someone tie your corset too tight this morning?” was his response. He then glanced at his friend. “Why are you standing up all of a sudden?”

His question was not answered. Joshua was too occupied with staring at you, not quite believing your presence—at his bachelor lodgings, of all places. 

You could only stare back. You meant to be more cold in your gaze, but the moment your eyes locked, it was as if the memories had come back. If your thoughts felt bold in your environment, then they ran wild in unfamiliar territory. Memories of that night came rushing like a burst dam, each little flash of the pages, the heated words, Joshua’s lips, burning into your mind. 

A rushed exhale escaped your lips. Your friend’s eyes darted to see that ragged breath escape you. That gaze on your mouth had threatened to stop your breathing entirely. 

You wished he would stop looking at you. 

Soonyoung interrupted the heavy silence with a click of his tongue. “What is wrong with the both of you?”

It was almost comical how you and Joshua flinched simultaneously at his question. “Nothing,” he answered, still staring at you. “To what do I owe this…” He licked his lips, as if remembering the significance of the word. “This pleasure?”

Pleasure. Your heart skipped a beat. “You, um…” A momentary glance at Soonyoung, who watched you both like a hawk. “I was just, um…just down the street, actually. Around the corner.”

“Oh.” Joshua nodded most diligently, as if you had shared invaluable information to him. “How…fascinating.”

“Indeed.”

The third party gaped at you two in horror. “Are you both hearing yourself?” he asked, aghast at the interaction. “It is as if observing a couple courting each other for the first time.”

That very idea had your cheeks burning. “Stop saying such stupid things,” you snapped at the poor man. “Joshua and I would not possibly be courting!”

The over-exaggeration of such a claim had Soonyoung raising a brow. “And why is that so impossible for you to imagine?”

“Because!” you exclaimed, and you made the mistake of glancing at the man accused. “Because…”

Joshua had the nerve to tilt his head, waiting. “Because?”

Scoffing out, you tried to answer him with anything. Anything to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. “Because you are my friend. Friends do not court and become…more than…”

“Friends?” he offered, watching you intently. He had schooled his face into neutrality before, but you were certain of his interest now, the way he quirked his brow, his hand resting on the top of the chair. 

Because you were lost for words, you merely nodded. His stare a little too much, you looked away, catching Soonyoung’s confusion enhanced. He finished his tea, rising from his ornate seating as he set his judgement upon you two. “I do not know why you both are acting so ridiculously,” he declared, dusting his hands together, “But you need to sort it out amongst yourselves. Your silences have a…” He made a peculiar face. “An unnerving energy.”

Nodding his head to Joshua, he made his way over to you, clutching your hand in adieu. “Do not think I won’t interrogate you on this,” he whispered to you, and left the room before you could react. 

Not that any of his threats would have mattered, when he was not there anymore. The only barrier, completely disappeared. It was only you and Joshua—alone. 

The very notion had your gaze flickering towards him. He was already looking, a certain helplessness in his usually easy manner that had you forgetting why you stormed in here in the first place—almost. 

“_____.”

Damn him. His name on your lips made you remember how he pleaded it that very night. “Joshua,” you responded, in the very same manner so he could not forget that night either.

It seemed as if he did not. “I meant to call on you,” he began, but your scoff cut him off.

“You have ignored me instead,” you remarked, because you refused to let him slip away. “I wrote to you countless times.”

“I know,” he said, nodding to acknowledge his mistake. “I meant to respond, truly, but…I admit, I have been preoccupied.” 

“Preoccupied?” You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed. “What urgent matters stopped you from responding to a few letters? My letters?” 

He was in a stupor, as if secluding into his own mind. You thought he was not going to answer, but then the words slipped out. “Thinking, actually. I was doing a lot of thinking.” When he saw that was not good enough for you, he sighed, a large, heavy exhale that held a few reservations—regrets. “You will laugh at me for it, _____, but this thinking was for you. I was thinking for you.” A pause. “I was thinking of you.”

You did not move. Joshua was thinking of you; this would not have been so extraordinary a week prior, but now it meant something entirely different. 

His words in the study crept into the crevices of your mind, and you fought to keep your face straight. “And what did you find in your thoughts for me?”

He locked his hands behind his back. “Those things we did, back in my study…” He cleared his throat, as if the next words were an effort to bring to the surface. “They should not have been done. I should not have done them to you.” 

A blink. “What?” you got out, confusion joining your disarray of emotions. 

“It was dishonourable, what I did,” he continued. “You were unaware, and I should have left it like that. I mean, even the letters you sent, you were frantic. It was my doing, was it not?” You could not believe what he uttered from that very mouth you kissed not so long ago, more so when he said the next words. “For that, I must apologise.”

An apology. Your dearest friend showed you sacred knowledge, satisfaction to an unknown temptation, treasure of the highest order, and he was sorry for it. 

It was enough to enrage you. 

“Why in God’s name are you apologising?” you demanded, thundering towards him. “Why are you taking all the blame like a foolish martyr?” The man made to reason with you, but you refused to let him speak, carrying on in your agitation. “Was it not I who asked you? Was it not I who asked you what those feelings were, begged you to show me what it felt like?” 

You made sure he was looking at you as you faced him, grave and earnest. “It was my fault. I was the one curious. I should apologise.”

He clenched his jaw then. What had you done to be giving him apologies? It tore at the seams of his heart, like he was aware of a crime he had committed, but watched another suffer the punishment. 

No, to hell with that—what crime had the two of you committed?

The reminder of such crimes came rushing through his mind, encircling his brain like an infectious disease, threatening to engulf him whole. The reminders, made from your lips, which moulded so perfectly with his that he exhaled a little at the notion, your heightened whispers in the darkness of his study. He had not stepped foot in that damned room since that night—a ridiculous approach, he was quite aware—but every time he attempted it, fingers at the handle, he would hear its creaks from your weight, pressed up against the wood by his hands. If objects could speak, then they would shame the men and women that used them for their passions.

But you were his friend, and nothing you had done with him was worth shaming over. In truth, it was just a kiss. 

“Joshua?” 

Receiving only a blink back had you narrowing your eyes at him. “You have nothing to say after that?”

He clamped his lips together, thinking for a moment. “_____, I need you to never apologise to me again.”

You ticked your head, puzzled. “But—”

“No, I am serious. You were merely curious. And I…” He sighed. “Well, I suppose I satiated it.” 

Or rather, he hoped he did. Judging by your changing expression, those hopes seemed to falter. “Or did I not…?”

“N-no!” you rebuked, but then you closed your mouth, setting it in a thin line. “I mean, I still have questions.”

The man paused. “Oh.” 

Of course. Of bloody course you had questions, because of course it cannot be one encounter in a darkened room, and then a forgotten memory. God, why was it you, of all the people he knew, in that study?

His thoughts were exposed upon his face, causing you to raise your hands. “No, no, if it is troublesome, then I will not bother you. I would have inquired with Soonyoung, but…”

Their mutual friend being brought up had Joshua’s collar feeling too tight. “Why would you go to him when you asked me?”

You sighed then, a little helpless. “Because you have a problem with telling me.”

He would have argued otherwise, but you were right, and it was eating him from the inside. He wanted to be nonchalant about it, completely incurious. You were his most cherished companion, though, and so nonchalance was non-existent. It was impossible, in this situation, to be normal. 

You crossed your arms, looking to the ornate side-table where Soonyoung left his half-empty tea. “I suppose I can…find out on my own?”

A furrow of his groomed brows. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You clearly do not want me sharing this…dilemma with anyone, and since you are as useful as Soonyoung when drunk, I have no other choice.” 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head slightly, not quite believing the words that came from his mouth. “I mean…how will you find out?”

“Well, I am unsure, but have I not always figured it out?” You gripped onto your arms tighter. “This time, though, it seems I will not have you to help me.”

He would have let the comment slide had you not uttered your next admission. 

“It is as if…you shy away from it as if you did not enjoy what happened that night.”

Oh. My God. 

Joshua’s change of character was shocking—exhilarating, you realised with a start, as his eyes darkened. “What did you say to me?”

Your mouth was parted, answer always ready. “Is it not true? You ignored me, hid away from me, and refused to help me further. All the tell-tale signs that you hated what happened?”

Hated. The man could have combusted at such an accusation. 

Hatred was only the emotion he felt towards himself, a punishment for the emotions you incited out of him that night. To hate what happened between you and him, though…That would be like animals hating the nature that fed them. To hate what he did to you, what he showed you, would be akin to a scholar hating knowledge. 

Joshua was no scholar, though, and he had no great knowledge. But the knowledge you sought, from him, of all humble learners…he reckoned he was being rewarded for a good deed, long forgotten.

By God, he will savour whatever reward he was offered. 

“Listen to me, _____. I have thought about our kiss for every waking moment since it happened.”

He took a step forward. “I did not want to, because we are friends…but alas, it is the truth. I was not going to tell you…if it makes me immature, or selfish, I do not know, but to hear you think that I—” 

A scoff escaped him, and you felt the rush of air on your lips. “I cannot have that. I cannot let you think I despised something I—I enjoyed.”

Your question was quick—unintentional. “Enjoyed?”

He did not even need to answer you—you could see it in his gaze. “If I told you the extent of my enjoyment, you would think me a monster.”

What that statement should have done was unnerve you. There was only a strange thrill, humming beneath your skin. “Then do not tell me. Show me.”

Joshua’s brows quirked upward, as if disbelieving this newfound curiosity in you. He glanced at the entrance—no servants in sight. “Do you believe you could withstand it?”

“A few heated kisses?” you tilted your head, gaze falling to his mouth. “I shall be fine this time.”

But he was shaking his head, twisting his lips in a smile you had never noticed before. “No…no, dearest, what I will show you today will be something different.”

He held his hand out—the proposition offered. “If you are still seeking my help, of course.”

You stared at his hand, the soft palm, the fingers which had enclasped yours countless times in the years between you both. This was a hand you had held onto more than any other. This time, though, there would be a change. You could feel it in the air, the space—or lack, thereof—around you two. Clasping the hand now would cement this change.

Would you want that? Shift the dimensions of your friendship forever?

Perhaps you should have pondered over it more; truly endeavoured through the implications, but you could hear his heated whispers once more, urging you to accept. His voice. Your best friend was silent, but his voice was everywhere. 

This was already changed—there was no going back. 

You brought your hand out, grasping onto his own and shaking it. You did not let go, though, because you felt his purpose thrumming in his fingers as, with a tug, he set off, taking you with him. 

Through the halls you strolled, Joshua letting a few servants know that he was not to be disturbed. With anyone else, the people would have raised a few eyebrows, because what does their master wish to do with a lady unchaperoned? It was a topic which could incite a great scandal, but, once again, your friendship saved you and him. You wondered, heart beating a little faster, how many times you would escape such treachery on the grounds of your bond with the man that led you up his grand staircase, further into the cushioned halls, into unchartered territory. 

He brought you inside his private study, closing the door behind you. This room was different—granted, that specific study was in Soonyoung’s domain, a space reserved for his friend, but not many people had ventured here. Not that you knew of. 

Joshua took a deep breath. “Before we do anything,” he began, “I must set a few rules.”

“Rules?” you repeated, furrowing your brow. “Whatever for?”

He set himself on a little pace, walking to the end of the room. As he turned, returning to the place he first entered, he said, “You see, there are certain…ministrations…we are about to do which may not be welcomed.” He paused again, as if mulling over the words. “There was a reason I asked you not to confide in Soonyoung. You see, it is not just him. We cannot tell anyone of this.”

In fairness, you had already assumed you could not speak of your heated kiss with a single soul. Although in your heart, it was the truest action you had carried out, you wondered whether the ton would agree with you—how Lady Whistledown would chastise your name for it. 

“I understand,” you said. 

He looked at you, a little relieved. “Good.” He dipped his head, locks hanging. “Very…very good.” The pacing was back. “As you are aware, we did less than what you read. You asked me what…what the girl was doing.”

There it was again—the stillness of your heart, your soul. “Yes…and you said she was touching herself.” 

His movements hit a lapse—only for a moment. “Right.” He resumed once more. “Do you have any questions regarding that?

You could not understand how he was even able to move, when you were rendered frozen. “I do not want explanations, Joshua.”

Finally, finally he stopped, full focus on you, hands locked behind his back. Still, all this restraint. “Then what do you want?”

What do you want? Even you could not comprehend the extent of it. You wanted to feel as the girl did in the novel—you wanted to experience the critical ecstasy, the full extent of the pleasure described. You wanted to do the things she had committed, hidden away or for everyone to witness. You did not care how it happened, but you wanted it done to you. 

It was as if your dearest friend could see it on your face—painted explicitly on your features, curiosity staining the ignorance. 

“Go on. I want you to say it.”

You tugged your bottom lip with your teeth, suddenly flustered. “You cannot expect me to say it all!” 

One step forward. “Whyever not?”

Your cheeks burned. “It feels…” You rubbed your hands on your dress, needing to do something because this was becoming awkward, tensioned. It was already unbearable, his magnetic presence, suddenly too large for you in this study. Damned studies. “It feels so…dirty.”

“Dirty?” He tilted his head. “How come it feels that way?”

A purse of your lips. “You know my reasoning.” 

Of course he knew. He read your every verse of nervousness, etched into your eyes like agonised poetry. He had hoped—would have prayed, even, that your hesitance would have faded behind closed doors. Would have faded with only him in the room.

He said so. “You do not have to be so…you know…modest around me.” He took a careful step—always so careful around you, this man. “I am aware that this is new, but you know you can place your confidence in me.”

And now you knew, because out of every ambiguity in this dreadful city, the man before you was the sole certain aspect within. Of course you could trust him. You, however, could not trust your mouth to work. So, you were silent—twiddling your thumbs like a fool, a deer caught by the hunter, and frozen still to accept its fate. 

Except Joshua would never allow you to accept that, so he took hold of the reins. “Look, I will not push you to do anything…that you can be certain of.” He walked over to you, finally in front of you, and you looked up at him, taking in the earnestness of his expression. “But I will request something from you, a question I always ask.” 

His hand reached out to clasp your wrist, raising it to his waist-coated chest. Even with the layers, you could almost feel his distant beating of his heart—evenly thudding beneath his luxurious clothing. How fortunate, that he was capable of such serenity, when you were made of heightened nerves at that moment.

“Do you trust me, angel?”

Oh, you were envious of his ease. You fought with yourself to uphold his stare. “Of course.” 

He tightened his hold on your hand. “Good,” he said, and when his mouth closed, skimming his gaze over your face, you could have looked away. Where was your ferocity, so ardent then now disappearing completely under his scrutiny? 

Joshua could see it—the pinnacle of virtue, a beacon of ignorance. It was enough for him to expose a mere phantom smile at the thought as, you bracing yourself, he leaned in, brushing his lips with yours. 

It was like that fateful night all over again. You could not have accepted him fast enough, your enthusiasm clear as your other hand slid upwards, fingers anchoring themselves to his face, his skin soft, his skin warm, warmer the longer you held on. Your figure moulded against his own as he snaked his hand around your waist, pulling you in closer to him, every crevice of your body lined perfectly alongside himself. Perfect—that was what this all was to you, the excitement of his mouth moving upon yours, the sensation of his hand skirting along your back, the feeling of his heartbeat rising with every lingering moment. You could have smiled at that. 

Wanted to, but he was opening your mouth, and his tongue was already sliding along your lips, a request to venture inside, welcome itself back into familiar territory. You were accepting his touches like a woman starved, his tongue replenishing the famished domain of your mouth. Your desperation seeped through the seams—you had not forgotten the sensations he evoked the week before, but the experience had amplified your stained curiosity. 

Now that you were offered a taste, a mere sliver was not enough. You wanted more. 

Joshua could sense everything. He was not a mind reader of any sorts, but it was his fortune that he understood you in every aspect. The soft noises that slipped from your mouth at every turn of his tongue against yours, his hand freeing your wrist and gripping your face…the urgency shocked and delighted you at the same time. 

He thought he was fine, a picture of tranquility—he had done this enough times to envisage it in his mind. By God, he would be questioned for these sins, every night of immorality pocketed in each corner of the continent. 

You, however…when it was you, it was different. With you, it was another semblance of pride, more than a mere achievement to mark in his memories. He broke away from your mouth for a second, an inch away from you as he collected his breath—an inch too far. “Tell me…tell me how you feel,” he whispered, ringing in your ears like a fevered revelation.

You wished to answer him. Truly you attempted, but he made it so hard, turning his attention to the corners of your lips, peppering heated little kisses, bursts of feverish pleasure setting your skin aflame. How many fires did he intend to light? How many flames did he wish to spread along the goosebumps on your skin, until you were ashes in his hands, swept away by his mouth? He would never answer such questions, though, when he occupied himself with sprinkling your neck with the remnants of his lips.

Even uttering his name was a challenge. “J-Joshua, I…” your heavy exhales took over, your very body led solely by his charge. The supposed leader, the benevolent leader, allowed you a break of speech by robbing you of it completely, pressing his lips over yours and chasing after you once more. 

What was it that the woman felt in his journal? You scrambled at your lust-filled mind to remember the feeling as you read the pages, all those nights ago. Yes, you wanted to feel the indescribable high, the pleasure reverating off your skin like humidity off cobblestone streets in the summer. 

“I-I want to feel like her…” you strived for specificity, anything which made sense in this bubble of bliss. “To feel good, the ecstasy…” 

“Hmm…” he could only say, latching onto a particular spot on your neck which had you seeing stars upon the study ceiling. They rotated, following after your movements with every tug backward by his hands. You did not know where he was taking you, but when your shins felt the bump of the couch, situated at the back of the room, you sucked in a breath at the impact. 

You did not realise what was about to happen until you felt his gentle hands push you into the plush setting, and your breath whooshed out of you as your head fell on the pillows, cushioning your slight fall. Instinctively your hands flew to grasp at the lapels of his waistcoat, the grip making him pause. 

“W-wait, Joshua, a moment,” you got out. Watching him blink back at your voice, utterly lost in his lovebitten creations, had you regretting you stopped him. “Why are we…” 

He watched you sputter for words, the gleam in his eyes only darkening as he began to position himself above you. His hand roamed down your dress, fingers catching its hem and slowly lifted it further from your legs. “Did you not want this?” he merely asked, feigning the same innocence you had genuinely exposed minutes prior. “I only follow your request.” 

You wished to respond to him, but then you felt his fingers skim against your thighs, your dress bunched to the waist, and gasped at the exposed skin, just above where your stockings ended. “Oh…” 

“You must tell me, angel,” he said, his other hand resting behind your head, his body tilting on his side, resting next to you. His fingers roamed dangerous territory. “I cannot know what you want if you are silent.” 

Nodding absentmindedly, you parted your mouth, sighs turning heavier the closer he crept to the centre. “Yes…yes, this is what I want…” Your skin tingled with every ghost of a touch, the butterfly brush of his fingers. 

“Good…excellent.” His fingers stretched out, tugging your legs open to provide a little space, exposing your cunt before him. He made to speak, but catching the sight of something so private—so intimate—had his brain shutting down, sinking into the depths of his own sensations. 

His reaction to seeing you so exposed had you biting your lip. “Joshua?” you got out, a meagre attempt to catch his attention. 

Another beat and he blinked back, staring at you. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, taking one of your hands which clung to his waistcoat. “I am…ah, it is very hard to be…” he stopped himself, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “You said you wanted me to show you, yes?”

When you hurriedly nodded, he brought your hand, which he clutched still; slowly, he guided it to the apex of your thighs, stopping just before the final destination. He heard the bated breaths sputtering out of your mouth, and he snuck a glance at you, the heavy-lidded lust and nervousness, mixing rather unfortunately together.

“_____,” he said, catching your attention. “It’ll be wonderful. I promise.” 

It was simple, but enough to believe him. When you offered a small smile, he took it as reassurance, and spread his hand over the back of yours, folding your ring and pinkie over his own. 

Then, with a final moment of pause, he moved past the final boundary. 

It was your fingers, first, that slipped past your thighs.Your breathing hitched as they teased against your entrance, skimming slowly along your slit. He collected the arousal which pooled at the apex, mouth agape from your reaction. 

By God, you were soaked for him.

The very image, and the prolonging idea of what was to continue, had the man exhaling sharply. Even now, he could see in your gaze. You were so unaware of your own responses, your body’s hurried joy as it begged for your fingers—his fingers—to delve in further. 

He could sense your hastiness. The urgency to thrust your fingers inside, fully delve into the origins of pleasure you read of, but your impulse had to be soothed. Recklessness only brought disaster—which you would have learned had Joshua allowed you to read the full extent of his travels. 

But that would never happen, and so he had to show you himself. “Careful,” he whispered in a low hush, his own hand restricting your hold. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and waiting for guidance. “Show me then.” 

The request—and the sight of your slight helplessness—had his breeches tightening. “As you wish,” he rasped out, gaining control of your fingers once more. He raised them slightly higher, away from your arousal, which pooled further the longer he made you wait. 

Your tight-roped patience was heavily rewarded as, when the pads of your fingers were led to your clit, a gasp flew out of you, completely unexpected. 

There it was. The reaction Joshua waited for—did not realise he was anticipating. 

The shuddered breathing, the frantic gaze, darting first to him, and then down to the intertwined fingers. He saw in your expression, the recognition of the feeling you experienced as you read his writing…there was a familiar understanding, and a strange thrill swept over his skin, goosebumps clear evidence of his anticipation. He swayed the tips of your digits over your clit, rubbing in a languid, lazy motion, and the sheer pleasure that radiated off an action so simple had you restraining a whine, clamping your lips together to resemble some form of sanity. 

He observed your attempts to contain yourself—always the one to uphold a certain decorum, attain any modicum of decency. “You’re being shy…even now?” another circle of your fingers around your clit, and your mouth parted, gaping at him. “No one’s watching us…” his eyes darted to where his hand laboured at your core. “Just you and me.” 

You knew that—you knew that fact, but it was as if he revealed some shocking information, the manner in which you reacted. Just you and me. You and him—and the madness that built between your legs. 

This frenzy was only furthered by his guidance, the slow form of his hand quickening just a little, elation striking down your thighs. The soft moans, lodged within your throat before, bubbled to the surface of your mouth, and the leash of your restraint was thinning, cracking enough to let the sound escape. It was a pure, unadulterated incentive for him, your moans like the beginnings of an orchestra, a symphony no one had the privilege to listen to. “Yes, angel, just like that,” he murmured, a smirk as light as a feather ghosting his lips. “Don’t want you hiding anything.” 

Your brows scrunched together, the focus drifting the more you two continued, progressing in a certain pace which had the strangest, most mysterious sensation creeping over you. You could not comprehend its origins, but the feeling blossomed within your core, encircling out around your cunt, slowly taking over your sanity.

He watched the whole scene, completely dumbfounded by the show he was offered. It was not as if he had never witnessed such a state before—you yourself had read the passages of his heated observations, the women in cities showing him scenes of lust in their domains. 

You, however, were not trained in the art of chasing the thrill. You were not exposed to the sheer skill of igniting pleasure in another, had not seen the darker corners of what this city—what every city offered, but was never shown to ladies like you. Despite all that, there you were, circling the bundle of nerves, heightening the already tensioned spot all on your own, stuttering breaths fighting amongst broken groans.

It was what had his hold loosening on your own, your hand having no troubles figuring out the process. He gaped at your every move, your every attempt to follow what he had done, trying so ardently to match what he had begun. He needed pause, time to freeze upon this very moment. Had no one advanced within inventions enough to create something, anything to capture this image of panting beauty before him?

Because you were—you were a culmination of everything good, everything pure before him. 

Now the man did not originally anticipate adding another prospect within this situation; seeing the raw delight staining your features—delight he had kindled upon your face—had him unable to keep full restraint. 

You wanted to be shown what that feeling was. That evening, Joshua would show it to you. 

So, as he watched you work your clit, he let his own fingers spiral downward, along the edges of your slit. “J-Joshua,” you got out, because his name was the sole term left on your tongue—the only comprehensible word which managed to stay in your mind. 

“I know, angel,” was all he said, the pads of his digits swiping up your arousal, pooled further by your ministrations, his guidance. You seethed at the touches, his brushes against parts of you so sensitive already. “Feels good, does it not?”

You wished to answer him—truly, you did, but his finger slipped past your folds, sliding oh, so slowly inside you, and the heightened whine which he arose out of you had his mouth almost watering. 

He knew why, of course—your reaction was a feast for his eyes. A banquet for his famished gaze, especially as he had not comprehended quite how hungry he became. He watched you squirm around him, more so when he bottomed out to the knuckle, he matching every furrow of your brow, every gasped part of your mouth with a satisfied scoff. 

“You like it, don’t you?” he murmured, and before you could nod, he began to slide out. Your broken groan had him chuckling softly, igniting a bonfire within you. “Thought so…oh, I know you so—” his finger was at your entrance again, a second being teased as it stroked at your slit— “I know you so well.”

And in slithered the second finger along with the first, your eyes flying to catch the satisfaction glimmering upon his face. Oh, he was filling you to the brim, your walls pulsating around him, eliciting sounds you had never thought capable of making. He commenced a rhythm as he did with his first, pulling out to the tip, only to snake back in, always a little faster than the previous time.

It was an intoxication, unthinkable to a humble mind as yourself. You were at his complete disposal—as if he was a magical entity, and you were a mere follower, attending to his every order. You could not stray your crumbling stares from him, heightened whimpers brokering from your lips, and he could only watch.

And watch Joshua did—could not do anything else, staring at you as if you were an Olympus-sent goddess bestowed upon him for finishing a heavenly task. He had read such poetry before, frivolous verses of immature gods pursuing poor nymphs or celestial creatures. You, however, were of another dimension, a completely different world—if he was an immature god, he, too, would not be able to help himself, just as he could not at that moment. 

So he carried on, mastering the progression he knew so well. The intensity down under was at an all-time high, your fingers, his fingers joining in some cruel alliance to bring about your undoing. “Look at you,” he rasped out, taking such delight from your trembling. “You are  enjoying this, no?” 

How could he have expected you to answer—you were a mess of whimpers before him. In the lust-haze of your mind, perhaps you thought he relished the show. You confirmed it when his lips were alight with a smirk. “I won’t lie to you, but—” he cut himself off, curling his fingers inside you, reaching a certain spot that sent you in a complete frenzy. “Fuck, I shouldn’t enjoy this so much.” 

“Joshua,” you finally got out, chanting his name like a final prayer. “This feeling, th-this…God, I feel so—”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, never stopping his work, “it’ll only get better.” 

And better it did, when, with the final slipping in and out of your cunt, the overwhelming feeling that plagued you since you collided your mouth with his took over, courtesy of his fingers. 

It was uncontrollable, completely unsalvageable. That delirious, disordered cacophony buzzing within your core was finally freed as, with a harsh gush of breath, you finally let go. The leash of your patience snapped, and the release that overcame you was nothing you could have ever fathomed. 

Joshua had told you that night in Soonyoung’s study, that this pinnacle moment would be unlike anything you had ever experienced. He was right.

Your friend could only admire your heightened, frenzied reaction as he slowed his fingers inside you, working through your release. When he saw your slow, laboured blinking, the shuddering breaths softening, he finally slipped out of you, observing the slick of his two fingers.

A small part of him wanted to suck the remnants of you off his skin—have a taste of the pleasure he kindled.

By God—he did this to you. 

There was a long pause, the study silent save for your ragged exhales, before you fought to say something amongst your disarray of emotions. “I…What was that, Joshua?” 

The said-man looked at you, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “That was what you wanted me to show you, angel.” 

You could not believe it. “But I…what was that feeling…at the end?” 

Oh. “That…” he first thought to be more implicit—beat around the bush of the topic. Then he realised his hand was stained from your arousal, and decided to be more honest. “That, _____, was an orgasm. You experience it when you pleasure yourself. The critical ecstasy…as I promised.” 

The reference to his journal had you short-circuiting. “Do you experience them too?” 

His mouth dropped open—realising he looked a fool, he cleared his throat, fighting to uphold your gaze. “Yes, well…if a lady can, then a gentleman cannot be robbed of it.” 

Without thinking your eyes dropped to his trousers. “Are you robbing yourself of it now, though?”

It took every muscle in his body not to gawk at you outright. He could not tell you this truth for obvious reasons. At that moment, it was not about him, or his satisfaction. This entire evening was about you. 

So he only smiled at you, bringing your shift down, dress bunching less as he spread it over your legs. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “Set your concerns on what you want to ask me next.” 

“I will think on it,” you responded, mind still in a daze as you pushed yourself off the cushions. “Tell me one thing, though. That was not…you know…everything, right?” 

He held back a chuckle at your question—such ignorance, even now. 

Clicking his tongue, he pinned you with a stare which held opportunity—a promise for more. “We have barely touched the surface.” 

YOU WONDERED HOW HUMAN BEINGS WERE CAPABLE OF SUCH EUPHORIC FEELING. 

It may have felt celestial, in a sense, but it was all your senses experienced in the next fortnight. Your every secret rendezvous with Joshua had you floating among the skies, the very stars within reach with his every touch on your skin. Since the incident in his study, it was all you could ponder; your tutoring was a menial task, always forgotten, trips to the modiste now an inconvenient excursion. Your body anticipated every moment you could spend searching for your dear friend, seeking him out either in your every waking moment, or in the sanctuary of your dreams.

Your face flushed hot with the actions that occurred as you slept, fingers involuntarily brushing your lips. God, his lips, moving against yours, like two perfect hands enveloping in a fervent greeting. His mouth was a ship, and your skin was the undiscovered sea, his fingers like tidal waves, caressing the shores of your desire. He was a sailor with ambition, and you could not stop yourself, being slowly taken over by his motives. 

You thought you knew him—his beliefs, each of his dreams and every one of his thoughts. You were so sure of him, so certain, but this one piece of knowledge had shattered any image of perfection you had created of him.

It took every morsel of your strength not to dunk your head completely within the water, hands gripping tighter to the copper tub in the middle of your bathroom. The water was colder now, scalding hot when you first dipped in, but the hours had ticked by, and you were still inside, ruminating over your visitor. Even your servant reminded you of the time you had spent in complete silence, writhing quietly in the same position, but you merely nodded, unable to think of anything else. 

You needed more time to brace yourself, see. This morning you received the news that Viscount Hastings was to visit. Ordinary news, of course, since he had committed to seeing you at least once a week your entire life. Your dear friend admitted shame that you constantly reached out first, and sought to reverse this. Before, you would have been ecstatic by this slight change—this time, it only incited chaos.

The flannel on the side of the tub dried by the time you grabbed hold of it, intending to clean the grime of your pondering. It was irrational, you were aware, but the reflections—the visions of his lips on yours were so vivid you were sullied by the mere thought. You brought the cloth to your shoulders, your legs, and each rough swipe was replaced by the rugged brushes of his hands on your body. 

But he was not there. It was only you and your lifelike anarchy, shaped in the form of Joshua. Joshua Hong, the clean-cut, spotlessly reputed gentleman, that tarnished your very manner of thinking.

Despite everything, he was still faultless in your eyes. He was, more so after you sought out his secret, most when he offered you a shilling of his wealth. He would always be, even as you heaved yourself out of your bath, let your maid change you into your evening garments, hoping that it was your friend’s fingers tying the ribbons along your back. Even as you finally greeted him, he ushering himself into your private chamber, the new reading he had promised to conquer alongside you in hand. 

Even now, with him not a mere foot from you, leaning back as he read an anthology of contemporary plays, he was perfection itself. As always, he was permitted to visit you in your private rooms, settling himself comfortably in the ornate couches just opposite your four-poster bed. He hoped to show you more special-edition novels he had collected in different corners of Europe.

You had only nodded absent-mindedly at him, taking the book he offered. Before, you had never paid mind to how he sauntered into your bedroom, even allowed to explore your private sphere, reside in it without your parents’ rage. Your mother did find it strange one time, but your adamance in your friendship with him tarnished any of her concerns. How comical, you thought, that he sat there now, you knowing he had stolen the breaths from your lips—God, he had his fingers sliding in places that speaking of them shamed a woman forever. 

You wondered whether he was aware of how ardently he had changed your life.

“Blake not diverting enough for you?” 

Perking up at his voice, you observed his comfortable stance, turning the page of his book. “I told you Wordsworth is much better. Blake is dismal for your countenance…I cannot read him without weeping for London.” 

But you did not care for the city you resided in at that moment. “What are you reading, then?”

He held the anthology out—Odes to a Love Lost, by Lord Jeon, Earl of Lonsdale. “Wonwoo’s work. His publisher’s released a collector’s edition of his poetry and plays.”

“Lord Jeon? I do not see him around much,” you admitted, closing your novel, your pointer finger marking your current page. “I did not realise he released something new.”

“On the contrary,” he said, skimming over the contents. “This is simply another edition of his older works. Even I rarely have the chance to meet him, and he is supposed to be my closest companion.” 

“At the Diamond’s, right? I remember Soonyoung complaining that he does not attend much.” 

Joshua clicked his tongue. “He prefers to surround himself with trees and melancholy over his friends.” 

“Perhaps his certain friends are a bore,” you teased, setting Blake’s collection to the side, “and his estate animals offer better company.” 

“Yet you happen to be in that certain friend’s tedious company,” he sneered, sliding his cool gaze to you. “Why have you not run from me?”

Now there was a question you could not answer. You decided, instead, to test him another way. “The real fault has to lie within the establishment itself. Perhaps if I were to see inside, find the problem—”

“It is astonishing how unwilling you are to give this up,” Joshua cut you off, marking his own reading with a finger. “You realise I refuse to let you sneak inside?” 

“I still do not understand, though!” you exclaimed. “All I ask is one day of distracting your friends, and let me roam around.”

“What I do not understand is your obsession with the club,” he countered, turning to fully face you. “What do you want to see so desperately that you ask me every time it is mentioned?” 

“It is the not knowing which makes me curious, Joshua!” You decided to reflect his action, even folding your legs beneath you as you sat on them, straightening before him. “I mean, a gentlemen’s club, exclusive to any women? Surely there is something interesting beneath the surface!” 

“I wish I could regale you of a scandal behind the Diamond’s doors,” he sighed out. “I promise you, though, my dear, there is nothing fascinating happening.” He then pondered for a bit, as if truly wanting to amuse you. “Perhaps the most outrageous event was Soonyoung attempting to sneak in an actress a couple of years back.” 

“What?!” you gasped. “He would dare incite the members’ anger?” 

“Well, you know what he is like.” A scoff. “Fool was caught, of course, and by Chan, too. He threatened to reveal the whole event to Seungcheol, and only kept his mouth shut once I intervened.”

“My goodness,” you got out. “Seungcheol is a tyrant, then?”

“Not a tyrant,” he clarified, “but a stickler for the rules. Seungcheol believes in maintaining society just as it is. He cannot have anything extraordinary occurring in the foundations of the ton.”

That left a bitter taste in your mouth. “How odd.” 

“Very traditional, if I do say so myself. I imagine the Diamond’s is a haven for him, as it is for anyone who resides in it.”

“Is it a haven for you?” 

The man’s gaze wandered to the surroundings before him. “I guess? I mean, the gentlemen there are quite different than they are in the city. Everyone is more unguarded.”

You looked at him. “Does that mean you are guarded with me?” 

His eyes were upon you at once. “What do you think, angel?” 

The intensity of his stare had you faltering. “I mean…you were, no? At the ball…” 

“Have I not repented enough for that sin?” He let his lips quirk upward, savouring your heated reaction. “Do you wish to witness more of my forgiveness?”

The very ruminations of his repentance had you burning up. “You have done more than enough.” You made to glance at him again. “If you are not so guarded, then I suppose you will allow me a question.” 

He tilted his head, inspecting you. “You say it as if I should be guarded.” 

“No, no, this is, um…” You played with the ends of your silk ribbons, trailing from your bow at the back of the dress. “This is a question that…you know, you do not have to answer, if it bothers you.”

His gaze was scrutinising. “We have done worse than whatever you have said to me in the past.”

You resisted the shiver which threatened to overcome you. “Very true.” You paused again, mulling over the question, wondering if it was appropriate—strange, when you had never recognised a sense of shame with him before. One heated night and you could barely speak to him about anything. 

Furrowing your brows, you determined to change that. Before whatever you two were entrapped in at this moment, you were friends. “Well, this might sound like a disturbing question but…you know…the things that we have done…” You felt his own brow raise at your implication, and you could not help closing your eyes, almost regretting ever opening your mouth. “When was the first time you did them?”

Instantly you crumpled your face, the slight embarrassment growing and threatening to spill from your very pores. You did not gauge his reaction at the start, but you could not help yourself, allowing one eye to peek at his face. Whatever surprise he would have exposed, it was not present anymore, instead settled in a pondering expression. 

“Why do you ask?” was his first question. 

You were incredibly sheepish. “I guess it is curiosity? I mean, all these firsts…I am experiencing them with you, yet you have already done so with another.” 

He was careful with his next inquiry. “Does that bother you?”

You shook your head. “No, but it does make me think about when it might have happened for you.” You then raised your hands in a hurried fashion. “You do not have to tell me, though! I understand that it can be private…God knows I have trifled with your privacy enough.”

Joshua mulled over your question—and how it should be answered. The sensible path would have been to agree that you had meddled enough, and that he wished to salvage the last threads of his privacy. It was already troublesome to have his journal compromised, and the consequences that came out of it…it had cost him dearly. 

But as he caught sight of the open curiosity, the interest to know about him beyond their friendship…he had to admit it. It had the hairs on the back of his neck erecting at the notion, gooseflesh prickling along his arms. It had him wanting to put a voice to his haunting thoughts, reflections he had kept only to himself and the dusted pages of his journal. 

“My first kiss was with a girl I cannot remember,” he began, a little hesitant, “and, I confess, was not my finest work at all. I guess that is to be expected, though, with any firsts.” 

“My first kiss was lovely, though,” you blurted out without thinking, and the complacency, stained upon his features as he smirked, had your heart beating much too fast. You looked away quickly. “I mean…is it expected? For every first to be underwhelming?” 

“For most? Unfortunately,” he admitted. “You were lucky, though, for you had an excellent partner to kiss.”

That only made your face hotter. “Enough about that…tell me about the women in the journal…was that the first time that you did those…things?” 

Again, he chose to be honest. “No. Everything I experienced first hand was in my Oxford years, just after I turned eighteen.” He propped an elbow on the head of the couch, resting his head in his hand. “You see, my university years offered newfound freedoms. It was not all academic drawl. The boys there, well…they all partake in the debauchery. In fact, they almost laugh at you for wanting to abstain from women.” 

“So you did these things to avoid humiliation?” 

He shook his head. “I delved into it because I was curious.” He raised his brows. “As you are very much so before me.” 

You were, but you could not hide your own embarrassment. Thankfully, you did not have to say anymore, as Joshua began to unravel his experiences one by one, from his first sneaking women from the town into his accommodation, to his first time experiencing pleasure so strikingly similar to your own. He explained to you the differences within his first times, certain awkward incidents which meant he could never meet those women again. You laughed at him for his self-sabotages, yet you internally thanked him for not directing his insults to you, who had not experienced any of his misadventures. 

It was fascinating, to have this side of your dear friend revealed to you in such intimate fashion, when a few weeks ago you would not have comprehended the very notion of pleasing someone, and in turn being satisfied. To think that you would have spent your entire life in ignorance, if the man sitting in front of you had not confided in you. Your heartbeat thundered unevenly, unpredictable in its occupation to work. 

More so when, as he finished his tales, you asked him one more question. “With all your exposure so far…and I understand that this is foolish, but…do you feel the same with me?” You then clarified, watching the change of his expression. “By that I mean is…whatever you feel…would it be different depending on the person?”

He observed you struggle to get the question out, undoubtedly a little embarrassed to be compared. He did not know why, but he found it endearing—to be shy with him, even after what you and him had done together—something inside him sang at the sight. 

He gave into his little wish, reaching out his hand and enveloping his fingers around your wrist. “Everyone experiences it in their own way,” he responded, slowly pulling you to him. “The women I had lain with…they were vastly different to you. Do you wish to know how?” 

You did not even have to say it—your eyes begged the question for your voice. He chuckled, drinking in your anticipation. “Because we, my dearest, share a friendship I have never gained with any other.”

He leaned in, a sight for your aching eyes. “What we have…no other has ever come close.” 

You let out a shuddered breath, brushing against his lips. Friendship. A relation deeper than any he had created. It made your lungs constrict, your throat closing as you fought to uphold is stare. Damn him, for he made it so difficult. 

Joshua made it impossible, when, with a final glance at your mouth, he followed through with his own, closing the distance with a kiss. 

Instantly accepting him, you rid yourself from his hold, instead wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him even closer. Yes, the man before you made it impossible to escape him, make this experience a mere experiment, when he was plying your lips open, swiping his tongue along the seams, inciting a desire which lay deep within. 

Even with the sense of urgency, he was gentle, languid as always as he explored the inner workings of your mouth, tasting your desperation with his tongue, aching to have him all over you without restraint. There it was again, that feeling that plagued you for weeks, refusing to give you respite. With the way softly nipped at your bottom lip with each movement, smiling slightly against you, you knew he felt it too. 

It made you more frantic, almost insane as you ran your fingers through his locks, the velvet of his curls accentuating his heated touches. As he broke away from the kiss, instead peppering his lips on the corner of your own, your jaw, you sighed out his name, an indication of your glee, already hazy from his truly. “Joshua—” you whispered, feeling him go down as his mouth latched onto your neck, his legs slowly buckling as he descended to his knees. 

His kisses trailed down your clothed abdomen, feeling every shift of his lips through the soft fabric of your dress. He pulled away only for a moment, hands hurryingly raising the ends of your skirts, his determined bunching of the cloth fuelling the movement of your own fingers, pulling at the sheen-like material till it bundled at your hips, you holding on. The memory of the same bunched dress flashed within your mind, the same man who did the bunching offering the same hungered stare, the unchanged desire pooling in his irises. 

Seeing your cunt on full display—just as it had been the few nights he had caught glimpses, then let his fingers take their fill—had him near losing his mind. 

“This…” his voice was husky, as if he had run laps around all of Mayfair. “I will never tire at the sight of you like this.” He flicked his gaze upward. “For me, at that.”

Your face burned at the words—the final comment. “You exaggerate,” you merely said, unable to look him in the eye. 

He made sure you did not falter in his stare. “No, angel…I do not.” 

The intense nature of his intent had you nodding weakly, doing nothing for your nerves. Because he could tell, it did wonders for his pride, the smirk teasing before now showing itself shamelessly. 

Yes, looking at you all exposed—for him and him only—had the very nerves in his brain self-imploding, ceasing to work entirely. Had he not been in this position enough times to be used to the feeling? Perhaps if it were anyone else, he might have. Perhaps if he was pleasing any other stranger in some shoddy European tavern, his boredom might have conquered any prospect for excitement. 

But it was you—naked from the waist down, save for those dainty silk stockings. Even the damned stockings incited a dangerous reaction from him down under, his very cock restraining in his pants. It was a dire situation, indeed, but it was not as if he could help himself. The night in the study had altered the machinations of his mind. 

His hands, almost working beyond those corrupted machinations, wrapped around the back of your knees. “Your…your legs, angel,” he began, slinging them over each of his shoulders, raising you ever so slightly off the desk, resting on your shoulders. “There we go.” with this angle, he was incredibly close to your core—enough to feel his very presence not two inches from the bundle of nerves that ached to be relieved. Relief that only he could provide—just as he promised. 

He knew it too. The bastard was well aware of this newfound power, when he blew softly at your core, making you hiss. “Joshua!” you breathed out, already twitching at the phantom touch. “Stop it, stop the teasing!” 

“Forgive me,” he breathed out, chuckling. Even the faint huffs of laughter brushed against you, and you could have whined. “You’ll have your enjoyment.” 

A fickleness inside you internally rebuked his claim, thinking he was relishing within his own enjoyment a little too much.

But then you felt his tongue sliding along your folds, and you were proven wrong in every essence of the word. 

You thought nothing could surpass Joshua’s fingers inside you. You were made a fool by his tongue, exploring the edges of your cunt, a languid admirer who had all the time in the world. He was slow with his movements—slow, without any tension, as if you were an untouched artefact, and he was on the first journey of discovering you outright. 

Joshua always called himself careful—a cautioned creature he was, and meticulous he will be. To rush the process would be a dishonour to you. He would rather absolve himself of any morsel of pleasure if he ruined this for you. 

But there was no cause for complaint from you—the unhurried swipes of his tongue against your folds was the beginning of your satisfaction. His lapping up of your arousal, his hums of approval reverating against your core was magic, pure, ethereal power which bewitched your senses. You thought you were quick in undoing yourself with his fingers, but you feared how instantaneous your ruination would be this time, with his exploring, his teasing. 

Your breaths sputtered out of you, head lolling back at the tendrils of pleasure that curled up your spine. You felt him open his mouth further, grip on your legs tightening, and he delved in further, relishing your reactions.

You foolishly thought you were handling yourself with some semblance of dignity. Then he dragged his tongue upwards, to your clit, and an obscene sound flew out of you, your eyes widening in shame as your head whipped up. 

The sight of Joshua clinging onto you down under, brows furrowed as he licked your clit had your very back arching, blinking back the overwhelming desire that threatened to blanket over your mind. His focus was staggering, the grip on your legs unwavering, and you could not observe for too much longer, the feeling engulfing you from the inside. Your hands carded through his hair, needing to hold onto him, any part of him, because you were straying from your very body, and he was the only solid anchor.

His eyes then flicked up to you—by God, his damned eyes were dancing, and you felt him smile against your cunt. 

You could have collapsed before him. He was enjoying this as much as you were.

Joshua could have burst with pride at your reaction, swirling his tongue along the bud. He had reckoned this would be borne from a sense of duty, a favour to you as his dearest friend. Granted, he revelled in the sparks of your desire bursting into hungry flames, but never did he think he would take this much enjoyment in your undoing.

He thought the night in his study was an anomaly. He did not realise his enjoyment would become a pattern. 

At first it frightened him, the sparks of doubt creeping into his mind at the notion of his delight. Educating you was one thing, but revelling in your moans strayed from the very objective that brought about this situation. It had him thinking back on his passions peppered in every corner of Europe, leaving behind women yearning still for his return one day. Of course, his pride exceeded his successes in his journeys, but his thoughts were not plagued by these women.

Only you remained. 

You, you, you, who had always been tucked into the corners of his mind, but never fully took over to this extent. Indeed, as he began to lose himself into you, he could only envision how a simple question could bring such chaos into his life—and yours. 

He used to feel a little shame in bringing you in this position—he had not forgotten your wide eyes begging for salvation, and that was enough to destroy him. Now, holding tight onto your legs and licking away at your core, he felt he had crossed another boundary, another threat to his soul. 

No—there were threats, and then there was pure annihilation. He was still standing—kneeling, rather, but still alive. He would be fine. Completely, utterly fine.

His ears caught the tune of your incorrigible whimpers forming words, and he would have been fine, as he so convincingly uttered. 

“J-Joshua,” you moaned softly, the said-man feeling the shake in your voice—your legs. “Joshua, please, I…please.” 

Please. Please. Please. 

Oh, he was not fucking fine.

His one hand left your leg, two fingers instantly slipping past your thighs and plunging themselves past your folds, his tongue not pausing the entire time. A heightened gasp escaped you at the feeling, cunt pulsing along his touches, and you grasped onto his hair with a futile effort to hold onto him, salvage any sense of sanity. 

But there would be no sanity for you, not when your friend was swirling his tongue with expert precision, his fingers sliding in and out faster than your mind could comprehend. He was relentless now, as if you had somehow turned a switch within his brain, and was born anew. That burdened feeling, the sensation within your gut turned heavier, and you faintly recalled how it had felt—the complete bliss of it all.

It had you pleading with him once more. “S-so close, Joshua, please—! The feeling is here again!”

He knew, of course he knew, and he made it clear, fastening his pace in every part of you he touched and tasted. Good, dearest Joshua, so damned good to you as he slithered his digits within you, curling them at the same time as he kissed your clit. As always, keeping his promise. 

You could not take it anymore.

Your eyes snapped open as your release crashed through, legs shaking uncontrollably upon him as his mouth slowed his labour. Your surroundings were a blur, the only sharp feeling being the orgasm that shook through your bones, making you twitch and tremble upon him. It should have been frightening, not possessing control of your own body, but knowing that Joshua was under you, and not any other man, was enough to lose a semblance of yourself. 

It should be frightening—why were you not terrified?

You felt the absence from your core, catching sight of the man as he leaned back on his knees. He was a sight for your lust-dazed eyes, hair in disarray as his hand found purchase upon your leg again, still slung onto his strong shoulders. The slow blinking back, the parted mouth…your insides could have come alive all over again.

He was so beautiful—like a fallen angel, devoted till the end of his tenure. Strange, how you made that comparison, when you were the one who was deemed as the celestial being. 

It had your heart constricting painfully. “Tell me something, Joshua.” 

His stare held you prisoner. “Anything, angel.” 

Again, with that term. It was that very heart of yours, aching still, that spoke out. “Is it like this with everyone else?” 

You felt him still beneath your skin. “I mean,” you continued, almost unable to escape from his eyes, “I just feel so…I have never felt like this before, and I think…well, I think you are the sole reason for it.” 

His eyes widened a little, but that did not stop your confession, a broken dam of curiosity-laced words. “I imagine you would have this feeling in abundance, considering your…” this time, you had to look away. “Experience.” 

He did not quite know what to say.

It was not as if you were wrong—he had expertise, experience he revelled in sharing with you. He did not need to remind himself of his endeavours, when he carried with them throughout his life, but at the end of the day, those were one-moment events. Singular nights of passion which ended the day they began.

But this was you. You, his closest friend, his confidante in ways his companions at the Diamond’s could not come close. You had known him longer than any other—your friendship spanned years which no one had caught up to yet. His earliest memories were of his time with you, whether that be running after each other at St. James Park in the town centre, or learning your letters together, reprimanded by the same tutor for your similar misdemeanours. The two of you had watched each other grow, become different individuals, but the friendship remained tethered from the suspicions of the ton.

Until you had stumbled upon his journal—until you had questioned the unspoken boundaries, and Joshua had let you. He could not help it, though. You were, after all, very dear to him. 

He blinked back, staring at you. You were—dearer to him than he could have ever comprehended. 

So he decided to be honest, uncertain of the consequences it would bring. “I have not felt like this with anyone else.” 

Your heart fluttered—without restraint the feeling drifted over your skin, thumping in your chest, engulfing you whole. You did not know why. “That is…” you paused, breaths shuddering out of you. “That is very good to hear, Joshua.” 

Perhaps it was the simple-enough confession—or even his name on your tongue. It had him parting his mouth, heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Truly?”

A soft nod. He felt his jaw slacken, losing semblance of his body, although he had not allowed himself to experience the release he sought out from you. Shocking, since he would have wished it from anyone else. He could not mistake the selfishness within himself—was it not the very reason he began this whole escapade with you in the first place?

But as he raised himself a little higher, eyes refusing to stray from your own, he found his hands climbing up to your face, fingers brushing against burning skin. Again, the beating of his heart raced at that. “I…” he began, faltering his words. God, when had he forgotten how to speak with you?

“Joshua?” you murmured. 

He watched you a little longer. It was beyond his control when he leaned in closer, shocking you out of your body as he enveloped his lips with yours. You welcomed him without realising, moving your mouth with his own, humming at the butterfly’s touch of a kiss that you did not expect. 

The man did not either. It was as if his heart took the reins of his hands, his lips. He kissed you with a burning which incited fear, strange sensations, as if he was attempting the very act of kissing for the first time. He was slow, finding more solace on your lips the longer he explored you, humming in pure, subconscious delight. 

There was an addition to his offerings. There was something there that was not present in previous gatherings, when it was little more than lust, a curiosity being satiated. This was new, unexplored territory—a feeling beyond your stomach, venturing upward to the centre of your being. Your chest felt heavy, holding the weight of the city upon you, and you could not breathe at the sensation, threatening to bury you alive.

Yet you savoured the feeling. Moaned it as you opened your mouth further, confiding it within the corners of his mouth. You may have had an inkling on what this newfound progression was, but that was not the time to speak it into the silent void, not when you could not physically voice it. 

He thought it was you that needed respite. How wrong he had assumed that you needed some form of recess, a moment to take all these changes in. It was him all along who stuttered in every action, hesitating needlessly when you dared to be brave, satiate your heated curiosity. It was him that stalled, his patience reigning thin. 

When he finally broke away, heaving slightly from the kiss, his eyes darted over you, restless in their journey, unable to fully immerse himself in all of you. You overwhelmed him, your every move, your every flicker that gazed upon him with such gratification. It was as if you could not hide how happy he made you, even from the most insignificant things. 

It made him shiver at the notion—more so when he felt himself feeling the exact same.

Slowly, he pulled away, hands which had gripped your face before now falling to your shoulders. “I…I must leave you,” he declared softly, taking a step back. “Forgive me, I did not realise where we were…your chamber, of all places…”

“It is alright, Joshua,” you assured him, cancelling out his step with your own. “What matters is I enjoyed it.” You watched him. “Did you…not?” 

He became absent-minded, removed from your question. “I did…very much…” He willed his hands at his sides, the absence of your silk, your skin, itching on his fingers. “That is why I must go.” 

And as he began to leave, turning on his heel, you watched, a sudden flurry of emotions that refused to be silenced any longer. Without realising you reached your hand out, grabbing onto his wrist, and he stopped, eyes instantly resting on the hold.

You looked at him. What you wanted to say was that you had something to tell him, something important—something which had grown inside of you, a feeling which he himself had nurtured. You wanted to tell him then and there, after his confession.

You then caught onto his expression—a certain dread inhabited his beautiful features, and its exposure was so pungent you could only whisper, “Are you alright, Joshua?” 

He released a sharp breath at the question, caught off guard. Only after a moment did he bring his other hand upon your interlocked fingers—the touch made him almost flinch. “I am…trust me, _____.”

And then he released your hold upon him, finally turning his back on you as he hurried out of your chambers. 

You watched his disappeared figure, the absence as you flexed and unflexed your hand, the sensation fluttering all around you.

And as your own dread was born, slowly beginning to creep over, you had a gnawing realisation that you could not answer his plea of trust.

YOU DID NOT KNOW WHETHER YOU WERE IGNORING JOSHUA, OR HE WAS IGNORING YOU. 

An agonising couple of weeks had passed since the evening in your chambers, and the frustrations of your newfound feelings were tugging at you more than you had imagined. Before, when the very thought of Joshua’s absence had you biting your nails to mere stumps, you almost thanked him for disappearing. The very last person you wished to see was him.

Or so you kept declaring to yourself. What was the universal truth was that you had something of great importance to convey to your best friend, but you could not take him away from you. It was a fact which you denied every waking moment it confronted you, and the more you kept it hidden, the more it begged to be set free. 

Reading Whistledown was enough to confirm your suspicions—Joshua Hong was avoiding all of society, and because you were already anxious, the news only heightened the tension. When will you create the opportunity to speak to him? Would you both be punished with distance and infinite discomfort for the rest of your lives?

You pondered over it further as you stewed in your anxiety in your drawing room, waving away the concerns of your maids, even narrowly avoiding your mother’s skepticism. Perhaps you would have spent another seven days wallowing within yourself when a servant informed you of an unexpected visitor. You jumped up from your seat, anticipating the very man who had been haunting your thoughts. Soonyoung’s face appeared from the door and your hopeful smile dropped, dimmed down. 

“I saw that!” he remarked, nodding his head to the servant, an implicit order to not disturb the two. As the latter closed the door behind him, he turned to you, an image of grandeur in his black and gold attire, raven-coloured coat folded in one arm. “At least make an honest attempt at pretending.”

“Forgive me,” you mumbled, frowning. “I was expecting someone else.” 

“I might have a name for that someone else.” He wished to pass further judgement, but then he caught the look on your face. “Oh God, jest gone too far?” 

When you did not respond to him, he hurried over to you, a man with a purpose. “Dearest, why the long face? Has Joshua done something?”

His name had you perking up. “Why did you mention him?” you asked, instantly straightening yourself, eyes a little frantic. “Why do you think he has done something?”

Soonyoung noticed the sudden change, quirking a brow. “If I did not think it before, I certainly do now.” He saw you further slumping your shoulders. “_____, tell me.” 

“It is nothing,” you said, waving him off as you settled upon the ornate couch. “I just…I have heard nothing from him for a while.” 

“Is that so?” his hands fisted on his hips. “I have seen enough of him at the Diamond’s.” 

You did not know why that statement shocked you.Your friend noticed instantly. “Oh no…it all makes sense now.” 

“What do you mean?” You watched him sit himself down next to you, frowning as he thought over the situation. “Has he said something?”

“Not what he has said, but what he has abstained from saying.” He looked at the luxurious paintings plastered on your drawing room walls. “I did find it rather strange that he has almost set up camp in the member lodgings. I commented on his staying there so long, even asked him if anything troubled him, but he did not confide in me.” He then glanced at you. “When I asked, though, whether he had quarrelled with you, it was as if I told him I gambled away his estates.” 

“What?” you shuffled closer to the man, hanging onto his account. “At my mention?” 

He nodded, huffing. “Can you believe he then ignored me for the rest of the day? You would think I insulted his mother.” 

No—but he certainly insulted you. A sudden hurtful streak crossed through your heart, and you had to stop yourself from thinking about it too much. You wanted to say something, but even the thought of uttering a word had your eyes stinging. 

One harsh sigh from you, and Soonyoung turned to you, irritation for his friend morphing into concern. “My dear, you are hiding something from me,” he said, reaching out to hold your shoulders, turning to face him. “Is everything okay?” 

Catching the genuine worry on your friend’s face had your face crumpling, just a bit. “Oh no, _____,” he said, frowning, leaning in closer, “now you have to confess your worries. You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Well, you could not—that was what you and Joshua had established. With your friend asking you this close, inquiring after yourself, the cause for your sadness, however, you could not hide it anymore. What you were going to say was that you had done something wrong. What you were meant to admit was that you and Joshua had committed actions which would have shocked polite society, perhaps changing his opinion of you two forevermore. 

What came out of your mouth instead shocked even yourself. “I think I have feelings for Joshua.” 

There was silence—then there was the silence Soonyoung partook in, which could have put normal silence to shame. 

You dared not look him in the eye. Because of Soonyoung’s quiet discomfort, you found yourself speaking out, saying more than you wished to. You began from the moment in the study, when you first found Joshua’s writings, to the moments of passion the two of you had carried out together. You did not try to omit any detail of what you had done with him—perhaps a childish mistake, but you were not thinking, really. If your friend’s vault of silence was firm, your own had broken down, confession upon confession slipping out of you of your dearest companion’s teachings, how you indulged in them…the feelings of something more slipping between the haze of lust. 

Bless the man sitting beside you, because he hung onto every word, reacting to every morsel of information you fed him. It was as if he was reading a scandalous journal of your findings, hand flying to his mouth at one point when you told him of Joshua’s slight confession. That was when he broke the dam of his silence. “Joshua Hong said this to you?” 

“The very same,” you said, locking and unlocking your hands. “He said he did not feel it with anyone else.” 

A harsh sigh escaped him. “I see,” he muttered, facing forward. “Firstly, I must thank you for confiding in me. I understand why you two kept these encounters a secret, so you have my gratitude for sharing it.” He then twisted his lips, eyes fogging, as if lost in thought. You observed the slight change of expression, anticipating his next question. “I must inquire after one more detail, though, my dear, and I fear it is rather unseemly.” 

“Nothing is scandalous to me after what I have confessed,” you assured him, shuffling closer to him, holding onto his arm. “Ask away.”

He looked down at your hand, gripping onto his decorated sleeve. “Did you and Joshua go all the way?”

You halted for a moment. “Why do you ask?” 

“It is important because I know what he is like,” he reasoned. “Joshua, he…when we travelled around the continent, we all indulged in…well, you know what we did, if you have read the full extent of his journals. Out of us members, he is a man who favours experience and participation to truly enjoy the moments he resides in…do you understand?” 

When you shook your head, he bit his lip, trying for another explanation. “You see, there are certain out of us who become attached to the experiences we encounter, thus garnering emotional importance…Joshua will murder me for this, but when we were travelling together, he did not become emotionally attached to anyone he met. It was what allowed him to engage in such…licentious behaviour, record it as if he were conducting an experiment, and not having an incredibly intimate moment.” 

He looked at you, tilting his head as he pondered over the entire situation. “What I am trying to say is that I expected him to show you the full extent of what occurred between two people. Why has he stopped after the last encounter? What changed then?” 

What changed? You knew what changed for you, but you were not sure if your best friend experienced the same shift. God, you wanted him to, but his absence, and consequent silence, did not prove your willful theory. “I do not know,” you could only offer, frowning. “I just…I wish I could simply ask him.”

Soonyoung hummed in agreement. He then perked his head up, furrowing his brows. “Well, you could ask him.” 

You looked at him as if he went mad. “You told me yourself that he is at the Diamond’s.” 

“Yes, he is,” he confirmed, slowly rising from his seat, “So why not ask him yourself?” 

“Because as I said about three seconds ago, he is at the Diamond’s.” You scowled, crossing your arms. “And you know well of the rules on ladies being seen there.” 

As he straightened fully to his feet, fixing his waistcoat, he looked at you, a small smirk rising to the surface of his mouth. “Since when have I cared about rules, _____?”

You stared at his hand, outstretching before you.Truer words had not been spoken—Kwon Soonyoung did not believe in restraint and order. Chaos was his favourite aspect of life, and spent all his hours chasing it, welcoming it. “What if he does not want to see me?” you asked, barely a body to that question. 

He only smiled. “We will never know if we do not find out, right?” 

And although it was a mere amount, it was still hope. 

With that, your fingers slipped into his own, and he brought you to your feet. He squeezed your hand, never letting go. “Let us confront this coward.” 

THE DIAMOND CLUB OF MAYFAIR MADE NO SHOW OF HIDING ITS SPLENDOUR TO ONLOOKERS. 

You observed the row of white, terraced houses, columns inspired from the classical period towering above you. Old, Georgian-style bow windows curved out from the white stone, the sheer glass reflecting the slowly dying sunlight of the evening. Black iron fences rimmed around the estate, one small opening revealing a large black door, lampposts of the same colour bordering its frames. 

Soonyoung caught up after closing the carriage door behind you, following after your line of sight. “You gawk at it as if you have never seen the building before,” he remarked, amused by your admiration.

“I know, but the idea of actually entering the club this time…” you fought to repress a shiver. “Are you certain of bringing me here? What will your friends say?”

“You need not worry so much, my dear.” He made to walk, tugging you along with him. “If it helps your nerves, the majority left their lodgings to watch a play at the Globe tonight. Joshua and I were the sole members who declined.”

“A play at the Globe?” Your tone turned sheepish. “Oh, forgive me, Soonyoung, I know how much you love your theatre.”

“Save your apologies,” he reassured you, strolling up to the door as he nodded at the footman, slipping a few shillings. “I had more important business tonight than seeing Romeo and Juliet kill themselves over a five-day fancy.”

“Goodness! Perhaps the rival families should have turned to you,” you crowed, nodding in acknowledgement to the servant, hanging tight to your friend, “with the way you butchered their children’s romance.” 

“Be satisfied that I am not intent on butchering your chance for romance,” he tutted, bringing you inside, ushering for the front door to be shut. 

He was merely teasing, but you were not amused. You had not thought of the possibilities of a romance. You wanted it, though. You wanted it to the point that your soul ached at the prospect of it, especially when you allowed yourself a sliver of its image with the man you wanted it with. 

But you were not certain of his feelings, so that image, too, vanished, along with any of the hilarity Soonyoung brought. 

“He should be in his quarters,” he commented, turning to the right, and then another through the long-winded hallways, decorated lavishly with paintings of classical depictions, as well as portraits of past members. It was still a fairly new club, but the fathers of the current membership were held in great esteem in oiled artwork, observing with curt gazes at the passersby. You wondered whether they noticed a very visible outsider trespassing their borders. 

Unsurprisingly, Soonyoung cared little for the judgments of those long gone, so he only steered you further into the secondary living quarters of his companions. Finally, he stopped before a mahogany door, silence curtaining the halls once your low-heeled footsteps came to a stop. 

A determined fist knocked at the door. The answer was swift, cutthroat. 

“Leave me be, Soonyoung.”

Your heart began to sink, but your friend refused to accept defeat. “You need to come out. I have a guest with me.” 

There was a pause at the door, the silence eating you alive. Then, a muted shuffle pulled through, and suddenly his footsteps were right behind the door, and you only had a second to brace yourself when the door swung open.

You were welcomed by none other than the man who had haunted your livelihood for weeks. 

Joshua meant to glare at the younger man for disturbing his peace temporarily. He then realised you were in front of him, then corrected himself immediately. 

You alone had disturbed his peace—perhaps forever. 

You could see it in his countenance—the ruffled hair, as if restless hands had raked through the locks. The one untucked collar of his loose undershirt, fingers stained with ink. Even his eyes were wild, as if he had gazed upon a wildfire. Well, you were akin to a natural disaster to him—a tamper on his very senses. 

Time passed between you two, the silence loud enough to deafen any onlookers. It was little wonder when Soonyoung, as he observed you two, mouth agape, had no regret in breaking it. “You really were not lying, were you?”

Your best friend darted his agitated gaze towards him. “What are you talking about?”

You decided to carry out your path of honesty. “I told him everything.” 

It was chilling, watching the very colour from his face vanish into the thick air of this atmosphere. “You did…what?”

Soonyoung attempted an excuse. “Now you know I would not tell a soul, Joshua—”

“Leave us.” 

The order cut through any hurried explanations, killing them clean. It seemed as if Soonyoung wanted to speak out, say something more, but you reached for his arm, nodding. He looked at you, concerned for a moment, but then he took a step back, watching the tense scene before him with caution. “You both take your time. The others will not be returning for a while.” He then locked his gaze at the man who you sought out. “Do not think about running away this time.” 

Joshua could not provide a cutting response, only watching him exit the dimmed hallways. Only when he was certain that he had disappeared that he finally focused on you. You gaped at him as he parted his mouth, bracing yourself for the chiding, the scolding for daring to venture in a place he had so vehemently prohibited. 

But nothing came out. He knitted his brows together, trying to find the words, but then he sighed, closing his eyes. His hand rested on the doorframe, leaning his weight against the creaking wood. 

You tried to speak for him. “Joshua…”

Perhaps his name on your lips was the trigger—maybe your very voice awaking him. One second his hand was on the doorframe, the next it was upon your wrist, one glance at the empty hallway before he pulled you inside his chamber, shutting the door behind him. 

His lodgings at the club were grand, but a certain chaos had stained the certain order you were sure he would have maintained in his private sphere. His desk was littered with books and papers, longcoats and other layers dumped upon chairs and side tables. His walls were the softest of whites, but his internal havoc had spilled onto the surfaces of his four walls, sullying the very light of this room. It was clear to anyone that Joshua had hid himself away, seething alone. 

He whirled around as he stopped you both at the centre. His eyes were interrogating your every fidget, every movement out of place. You reckoned he would chide you for daring to venture in the Diamond’s, but something else came out entirely. 

“You told him about what we did?” 

You immediately resorted to defending yourself. “You shunned me, Joshua. What else did you expect me to do?” A look over your shoulder, as if Soonyoung would be there, watching the entire scene. “You said so yourself, did you not, that he would be trusted with this secret?”

“I did say that, but we still agreed to keep this between us,” he countered, not backing down. “I warned you of his insolence, and look what has come of you ignoring it. He brought you here, of all damned places!” 

“He may be brazen, but he is not stupid!” You wrenched your wrist from his tightening grip. “He knew that you were avoiding me, so he did the one thing that would catch your attention.” 

“Well, he should not have done it anyway,” he rebuked, “and you should not have told him. We had an agreement.” 

“A little difficult to uphold an agreement with an individual when he ignores me outright!” you exclaimed. “Besides, he told me some very insightful information on your current state.” 

“Is that so?” He was sneering now, attempting to incite your anger. “And what did you learn from his infinite wisdom?”

Oh, he was succeeding without effort. “He said you never restrained yourself on the Continent. Said you flaunted your rakish behaviour, and that it was strange to see it be different with me.” You gritted out the last sentence, an awful taste in your mouth as you released it. “Am I so distasteful to you, Joshua?”

Perhaps it soured his own tongue too to hear it. “You know that is not what I thought of you,” he refuted. He then sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his parted mouth. “_____, you have read of my…behaviour in the Continent. The ladies I carried out such actions with were different. Different from you.” 

“Different,” you parroted, mocking him. “You keep using this word…as if you wish to separate me from you. I hate it when you do that.” 

“You are different,” he guttered, and his voice cracked straight through your skin. “You are my dearest friend, and I was treating you like every woman I had ever laid with! I had to deny myself certain liberties!” 

“Stop punishing yourself, Joshua!” you screamed. “Stop blaming yourself for inciting my feelings! Stop being so selfless!” 

“Enough!” he thundered out, and you blinked back at his sudden hysteria. “I cannot take this image of benevolence you have created of me anymore. It is not true, and I cannot stand this pretense anymore. I cannot…will not accept the notion that only I have done something to you.”

You furrowed your brows, fisting your hands at your sides. “What have I done to you?” 

“You…!” He was breathing hard—uneven. “You have tampered with my senses, when I was content with myself! You think I have sparked a few embers inside you, but you…damn you, you have set my very soul on fire! I cannot think, cannot see straight! Look at the state of my surroundings!” His hands were frantic as they waved at the disorder of his chamber. “This is what has become of me after all we have done.” 

You gaped at him, the words that spilled from his mouth with no intention to stop. “You asked for forgiveness once, had you not? When we first kissed, you chastised me for apologising for our actions…I fear I have to ask for forgiveness again, because you may not think I am doing anything wrong, but I am.” 

A scoff escaped him. “Selfless…you called me selfless? You are wrong. Ask me why you are foolish for believing better of me.”

Your solitary question was barely a whisper. “Why?” 

His stare had locked you into a trance. “Because what I do for you is not for you. Well, it was at the start, in that I speak the truth, but…that day when I touched you, tasted you…I felt any pretense of kindness vanishing the moment I saw you glowing from my efforts.” His breaths were bated, as if savouring each gulp the universe offered—as if his time was finite. 

“My desire for you, angel, my longing for you…it has awakened something in me, a feeling which is stronger than our friendship.”

That had you sucking in a breath. “You cannot mean that.” 

His aching scowl stained the beauty of his features. “I wish I did not. I…I tried to fight it, truly I did. Why do you think I avoided meeting you? I was ashamed to face you. Knowing your wishes to maintain a bond deeper than anyone else, yet I am hell-bent on sullying it with my desire.” 

A pause again, and you felt your heartbeat thunder in your ears, like a church bell ringing over a grave announcement. “I admit our first affair was selfless…an act to satiate your curiosity. I do not, however, see these as acts of mere kindness anymore. Even if you see it as such, I do not act out of kindness. It is an impure, selfish want.” 

He finally sighed, and you thought he would have collapsed on the carpeted floor had he not been looking at you all this time. You felt the ground swaying beneath your feet too, taking in the confession, everything he had dared to tell you. 

Desire. Longing. An impure, selfish want. Something curled in your insides, and you recognised the feeling immediately—a sensation only your dearest friend ignited from you.

My longing for you has awakened something in me, a feeling which is stronger than our friendship. Ah yes. A desire which had overtaken possibly your most earnest relationship with anyone around you. You expected some form of devastation over his words, but you felt the strangest relief wash over you.

You were not insane. You, who had been feeling the same, shaming yourself for your lust, crept over like a predator on the hunt, only to find he had shared in the feeling all this time. 

Seeing the realisations churning on your face had him taking a step back, fingers aching to reach out. “Forgive me,” he said, and there was genuine guilt residing upon his features. “I did not mean to burden you with my words. I just…Soonyoung was right. I may have been selfish, but I could not go all the way.”

He was a picture of devastation. “You should do it with someone you cherish deeply. We can do it if you so wish, but I could not…not when you do not feel the way I feel.” He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “So I pray you forgive me, _____.” 

Apologies once again…just like the first time. Except there were no boundaries this time around—no, he had finally crossed them, torn them down, with you solely remaining. He had confided to you of his desire. You had witnessed the pure, unadulterated yearning swimming helplessly in his gaze, begging to be saved. 

Perhaps it was your turn, now, to be honest. No more secrets. “You cannot say that, Joshua, because it is not true.” 

He stopped—you saw his very soul slip away from his eyes. You did not let him question you, continuing, “You thought you were the only one experiencing a change? You are wrong for that, Joshua. How could you have expected me to maintain a pretense of normality when you had shown me things I thought were…God.” You cursed, a soft whisper, and he caught it on your lips, darting between your mouth and your gaze. “You say you burdened me with your feelings but you are wrong.” 

You took a step towards him. “You have relieved me of my own burden.” 

He was a ghost, haunted by your implications. “What…what do you mean?”

But he knew, of course he knew what you were about to say—another step forward. “You said I should go all the way with someone I cherish, did you not?” One more step, and he was before you, looking at you as if you were destruction and salvation, wrapped into one, dangerous promise. “Then I will confess there is someone I hold very dear.” 

The man was hanging onto your every word. “Is that so?” he whispered, husky from the anticipation.

“Yes.” You scoured his face, drinking in his curiosity, his impatience to hear your confession. “There is someone I wish to cross the final boundary with, but I was unsure at first whether he felt the same way.” It made you so giddy—you were once the image of anticipation, and now the ornate, pretending tables had turned. “You see, I had always stated so clearly what I felt, yet he did not say so himself, hiding his feelings from me.” 

His explanation flew out of his lips without revision. “He did not mean to…he was afraid that you would never reciprocate what he…” his sigh was slight, yet it washed over you like a tidal wave. “What he felt so strongly.” 

“Well,” you said, raising your hand. Your fingers brushed along his cheek, sliding to hold his face. His skin was warm, to your delight. “He should not hide it anymore. Not to me, at least.” 

Joshua, in response, leaned into your palm, eyes heavy-lidded—raptured towards you. “You have always been dear to me, _____. Now, I stand before you, asking you to be dearer still.” 

Your face crumpled at the words—the sight of your best friend and his request. There could only be one answer. 

But you did not respond with words. No, your answer came in colliding your lips against his, finally catching him off guard. 

His pained moan, ecstatic with relief, reverated off your lips, his hands clutching you, demanding  respite from the weeks spent without touching you. Demanded, because Joshua had never ventured this close to you with such misery, never angled his head in such a way with you, bearing his soul to you in a state of anguish. You felt it all, and welcomed it so ardently you wondered how you had survived without him upon you this entire time. 

Every single heated kiss he left in his trail, every ounce of longing unweighted at each stretch of unattended skin. He missed nothing, pouncing and pressing his lips where your skin sang at him to hearken near, and he was forever the pinnacle of obedience, fulfilling your wishes—his wishes. You understood nothing else, solely the warpath of his mouth, which set you ablaze as it pushed you back, spiralling you towards his desk. 

“God—!” he could barely rasp out between his passion, descending upon your neck—“To think, I—” He was unable to finish, useless, time-consuming words devouring his chances to pounce upon you. Your skirts bunched at the back as they hit the rim of the desk, and your hands grabbed onto the sides for purchase, any sense of stability, but your hands were knocking off glasses, books without realising. 

“Damned books,” he cursed, low and desperate, pulling away only to throw away whatever object dared to settle on the table, clattering to the floor in a mess, and you would have made a point of it had he not then grabbed onto your waist, hoisting you upon its polished wooden surface. “Still haunting me even now?” 

“Books brought us to this—ah, situation—!” you could barely reason, his mouth back upon your throat, teething kisses upon your collarbone till he descended before you, holding loosely onto your sides. Quickly catching on, you barely contained your excitement as your own hands hitched your skirts up, gathering as much fabric as you could in your shaking hold. 

It took mere seconds for you to uncover yourself before him, and the reminisces of each time he had been in this very position flashed before his hungering vision. You saw it, too, and the deep, dark curling inside your gut threatened to show itself. 

He stared at your core, the slight sheen along your slit a recognition of his work. He glanced at you, fingers trailing down to your thighs. “You say the word, angel,” he whispered, “and we will stop. I follow only your will.” 

That alone had you shaking your head. “My will, is it?” you asked, spreading your legs wider. “What if my will demands you never stop?” 

The slight curl of his lips could have set you ablaze—truly. “I follow,” he began, leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, “only your will.” 

He was a devout follower indeed—his first touches along your slit was enough for you to believe in him.  

Your body reminded, you sighed at the familiar sensation, his tongue immediately licking up the arousal, present only for him to enjoy. He had worked wonders beyond your imagination the last time, but beforehand, there was all the time in the world for his endeavours. There was a task at hand, an expectation he had to uphold for you. There was a need to impress, a pressure which would not have been eased if you were unsatisfied. 

This time was different. Joshua knew then, face buried within you, swirling his tongue, teasing, inciting you out of yourself, that he did not fall to his knees to merely impress you. This time, in the chaos of his lodgings, he fell to his knees to worship you. And his worship came in the form of his tongue swirling around your clit, languid as he commenced, eliciting sounds that had never touched the back of your throat, the tip of your tongue. 

He was following your every internal command, every silent plea to keep going, never stop even if the Diamond’s men were to catch you—hell, Lady Whistledown herself would discover you both, and still you would never want this to end. He was so good, so relentless in his desire to please you. He sucked on the bud, tongue slipping through for added pleasure, and you thought you would die.

Your thoughts turned into certainty when he slid two fingers inside of you, and your stuttered moans was approval enough. “Joshua!” you gasped out, because his name was the only word that mattered, the only term able to grapple your desperation. Your core was filled with his digits, working in and out in a steady rhythm, feeling you out before increasing his pace. It was a miracle how he took not a single break in between, but you were the one gasping for breath. 

Soon enough, you felt it—the all-too familiar sensation, curling at the small of your back, spreading slowly through your body the faster Joshua worked upon you. He had always deemed you goodness, purity incarnate, but he was the angel, venerating you in a way no religious believer could attain to. “J-Joshua, wait—” you began, your thighs constricting, the feeling creeping closer, dangerously close— “Wait, the feeling, it’s coming back—!” 

But then his free hand, gripping your leg to keep you steady, squeezed in response—as if he knew. His rhythm increased again, mercilessly perfect to you, and you were certain the desk would shatter from the sheer might of Joshua’s efforts. Perhaps you would have cared in some faraway place, away from the chaos that reigned within this room. Here, with him under you, kneeling, pleasing you, you lost any will to care about consequences. 

So, as the perfect gentleman sucked on your clit one last time, pumping his fingers inside you, you damned about caring and let yourself go.

With a whoosh of sharp breaths you orgasmed, thighs shaking without control, and you held onto his hair, uncaring if his locks ripped away in your hand. He slowed his ministrations, helping you through your release, relishing you undoing yourself on his fingers. If you were among the clouds, then he was dancing among the stars, watching you climax because of him. 

Never did he think he would ever get used to you like this. His twisted admiration brought about his next action—he slithered out of you, and, as you looked down, lust-struck anyway, watched as he brought his slick fingers to his mouth, sucking away at the remnants. 

Your stomach fluttered at the sigh. “God…” you got out, the victorious glint of his gaze turning your insides on themselves. 

He clicked his tongue, slowly shaking his head as he ascended, eyes locked to yours. “Share a little admiration for me too, angel,” he whispered.

Whatever you felt for him, though, was no mere admiration. 

You made sure he realised when you decided to share what he asked for, pressing your lips against his, your desire—shockingly—creeping back into your skin, seeping deeper until it infected your blood. How could it be so? Was not one wave of release enough to satiate you? Was there room for more?

You asked him yourself as you broke away, blinking back heavily as he stared at you, mouth parted, hands roaming. “There is more…is there not? We…this is not the end, right?” 

His smile was enough—still, he made sure to tell you, as, swivelling you around, his fingers found the bows, untying your lace upon your everyday gown. His voice entered your mind, his mouth encircling just under your ear. “Oh, we are just getting started,” he whispered, making you shiver. 

The tugging and pulling paid off for him, your dress loosening around your shoulders, your waist. As the outer layers fell to the floor, he then worked on the corset, patient as ever as he untied the tight laces at the back, all the while your impatience causing you to peel away at your petticoats. It did not help either that his lips were brushing against your neck, planting baby kisses upon your warming skin. 

It was Joshua’s slow, steady nature that won when the corset fell apart too, and he turned you around, drinking you in—an unforgettable image of you in a mere chemise. Nothing was left to his imaginations, his dreams. An easy, uncontrollable fuck escaped his mouth, and it was at that point he then worked on himself. His undershirt was already in disarray, but when you sensed the slight shake in his fingers, unbuttoning with slight ineptitude as he focused on you still, your hands undid the rest of the buttons for him. 

The moment his shirt was off, discarded on the floor, it was your turn—perhaps you would have spent an eternity simply staring at the lean figure that greeted you, but your fingers were powered more by curiosity than your eyes. You reached out, feeling his abdomen tighten at your touch, then relaxing instantly as you wandered across his skin. He let you explore, pulling you closer with his own hands, the distance bothering him. He did not want distance—not tonight. 

Nor did you—you found his lips again, snuffing out any space, and so Joshua resorted to ridding himself of any more boundaries. Your chemise was an easy barrier to overcome, sliding it from your shoulders with ease, and it was a flurry of unadorning any piece of clothing left on you, him leading you to the four-poster bed at the end of his chamber. 

As the back of your knees hit the edge, he swept you in his arms, a soft breath whooshing out of you as he set you gently upon his sheets. He swept his gaze over you, bare under him, and he realised why greed was a carnal sin. “God,” he got out, fingers absentmindedly working on his trousers, peeling away his only barrier from his legs, discarding it amongst the rest of your underthings. 

When your eyes fell on Joshua’s cock, your mouth parted at its sight. 

Sheer bewilderment threatened to engulf you whole. The curiosity that had been prevalent thus far was flaring up, at its highest peak since he had ignited it. Never before had you seen something like it, and you had a sneaking instinct to reach out and touch the head, already slightly darkened by the tension which refused to be released. 

He could tell instantly. “You can touch it, angel,” he offered, though when you caught the slight tinge of blush upon his cheeks, your surprised giggling had him frowning. “I said touch, not laugh.” 

“Forgive me,” you said, shuffling closer to him, “I did not expect you to be shy, that is all.” 

He did not either—but the way you admired his cock before him was a sight too overwhelming, even for a man of his experience. He was going to say as much, but then your hand reached out, a finger stroking the head, and he hissed in a breath, brows furrowing instantly. 

You furrowed your brows at it. “Does it hurt?” you asked, genuinely curious—concerned. 

It had him chuckling, grabbing hold of his cock in one hand. “Quite the opposite,” he said, spreading your legs apart with a knee, placing himself between you as you wrapped your arms around him. “And it’ll only get better.” 

Levelling his tip against your folds, you shifted your hips a little, blinking up at him. “Will it hurt for me?” you asked. 

He looked down, his midnight curls falling over you, nearly caressing your forehead. “A little,” he confessed softly, “but I promise to be gentle.” When there was still a little hesitation, he brushed his nose against yours. “You trust me, right?” 

You nodded—in that you were certain. He reflected it mildly, almost as if acknowledging the approval within himself. His gaze fell downwards, and he exhaled unevenly.

The moment he slid inside, you felt the world shift underneath you. 

The bed became a raft of feathers and silk sheets, lost in a sea of your desire, straying with every inch the man descended within you. Your walls clenched at the new addition, at first unadjusted—Joshua was gradual, agonisingly slow, heightened in his focus to ease any discomfort. The further he slid the harder your breathing shuddered, a slight foolish fear that you would crumble under him. Your face was a distortion of clenched brows, clamped lips, which one point parted with a whine, and all he could do was watch the whirlwind of emotions. 

Only once he bottomed out he exhaled sharply, observing you as his hand on your hip was fully secured. “You’re doing good for me, angel,” he whispered, and that was enough for the hairs at the back of your neck to stand on edge. He circled smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, waiting until you nodded—the last confirmation he needed. 

With that, he began to pull out. 

He wanted to watch his cock slowly slide out of you, but he heard your whimper and instantly set his eyes upon you. He could have cursed himself for nearly missing the sight of you, and he nearly made a mess of his languid movements out of sheer excitement. 

You thought that his fingers would be enough. Foolishly, like a novice, you figured his tongue would gratify the carnal vessel inside you, but now he was inside you, and the fullness of his cock was so pleasurable you were scared nothing would ever surpass this feeling. He slithered out to the point of his tip barely inside your folds once more, and you were almost disappointed that it was finished, and that no more can be done. You were wishing for the feeling to ignite your insides once more, anything for your dearest friend to push himself within you again.

And he could see it—all of your wishes, your desires, etched onto your beautiful features like a mosaic of your confessions. He would listen—he would please. 

He descended again, and with delightful surprise you found he had increased the pace ever so slightly, the languid nature of his movements melting the longer he gazed at you with fire in his eyes. The motion had you gasping, holding onto him tighter than his grip upon you. This time, as he pulled out, you ached to follow after his movements, chase after him, keep his length inside you.

The two of you established a steady rhythm, bodies syncing along to the heated movements between you and him. It was like a romantic hymn, the manner in which your bodies moulded together, in such physical perfection you wondered why you had not begged him to get you into bed with him sooner. It would have pained you, that so much time had been wasted in demure whispers and faux pretenses of courtship, when you could have spent such precious hours carding through his raven locks as you did now, matting with the sweat of his increasing labour. 

“Joshua, I—!” you wished to tell him that you felt out of this world, paralysed in ecstasy over his actions, but he swooped down to teeth lovebites upon your neck, your collarbone, anywhere his hazed-vision would allow him. He trailed down till he found your breasts, and the feeling of his tongue licking away at your nipple was so extraordinary your moans were your only response. He was not close enough to you, even with his cock inside you, and he needed to be closer—skin to skin until the very oxygen that left him in shuddered exhales had no escape. 

“Tell me,” he began, sweet as honey, as desperate as a sinner. “Tell me how you feel.” 

But how could you tell him, when his every kiss, peppering along your chin now, dangerously close to your own lips, robbed you of any sense of response? “I feel…I—oh!” you gasped, when Joshua hit a certain spot inside you which stripped you of your speech. You blinked hurriedly at the sensation, and the moan that ripped from your mouth had him smirking like a madman. “Joshua!” 

“Go on,” he rasped, slipping out, only to thrust back in, never quite pausing. “I’m waiting.” 

Bastard. The worst of his kind, when he knew you could not say a thing. Still, you tried—attempted to convey yourself. “Good, so—ah, so good, Joshua—”

“Look at you,” he sighed out, another powerful thrust inside which had your groaning unutterable. “To look this…this exquisite when taking me—” 

His words, his actions, all wrapped in one—it was becoming too much. You felt it, that sensation, the dark curling within your core that undid and remade you in seconds. “J-Joshua, wait, I think I’m close,” you panted, gripping onto his arms, anything to not stray from him, this bed which you feared you would lose yourself in.

Perhaps you would have said more, but then he brought his fingers to your clit, beginning to circle erratically at the bud, and the noise that came out of you was so shameful your first instinct was to gape at him in horror. His delight, however, had any embarrassment immediately disappearing. 

He, too, felt closer to bliss than ever before. Ironic in a sense, that what they committed was celestially sinful, yet there was nothing more religious to him than you undoing yourself under him, with him inside you. The sounds of your pleasure, each sigh and whimper that greeted his ears like the music of the gods approving his efforts. He never considered himself a particularly faithful believer—but in this Diamond’s chamber, seeing you driven to such ecstasy had him believing that religion is not given, but sought after. 

So that is what he did—sought after what he believed in within you. 

“You’re too good to me angel,” he breathed into your ear, fingers on your clit circling faster and faster. “Taking my…fuck, my cock so well—!” 

His focus would have faded in any other time, losing himself in you, your moans and broken prayers for him—God, he wanted to be selfish, just as he had warned you in this very room. How could he, though, when you—begging for him, and not for an exterior force—were so unbelievably ethereal he wondered why sinners ever repented. 

Even though your pleas were enough to make him eternally satisfied, his selfishness, this carnal sin that he still could not constrain, overtook him, nipping at your ear before watching you squirm. “Properly, darling—fuck, need you to tell me properly.” 

You could have cursed him—should have, when he was making you attempt the impossible. Because he made you feel as if you could conquer the earth, you humoured him. Begged him, even, to give you your final wish. 

“Joshua, please!” you got out, digging your nails into his skin, hard enough you thought it might bruise. “Please, just do—whatever it is you do!” 

He thought he was used to your pleases by now. Hearing them spill from your lips like sweet wine was another form of ecstasy he had not realised he had consumed, and found himself addicted to. 

Joshua Hong was made of many things, but he was—first and foremost—a man made to please you. 

It was a fated continuation—destiny, if he wished to be so bold. He hoped, as he pounded into you, fastened his fingers upon your clit to the point of no return, you began to believe in some divine intervention too. 

And you did. As you felt the final threads of your patience snap, you believed it in something greater for the two of you. You refused to contain yourself, whimpering out as your release crashed over you, uncontrollable and blinding, body shaking around him. It was the last straw for him, just about yanking his cock out of you before he, too, lost all semblance of control. His orgasm stained the lavish sheets of his bed, groaning at the result—at what you had made of him. Completely spent, he collapsed beside you, his heavy, laboured breathing accompanying yours. 

You, however, found yourself shuddering your breaths much harder than him. There was no turning back now. What you and Joshua did…this was the final boundary, crossed with heated confessions. Were you both foolish? You would have been unsure in the past.

His words refused to leave you in peace. Damn you, you have set my very soul on fire! And then another confession flashed. My desire for you, my longing for you…it has awakened something in me, a feeling which is stronger than our friendship—

You have always been dear to me, _____. Now, I stand before you, asking you to be dearer still.

“Did you mean it?”

The question was out of your mouth before you realised. You brought a hand to your mouth as Joshua turned his head, locks curling in the humidity. “Mean what?” 

You could not meet his gaze. “You know…everything you said about your longing…stronger than our friendship…and then asking me to be dearer.” 

Because you shied from his stare, you did not catch the growing smile that blossomed on his face. “You ask for a confirmation after what we have just done?” 

Your face burned at his words, refusing to answer him. Even more amused, he shifted closer to you, propping his head upon his palm, elbow digging deeper within the pillows. “Look at me, _____.” 

You did not have to be told twice—you observed him in his sweated, naked glory, half-covered by the sheets. “The things that I said to you before all of this…not a single word was a lie. Of course, I value our friendship very much, even with what has happened between us. Nothing can ever change what we share…have shared for years.”

It was beyond your control, the smile that began to form upon your lips. “I admit that I was scared. I did not know how you would react, especially since last week.”

“I must apologise for my reactions, then,” he said, a little sheepish. “I did not wish to ruin something so important to me…and after today, I do not ever want to tamper with what we have.”

You thought imprisoning you with his stare was enough, but then his words caged you to him forever. “You see, I do not think I can live without you. That is why I ask whether you wish to be dearer to me…more so than ever before.”

As you looked at him—your once dear, now dearest friend, who had shown you wonders in and out of this relationship—you brought a hand to his face, sketching a little dream on his cheek. 

“I think you have my answer, Joshua,” you whispered, soft and barely there. 

But the man, hanging onto your every word, heard you perfectly. Breaking into a grin, you allowed yourself a small reward, all for yourself to enjoy as you swooped in, adding to his mirth with a kiss. 

And as he delved deeper, indulging you, he showed you exactly how he felt about your answer, unspoken but felt throughout your body, in that very room. 

ONCE AGAIN—AND ONE HAD TO ADMIT, WAS BECOMING A LITTLE TEDIOUS—SOONYOUNG’S BALL HOUSED HALF OF THE CITY INSIDE HIS HALLS.

If one thought his soirées were crowded, then the ball was another matter entirely—the cacophony of music, laughter and heated complaints from each and every individual strolling around was prevalent, all engulfing your ears. It should be prohibited to know so many people—how can one ever keep up?

Lord Joshua Hong, however, had no interest in the general public his friend had invited. Rather, he only required the attention of a few men who had managed to attend at the same time. 

“For the last time, what is this news that has you gathering us all like sheep?” The eldest of them demanded once again, falling on deaf ears. 

Once Joshua dropped his announcement to the intended audience before him, every single man had a different reaction. 

Soonyoung had already expected it, all smiles and clapping his hands together in glee, while Chan, standing right beside him, shared in his enthusiasm. Wonwoo, settled on the opposite end, raised his brows in surprise, whilst the man in the middle—the one Joshua made the announcement for in the first place—tilted his head as he inspected the news. 

“_____?” Seungcheol inquired, exposing certain interest. “But I thought you two were merely friends.” 

“We were…we still are,” he agreed, locking his hands behind his back. “But I have seen her in a new light.” 

“What changed, then?” Chan asked, curious. “I still remember you defending your friendship with her when all of us doubted your intentions.” 

“Perhaps we were right to doubt them in the first place,” Wonwoo murmured, which had Joshua narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Do not mind the pity party amongst us,” Soonyoung assured, waving off the playwright’s words, “what matters is if you truly care for her.” 

At that, a certain glow flushed over the man’s face, and the members watched the slight, positive shift. “Always. I do not think that ever stopped…ever will stop.” 

Chan and Soonyoung exchanged knowing glances, thoroughly amused by the sentiment. Seungcheol, on the other hand, crossed his arms, still a little unsatisfied. “You have not answered Chan’s question. What was the turning point? I cannot imagine a friendship of years changing before the season has even started.” 

“Is he not allowed his privacy?” Wonwoo interjected as he took off his spectacles, cleaning the glass with his sleeve. “God knows you have interrogated enough of us to never court again.”

“You never have any lady to court anyway,” the youngest of them murmured, which only had the accused sighing, setting his glasses back upon the bridge of his nose. “At least Joshua has someone.” 

“I do…” He looked down at his boots, his swept-up brown hair curling around his forehead. “And to answer your question, I cannot fully say because that is between me and her.” 

“Oh, you are no fun!” Soonyoung bellowed, as if he was not aware of the entire façade. “Can you not tell your dearest friends?” 

But Joshua only smiled knowingly, a twinkle in his eye at the mention of such a term. “That is where you are wrong,” he said, bringing his one hand to his chest, where his heart beat with striking pace—more so as he mentioned you. “Because I already have a dearest friend, and I intend to marry her.” 

Finally, the reaction was unanimous—shock spread through the members, and the announcer had to fight back a chuckle at the widened eyes and open mouths. “Marriage?” Soonyoung repeated, almost floating in the clouds. “I never thought I’d hear the word from you!” 

“Diabolical coming from Soonyoung,” Chan drawled, earning a shove from the eccentric. “This is wonderful news, though, Joshua! I offer you my most sincere congratulations.” 

“So you are to settle down, then,” Seungcheol declared. He walked over to him, eyes raking over his face—attempting to catch him out, see if there is any sense of ridicule, contempt even. When he saw the purest form of hope residing in his friend’s eyes, he let himself smile. “Well, you could not have chosen better for yourself.”

“Wow, Cheol’s approval, of all the congratulations to receive?” Chan then followed suit, hand on his hair in surprise. “Is it my turn to find a wife, too?” 

“The child is not marrying before the rest of us,” Soonyoung taunted, “or else I am sabotaging his wedding.” 

“You truly are a darling friend, are you not, bastard?” 

“Call me a bastard again, and I am revoking any chance for you to act in my productions!” 

The apparent child rolled his eyes. “I see less producing, more philandering in that theatre!” 

As the two began to bicker amongst themselves, Seungcheol patting Joshua once more for his suitable choice of bride, the latter turned his eyes towards the sole member, who stayed silent. Excusing himself to the eldest, he strolled over to the man, who pretended to clean his spectacles once more. “Wonwoo,” he called to him, instantly putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Joshua,” he responded, looking only at his glasses. 

The said-man did not tear his gaze from his friend. “You do not seem so thrilled.” 

That immediately had the playwright glancing up, face crumpling in slight guilt. “No, no, I am! Forgive me, I…I am thrilled…truly.” 

The accuser furrowed his brows, not quite rid of his suspicions. He would have made a comment on it, but then Soonyoung made an excited noise, catching the sight of his most important guest. Wonwoo looked beyond his inquirer. “Ah, look,” he said, jerking his head towards the new arrival. “She has arrived…just in time.” 

Sure enough, there you were, a vision for his eyes as you greeted guests, your own focus wavering as you scanned the crowd for your intended. “Go to her,” Joshua heard his friend say, and as he looked at him, the spectacled man patted his arm. “I hope you are happy together.”

As the playwright turned on his heel, Joshua turned to you, gravitating his steps towards where you stood. He could sense your slight discomfort at the amount of people attending the ball. Perhaps if the last few weeks had not happened, you would have opted to escape. 

Except thankfully, they had occurred, changing your life forever. The life-changer was there before you, an almost-skip in his stroll as he approached you, delving away from his usual group. “Joshua!” you called to him, instantly walking up to him.

Usually, if circumstances were more private, you would have jumped upon him, savoured the warmth of his broad arms underneath many layers. Unfortunately, since the entire city was packed inside of the halls, one touch out of the borders of propriety would have scandalised you both without a chance of redemption. The man said so himself, chuckling as he instead took hold of your hand. “Careful,” he began, raising it to chin-level, “or the rest of the ton would revolt against us.” 

As he kissed the back of your hand, the sensation lingered to your delight. You thought he would let go, but his fingers remained intertwined. “The next waltz is to begin soon,” he said, already leading you in the middle.

“Oh? You were not so eager to be on the dance floor before,” you teased, smiling as your eyes first glanced at your intertwined hands, and then climbing up to his face. “I wonder what the sudden change is.” 

“I may have believed in your innocence before, angel,” he drawled, snaking an arm around your waist, “but you are not fooling me this time.” 

“Worth a try,” you chuckled out, propping your free hand upon his shoulder. The musicians, situated at the ends of the ballroom, hoped to begin their lively tune, and instantly couples began to form, aligning themselves with their partners to commence. 

With the beginning of the music, you and Joshua began to move. He led you with an ease quite different from his previous dances. You felt it yourself—whenever you had watched him, danced with him, he was always controlled, careful. Now, there was a semblance of it that faded—as if the comfort had washed over his need for excellence. As if you were enough for him. 

The feeling itself had not faded for you both—that you and him were quite perfect for each other, and how you and he had managed to miss it for years. Not that you had yearned for anything with him romantically in all the time you had known him, but to have him now, after so long…you wondered how you had functioned so normally. 

A comforting voice lulled you out of your mind. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said. 

“I was thinking about us,” you confided, your every step with your partner in perfect harmony with his. “And how we came together this season, and not any year prior.” 

“Ah, yes,” he reminisced, slowly spinning you along to the music. “You pried into my journal, and thus entrapped me with your charms!” 

You squeezed his hand, smirking at his claims. “You are no boy, Joshua. You could have easily renounced my wishes.” 

“That is where you are wrong,” he said, drumming his fingers upon your back. “I could never refuse you.” 

You would have said something, but his actions had spoken for him. The sole action you had left was to fight back a smile, trying to avert your gaze from him but to no avail. “You cannot escape me anymore, angel,” he declared, a feline curve of his lips rising, and you fought the butterflies that erupted even now, after all this time. 

As the music progressed, heightening to a point, the two of you enjoyed the ambience, each other’s company being your only distraction amongst the sea of gossip. Lady Whistledown had announced your courtship to the ton, and consequently everyone and their curious mamas wished to inquire about its origins, and whether it would succeed. 

Lord Joshua Hong would make it that he was successful. As he had said to you—you could not be so easily rid of him, when you had changed the inner workings of his system. What he was, what he called himself…these aspects ceased to exist now that you had delved into him. To have a friend was one thing, but to possess a relationship with his greatest, dearest friend he had ever known was a privilege he had never thought capable of earning. 

He would be damned if he were to let go of such a rarity—if he would not progress it into something more.

“I must ask for the penny back,” you said, bringing him out of his mind. “You looked as if you were thinking up a masterpiece.” 

His growing smirk had your familiar butterflies threatening to fly out of your skin. “I was thinking of something…something I hope you would rather like.” 

“Judging by that awful expression, I am more fearful than excited,” you drawled, which only had him shaking his head at you. “Go on then, enlighten me with this supposed idea.” 

“You know how you always expressed your wish to see the Diamond’s?” He saw you part your mouth, and instantly tutted, refusing to be interrupted. “Yes, yes, you have seen it now, but I mean…in terms of seeing a side of me that I had not shown previously.” 

“Do you mean to tell me you are still hiding yourself from me?” you demanded, twisting your lips in a frown. “After everything we have done together.” 

“I forgot how impatient you are,” he mumbled, squeezing your hand. “No, my dear, I hide nothing. If anything, I wish to show you more of myself…if you let me.”

You kept staring, an inquisitive brow rising. “In what manner?” 

“Well, I said it to you before, but I really enjoyed travelling beyond London’s borders…journeying through Paris, witnessing remnants of the Italian renaissance, sailing around the Greek islands…you see, I truly was a different man when I was off this island.” As he twirled you around, always in tune to the rhythm, he caught your waist in perfect harmony. “I was hoping to show you that part of me, too.” 

“And how will you achieve that?” you asked, filled with doubt. 

He looked at you. “Why, you will come with me, of course!” he declared, as if it was the most sensible answer. 

You rolled your eyes at him. “I am not even allowed to step outside of Mayfair, let alone this country.” You then sighed through your nose, looking down at your heeled-shoes, ensuring a steady rhythm. “Despite our friendship, even our courtship, there is no way we could ever travel together.” 

You heard his voice—the soft utterances which made an effort to sooth you. “In that you are right. We can never journey far away together…as long as we are friends.” 

And as the violins tuned into another grand act, rising to the shrill climax of the dance, Joshua Hong allowed himself to risk pulling you closer to him—enough to garner your attention. 

“But we can…as husband and wife.” 

Your feet stopped dancing. A novice mistake, when the couples all around you never stopped, still continuing, but with a partner like yours, you avoided any accidents, his strong hands never allowing you to fall. Even so, your expression slipped—threatening to crash. “Wh-what did you say?”

The music was surrounding you, filling the entire ballroom, but only one presence threatened to engulf you.“I once said to you that my feelings were stronger than our friendship. I meant it. I could not survive without you before, but to even think of living my life, spending my future without you residing in it…it is impossible.” 

The smile on his face had you almost forgetting to dance altogether. “Say you will marry me, angel. I have you as my friend, but I hope…dream to be your husband.”  

It was then you felt your bodies slow, the melody, so sharp and harmonious, settling over the hall. Applause erupted from everyone, attempting to snap you out of your bubble, but the man’s words—his proposal, of all things—had caged you in its anticipation for an answer. 

To marry Joshua Hong—Viscount Hastings, member of the esteemed Diamond’s club of Mayfair—was many women’s dream. To attain his title, become Viscountess alongside him, bear his heirs, relish in his good fortune; it was the symbol of success for any woman in hopes to lead a luxurious life. 

For you, this was a change. A complete turnaround, a monumental shift in the relationship you had built with him for over two decades. Marrying him meant that he was another person to you entirely. Men always promise consistency, but matrimony had a habit of insisting change when one resisted it. 

As the applause died down, the couples beginning to disperse, you stayed frozen still, your hand rooted upon his own, and his shoulder. It was at this moment Joshua’s anticipation began to take a toll from the shock painted upon your face. “_____?”

“Come…come with me,” was your mere answer, not waiting to hear his response as you left his hold, hurrying towards the exit. Because you knew him well, you foresaw his immediate reaction, following after you out of the hall. 

Yes, marriage has always been a boon for most women. Lady Whistledown had complained about it to the point of souring any reader’s disposition about the subject—if the men were not enough already. 

You sauntered through the all-too familiar halls, flashbacks of that particular evening haunting you as you took the stairs, your friend’s boots thumping behind you upon each step. You heard him call your name, but you did not respond, simply taunting him with a quicker stride. 

Indeed, marriage would bring about an irreversible change between you and Joshua. But you had already shifted the dynamics of your friendship, the moment you witnessed what could not be seen, kissed what could not be even touched. You had already crossed every boundary without shame, and although there was a struggle, you had come so far—with him at every step of the way. 

Only when you finally slipped through the study door the pursuer caught hold of you, catching hold of the door as he let himself in. “If you wish to refuse me, at least spare me the suffering of anticipation.” 

He then saw you slowly grinning, and his confusion grew twice over. “_____?”

You leaned closer, enough to close the door behind him. “Do you trust me?” 

His first reaction was to gape at you. Then, his eyes finally darted at the surroundings, the familiarity of the room, the circumstances. He found himself scoffing, his eyes dancing. “Without question.” 

And that was enough for you to accept him. You collided your lips against his, wrapping your arms around him, and his relieved moan slipped through as he pulled you closer, smiling against your mouth. He found you divine upon him, more so with your acceptance, relishing the adoration that poured from you, the delight that he savoured shamelessly.

He would have delved further, swirled his tongue along with yours had you not broken away, inhaling sharply as you looked up at him. “See how quickly this could have happened the last time?”

His breathless scoff fanned your face. “Oh, you are cruel.” His fingers wandered at your sides. “You brought me here to do this, didn’t you?” 

“Smart man.” Your hands played with the collar of his shirt. “Perhaps you will be a good husband after all.”

“Merely good?” he rested his forehead against yours. “I will be as perfect a husband as I was a friend.” 

You mocked a seething sigh. “Is it too late to retract my acceptance, I wonder?” 

“Do not even jest!” he groaned, “I was half-scared you were going to reject me on the dance floor!” 

You offered a mischievous smile. “I wanted to show you how happy I was with your proposal. Now, if I had kissed you with everyone to see, how would that have fared?” 

He wanted to, but could not argue against your logic. “How about you keep showing me how happy you are, then?” 

Giggling, you brought your fingers upwards, cupping his face. “You dreamed of being my husband?” 

He held onto your wrist, leaning into your hold. “I told you, did I not? Even if we are married, you will still be my dearest friend. I cannot…cannot live without you.”

There was nothing but adoration, staining the features of your expression. You gave into your wants, your very needs as you kissed him again, this time laced with such longing that Joshua let out a satisfied noise, tilting his head to incite your pleasure. 

And as you both mirrored the familiar position of that very night, when everything changed for the better, you thanked the fates that you came upon his journal, let your curiosity guide you. You thanked your quest for knowledge, your need to know everything about the man before you.

Most importantly, you thanked the fates for Joshua—the rake of the ton, esteemed member of the infamous gentlemen’s club for looking past his reputation, the rules of society. For satiating your curiosity, for igniting a desire you never thought capable of yourself.

Because that was what Joshua Hong was. He may have been many things, but to you, he would always be your oldest, dearest friend—and now, your companion till the very end. 

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @smiileflower @ourkivee @alyssa19123456 @xylatox @lexyraeworld @fancypeacepersona @tjjth @zezedoesshit @ochidize @sankriin @okiedokrie-main @reiofsuns2001 @gyuguys @livixxn @livelaughloveseventeen @peepeepoopooharrie @shinaely @uhdrienne @maple249 @tomodachiii @miniskirtmods

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ michelin star

pairing: bangchan x f!reader

genre: one-shot, idol au, smut

word count: 7,2K

warnings: oral (f. receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ face sitting! ⋆ almost getting caught ⋆ not established!relationship ⋆ thigh!kink (chan is huuungry in this fic)

summary: he’s been ignoring you, only leaving you to wonder what exactly you have done to make him so quiet and one night you just have enough of it as much as he had enough of trying to keep himself away from you

author’s note: so happy for everyone that saw skz in milan and london! (not jealous at all)

main masterlist

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You have noticed it first at the practice room last week. How jumpy he was. Overly sweaty from only warming up before the practice, stretching his arms over his head with a long sigh. You watched him from one of the couches in the room — how he kept wiping the palms of hands over his sweatpants, scrunching the material between his fingers. How he kept running a hand through his messy curls, before putting his baseball hat back on, only to mess up his hair again. His tongue licked at his bottom lip, little chapped, tasting his own sweat that kept running down his forehead, but he didn’t looked thirsty — at least for water.

And you definitely weren’t the only one to notice his unusual behavior. Minho kept a careful eye on him, not saying anything, but as he would catch your eye, you could see the small concern in them. As time passed by that day, you stopped scrolling through your phone as every time you would look down, you heard the guys sighing what sounded like in defeat. You put your phone down, just catching as Chan stumbled over his own foot and it seemed like by the reaction of the other guys, this was the thing they were so annoyed about. They don’t usually get like this, getting annoyed about someone’s mistakes and as you look up it wasn’t even that.

Everyone looked at Chan in confusion, asking him if everything was okay. Him, like the good leader he was, brushed them off, saying he was just maybe getting rusty and then saying he again didn’t sleep that well. Everyone seemed to believe him, but something wasn’t just adding up. For just a small glimpse of his eyes on your figure told you that somewhat it wasn’t truly it. But you didn’t know that all of this was because of you.

The second time that this weird behavior of his appeared was in the middle of recording. You came in, carrying drinks for everyone and as weirdly as it sounded, you could just feel him staring into the back of your head when you gave Seungmin his drink. You huffed under your breath from the way his glare made you feel so small, smoothing down your skirt, before walking up to him and Changbin who sat next to him.

You smiled at the other who at least not like his friend mirrored your expression as you put his drink down. From the spot you were standing you leaned over the back of Changbin’s chair, arm stretched out with his drink, but it was like your hand had frozen over it at that moment. Chan with his thumb between his lips, bit at his nail as he burned holes into your exposed legs. You caught a glimpse of how his eyes became darker in the few seconds. He looked up, brown eyes falling on your waist where your soft tummy was slightly spilling over your skirt, from the corner of his eye catching the way your hand slightly began to shook, before finally glancing at you through his lashes. You have never seen him look like that, he almost looked like he was angry with you, but before you could even question your own thoughts, he took his drink from your slightly shaking hand, giving you a small ‘thanks’, his attention again everywhere, but you.

Soon the thought of him being angry with you became the only relevant thing to you. He didn’t talk to you for whatever reason. You two got along well, always so open with each other, but suddenly you felt like you were strangers again. He didn’t acknowledge your presence whatsoever and that hurt you. For the past few days your mind was occupied with him only, also wondering what possibly you could’ve done so wrong to make him act this way.

You thought back at the night you spend over at the dorms. Maybe you did something that day? However you can’t think of anything. Maybe it was the thing of you trying to get the guys to stay that day at home, as it was so hot outside, plans of going out to the park completely forgotten by then. They agreed with you, happily, laying on the cold ground in light clothes, fan on maximum, all of you completely basking in the cold air. No, that wasn’t it. He also agreed with your idea. He was laying down under the couch while you took every inch of it for yourself. The guys hated the idea of their skin sticking into the material, so they let you have it, like the gentlemen they are.

No…you really have no idea, why he is like this and that made you even more mad.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The constant guilt and sadness rising in your chest. Every time he looked away from you made you sick. Maybe, it is because you have been hanging around a lot more lately as it was the beginning of summer. Maybe, he is just bothered by your nonstop presence…The past few days the others kept their eyes on both of you, shocking you by keeping their mouths shut. Suddenly they didn’t have anything to say. You and Chan are great friends and seeing you two ignoring each other like that — well, it was only one sided anyway, made them realize that they probably shouldn’t mess with whatever this thing between you two is.

You also did exactly that. You waited for him to say something, do anything, but he didn’t. You stayed quiet, but it was slowly killing you. He was starting to drive you crazy from his constant short glances, not being able, for whatever reason, to fully look at you. So, you decided to finally make him.

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Your hand formed into a fist, for a second raised in the air, before finally knocking on the door. You bite at your lip, chewing it, tasting your strawberry chapstick on your tongue. The breath you took was already stuck in your throat, choking you as the door flings immediately open. You somewhere in your mind hoped he would greet you, but you are more thankful for the vibrant smile sent your way from the freckled boy, standing in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N.” Felix greets you, tugging you quickly into a small hug, making you stumble from his strong pull.

You sigh shortly into his shoulder. “Hi, Lixie.” You pull away from him, exchanging a small knowing look with each other, before he lead you inside the dorm.

You told the freckled blonde everything. From the way you felt absolutely clueless of what to do, to the way this whole situation made you feel. You realized through your words that needed so badly to be spoken, how much time you were actually spending with him before this whole situation. It was such a normal thing to be at each other’s sides that you have never noticed that maybe it was too much for him. Chan is kind. He never said anything hurtful ever to you, but maybe he should. Felix listened to your every word, weighting them, looking carefully over your expressive face. That also, even when you were laying your heart out, was kind of a little suspicious. He did listened always, yes, but something is telling you that he just knew something you don’t…

You didn’t question him as he for the matter decided for you to come the next day to their dorm where everyone would be present. No way for him to avoid you at that matter as you all will spend your time watching something in the living room. However as you walk through the hallway to glance into said room, everyone turn their heads…everyone expect him — because he wasn’t even there.

Everyone’s greetings died hallway as they notice your expression. “Where’s Chan?” You wondered out loud, fidgeting slightly under their gazes as they all briefly share a look.

“He’s in his bedroom.”

You sigh, so quietly that it wasn’t even heard over the television. A hand falls on to your shoulder next, making you look up at the blonde who frowns at your own expression. “I’ll go get him.”

“No.” You say, rather firmly as the sadness and disappointment slowly melts into anger, pulling away from Felix who just blinks at your answer. “I’ll go.” He simply nods, seeing that there is no way for either of them to tell you otherwise, silently watching you make your way to Chan’s bedroom. You held your head high, looking confident in your steps, determined to finally hold your ground, but as soon as you turn the corner your back meets the hallway wall with a big shaky sigh.

You play with the fabric of your skirt, pulling and tugging so roughly that you hear the fabric tearing from your movements. Your eyes glare holes into the closed door to his bedroom at the end of the hallway, the only source of light being the soft hue of his blue led lights coming from the bottom of the door. You know that you shouldn’t bother him when he is in his room, probably working on another song or something, but the rule was no working when there is a movie night. Also, most importantly, you are really starting to feel the adrenaline rushing in. How he can just ignore you like that? Don’t you at least deserve an explanation?

Soon enough, you are standing right before the door. Hand almost shaking as you knock on it few times. You don’t even know why you are suddenly so nervous. You hope that the reason why he become so distant isn’t something too complicated. A grunt comes out from behind the closed door and you don’t even say anything that it is you, maybe because you just know he would again just avoid you.

You came into the room, closing the door behind you and silently playing for a moment with the lock as your eyes fall on to Chan. He sat at his table, headphones on, back turned to you, but after a moment of just not hearing anything, he finally looks at you. Immediately his eyes seem to flicker with that emotion again as he glanced you over.

“Hey…” He trails off, quietly, almost like he mumbled it to himself mostly.

“Hey.” You say back, swallowing the lump in your throat, watching as he again turns away from you. Even from your position at the door, holding the handle, like you would just walk out at any moment, you could feel how tense his shoulders were. You thought that you were stubborn, hardheaded, but you for sure were proved otherwise by the man before you. It anger you even more, the silent treatment he put you in is slowly drowning you. “Are you coming? The guys already started the movie without us.” You continued, hands falling to your sides to fumble with the hem of your skirt again.

You watch him nod at your statement, almost like shrugging you off, the frown on your face deepening at that. “Yeah, sure just give me a moment I’ll be there.” Chan, says, nonchalantly, his attention on the screen of his open laptop.

The pout on your lips slowly turns into sneer as you just stood there for a moment looking at him. Can’t he just say something already? Like at least acknowledge your presence, not making you feel like air. “What did I do?” You say, arms crossing over your chest.

He humms then, just that. The fact that he still kept ignoring you, makes you stump over to him with heavy sigh, pulling one side of his headphones from his ear, your rough movements, making him yelp. His hand flies to the top of his ear that is slowly turning red, frowning at the small sting. He looks up at you with big eyes, lips parted. At least now he is finally looking at you.

“What did I do?” You question him again, arms still hugging your chest, like forming some sort of shield around yourself.

His eyes widened for a split second. He knows what you are talking about. “…..what?” Comes out from his lips, eyes almost burning holes on your face, unblinking.

You at his stare and weird behavior become for a second embarrassed by your sudden outburst, seeing him so collected and calm. But you were sure you weren’t imagining things, something seriously was wrong. With him or with you? You still don’t know. You have the right to be upset as he even now, keeps avoiding you in some way, it is like he was looking through you, eyes completely unfocused, but hard.

You sigh through your nose, your hard face softening as you again feel the guilt creeping up to you. “It seems like I did something.”

“No, you didn’t do anything.” He almost said robotically, fast, like he was scared he would suddenly say something completely different, but that is exactly what you want. He is still holding back.

Your face falls at his words. “Do you think I didn’t notice you ignoring me?” He at that, looks away from you, eyes flickering down to stare at your exposed legs. He stayed silent at your words, watching his knuckles turn white from how much he is gripping the armrests. “Chan, just tell me what I did, because I honestly have no idea…”

Sighing, you can’t fight the frown forming on your face. You watch him close his eyes, mirroring your sigh, but that is the only thing he did. You have never realize that your presence bothered him so much. Are you really that annoying? Maybe if you didn’t always require his company almost everywhere you go, this whole situation wouldn’t even happened. His awful silence gave away so much, the pull at his eyebrows and rigid breathing. You already said enough, you think and he in return didn’t, so you just got the feeling that he doesn’t want you here anymore.

You fight back tears of anger mostly, twirling around to maybe lock yourself in the bathroom for a while to calm down, but you weren’t even able to take a step further as you suddenly hear his mumble.

“You’re so stupid…”

Your head immediately whips around, startling him by the anger radiating from you. “Excuse me?” You almost spit out, emotions on the edge. You can’t believe that he just said that to you, ready to throw some insults back, but his frantic movements stop you.

His eyes snap wide open, twirling in his chair to face you, throwing his arms in the air. “No! Not you, it’s me…” He at that places his hands over his face, his next words being muffled. “Oh, fuck, I’m not mad at you or anything. Can we just forget it?”

You want to laugh in disbelief at his words. You for these past few days felt horrible and now he just expects you to forget it? You are seeing red, but you still try to keep your voice down, aware of the other people still present. “No?” You say incredulously, chest rising wildly. “You’ve been so weird, I want to know why…” I deserve it, you wanted to say. His face falls, fingers pressing into his eyelids as a broken noise falls from his mouth. He looked troubled and you are becoming even more concern about what this is truly about. You are scared, thinking the most horrible things imaginable.

“I can’t–“ Chan says firstly to himself, before pulling his hands away from his face to look at you. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” You almost whisper, eyes trailing over his reddish eyes and you hope those aren’t tears reflecting in them.

“You will hate me.”

That was his simple answer. Even now you do not hate him. How could you possibly? There isn’t truly a situation in mind that could make you hate him. It was such strong emotion and feeling it towards him, would make you hate yourself mostly. You were angry with him. The way he keeps ignoring, makes you feel so unwanted, but seeing him like this makes all the anger melt away as there was only concern left behind. You shake your head at his words, again finding it difficult to be truly be angry with him as he looked as broken as you felt inside. “Trust me, nothing could propably make me angrier…” You say, wholeheartedly, trying to ease this invisible tension between you two.

Chan look at you with a look that told you; we will see. He again glanced away from you, playing with the rings on his fingers, before sighing in defeat. “….you remember the time you spend the night when there was that killing heat?”

“Yeah?” You said, shrugging and coming closer to him. You do remembered it and you are becoming really curious about what he will say next as you also thought about that day as the solution to this problem.

As you took a step closer to him, towering over him as he still sat in his chair, his head snaps away from you again. The rough moment made him twirl away from you slightly, watching him bite his lip. “Fuck…I can’t even look at you–“

Now you do laugh in disbelief, hands flying in the air before they slap against your thighs. “Why not?” He doesn’t answer again and from your own outburst you don’t even see the way he scrunches up the material of his shorts. “God dammit, Christopher–“

He briefly stills at the sound of his name, before a gasp rings in the air. It came from him as he felt your hand at the back of the headrest, your pretty nails briefly scratching his skull. A shiver runs down his spine, eyes wide when you turn him around to face you. He immediately panics at that, his hands that were digging into the armrests flying to push you away, but they only hover as his eyes again fall on to your legs. “Please just stay there…” He watches your face crunch up in hurt, but he simply couldn’t catch his breath by the way your body is so close to his. “Stay there!”

Your own eyes widened, stilling in your spot a few inches away from him. The thing that makes you snap out from your thoughts is the way his chest kept rising up and down, you are getting a little scared that he in any moment would just smother. Your head tilts down, the hands on either side of his head, falling back to your sides. As they touched the skin of your legs, he almost jumps as your hand grazes over his, still stretched out one. “Chan?” You call out him, watching his frozen body slowly melt at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

He keeps his eyes dead set on your legs, arms still in air, you almost want to laugh at his silly position. “So you remember that night, right?” He asked, voice serious.

You wonder again what exactly happened that made him like this. “Yeah…” The way you knew that this day is somehow relevant, but still not knowing fully what you did, makes you take in a shaky breath.

“God…I can’t get it out of my head–“ You watch his hands form into fists, cheeks on fire slightly from the way he basically growls. “Your – you were wearing those goddamn shorts, if you can even call them that and I fucking tried to look away…but it only became worst when you started to only wear these skirts..and, and — fuck, I’m so sorry, I c-can’t – this is so wrong.”

Your mouth is left open, the more he talked the more he looked at you and for the first time you wish he didn’t, because he was looking at you in such way that it made you subconsciously rub your thighs together. He however did noticed, his last words coming out choked at the way the meat of your thighs rubbed together. Chan is ready to just stand up and leave, not being able to control himself anymore.

You immediately stop him, hands flying to his shoulders, pressing him back down. “Hey!” You raise your voice at him, but both of you can hear the way you also choke over such a simple word. “I don’t understand…” You kind of did, but you need to hear more, because you can’t take any more subtle words, though those words that left him so far, made you almost fall on to your knees.

His eyes glossed over and not from what you think. Chan doesn’t know what exactly happened that day. He thought, knew, you were attractive, but he never had such vile thoughts running through his mind about you. Maybe it was the way, you looked that day on the couch. Skin glistening, the sweat making your perfume smell so intoxicating. Your hair was sticking to your skin, frown on your features, chewing your bottom lip. It also didn’t help him keep his sanity — the way your legs looked from his view. He didn’t know why he chose that position. He didn’t know at that moment if he should feel blessed or just be completely begging for mercy to get the image of your yummy thighs from his head. The way you layed there, completely exhausted, not even seeing the way your shorts rolled right up to your hips — this is it.

Your legs, your fucking thighs were the thing that made him go so distant. He for a while kept it this to himself, because how could he talk about such thing with anyone? He felt dirty every time he thought back at the way your thighs looked. He wanted to just fucking bite them every time you would walk pass him, because like if you knew, you started to wear dresses and skirts…After few days when everyone seem to notice his change of behavior, he told Felix. To his shock, he only laughed, saying that it was so silly of him to be like that just because of your thighs. But they weren’t any thighs…they were yours and also Felix told him that day how he wasn’t the only one thinking about you like that. He couldn’t fight the jealousy rising in his chest as he listened to the words his band members kept saying about you, but who could he judge. He probably was the worst out of all of them.

“I started to ignore you, not because of something you did, but it was because of me…I always feel like such a pervert looking at you, but I can’t help it…they look so fucking good — I don’t want to ruin anything between us…”

You do feel weight being drop off from your shoulders as well as also the rumbling in your lower tummy. He looked so on the edge right now that you kind of found something amusing about it. He thought that maybe you would be absolutely mad, freaked out about his weird behavior, but it made the most pleasant feeling warm up your insides. “So, you were just ignoring, because you are horny?” Your voice held a teasing tone, swaying on your feet, feeling giddy inside.

His eyes widened at that. “No! Well…don’t say it like that…” Chan trails off, feeling his ears get red, face flaming hot. His eyes travel back to you as you suddenly take a step closer to him, knees almost touching.

He looked like a deer caught in headlights from the way your droopy eyes gaze down at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. He just knows you are not even doing it on purpose. “What exactly made you so hot all over?” You wonder out loud.

The question makes him swallow nervously, realizing that the tension in the room is slowly forming into something completely different from the way you firstly step inside his room. He immediately flicker his eyes down, already giving you the answer. “…your thighs…I like your thighs…”

You tstked, basking in the way he started to become so shy and bashful. “That’s it? Tell me what else Chris.”

He again almost jumps out of his seat, but it only makes him touch his knees with your lower thighs, shocking him all over. “That’s it, I swear! I really only thought about your thighs and…” Chan curse himself for continuing after that as he saw you raise an eyebrow in question. Do you even know the effect you have on him? He probably looks pretty pathetic right now, but he really doesn’t seem to care as you tilt your head down at him, fanning your pretty eyelashes. “And how they would look spilling over my fingers…”

You suck in breath, fingers brushing over his as you stumble over thin air. His gaze turns dark at the way you almost cower. You can feel your own cheeks heating up, suddenly becoming shy under his gaze. It is the same look as the one he gave you back in the studio, now you know what it means. You could feel how his gaze changed the whole vibe of the room and you are now the one becoming bashful. “That’s it?“ You mumble, bottom lip pouting from the way you don’t even have the confidence to fully speak.

“No…there’s so much more.” He licks his lips, catching how your eyes follow the movement of his tongue. “But it would be better if I show you instead?”

“Chan…” You say his name, breathless.

He sighs heavily, eyes going everywhere, all over you. “Just say yes or no, because i think I’ll go fucking crazy otherwise.”

You shiver at his voice, the deepness vibrating your whole body. “Yes!” You almost shout and before you could even finish answering, he pulls you by your waist to his body.

His pretty fingers dig into the dip of your waist, letting you see that you could still pull away, but you only pull yourself closer to him. You let yourself fall into his lap, bottom half resting on his legs. Before you could even do anything else, he held you there, a little away from his chest so he could still look into your eyes. How did you never notice the hunger he held for you? It was completely written in his eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon. “Can I kiss you?” He says, chest bumping subtly with yours from his heavy breathing. You again want to laugh at such question, pulling the back of his head to yours closer instead. Your lips touch with gentleness for a few seconds, his lips so pillowy you can’t wait for him to kiss every inch of your body. As you pull away from each other, you give each other a long look, before one of his hands on your waist comes to weave in your hair, tugging at the root.

You gasp at the sudden roughness, letting him push his lips to your pulse, it jumping under his touch. You already probably look like a total wreck and it didn’t help the fact that just by a small tilt of your hips you could feel his hard-on. He sighs with you, kissing, licking at your neck, sending shivers all over your body. When he feels your sudden shift of your hips, something comes over him. The way his friends talked about you, made his grip tighten around your hair, pulling out a whimper from you.

He doesn’t ignore that noise, making the feeling even better with his kisses on the left side of your neck. You moan when you feel him sucking at your skin, melting into his touch even more. He start to nip at you, soaking you up in his spit from how wild he is making out with your neck. You can’t even breathe from the way he presses himself into you, making your own hand tighten around his head, him letting out a brutal groan that came from the back of his throat.

It makes him stop for a moment and you took the opportunity to pull him to your mouth. His lips felt puffy, so delicious, making you delirious from his taste alone. His tongue clashed over yours, letting your mouth open for him to just fuck you with it, as he is completely messy with it. You don’t even care about your mixed spit falling onto your shirt, but you do react when he pulls away from you urgently.

“Sit on my face.”

“What–“ You can’t even answer as he slaps his hands on your thighs, massaging roughly the fat between his fingers. “Chan I don’t know…I have never done it – I don’t want to hurt you.” You say, also breathless, freezing when the tip of his fingers almost touched your clothed core.

“I don’t care, fucking choke me with these thighs to dead, I really don’t fucking care–“

“Okay!” You answer, head snapping back to the door to his bedroom, suddenly remembering that you are in fact not the only people in the dorm right now. Your small concern melts away when you’re suddenly hoist up.

You yelp, gasp rather loudly, your hand flying to grasp his shoulders as he grip the underside of your thighs. You are shocked about how easily he just lift you up, not missing the cheeky grin on his face. You melt momentarily at the sight of his strong arms bulging, veins so prominent, you could probably spend the whole night just biting at them. He also can’t help himself getting even more hard and impatient at the thought of finally having you.

He turns around swiftly, not even giving you a warning as he throws you on his bed. You again let out a startled sound, body completely emerging into the soft mattress, bed springs screeching wildly when he falls on top of you. Your small complaint is silenced by his lips on your own, biting immediately at your bottom lip. You are already having a hard time controlling your own desires, hips jumping up and when they just softly touch his, you moan into him.

He breathes you in, heavy breaths mixing with yours, lowering himself to fully graze his cock over your cunt. The sounds you are making are really getting into his head, pushing into you just right, precum ruining his shorts. “Fuck–“ You whimper, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, nails scratching at his lower stomach. His mind was basically all over the place, but when you wrap your godforsaken legs around him, sqeeezing his hips, he sits up. You jump a little from how quick the movement is, ready to question him if you did something wrong, but you are only left confused when he falls backwards into his pillow. How can someone look this good from that angle…

“Come here-“ You are already climbing up his body by then, sitting down on his lap like before, but from this position you could feel even more. You can’t help, but press yourself harder on his clothed cock. You drool at the feeling, eyes closing to fully savour the feeling.

He sucks in breath from your smooth movements, letting you hump your pretty little clit over him as he again gets lost in your body. Chan hopes you know how good you are looking right now. Face scrunch up, hair messy from his fingers, hands pulling at his shirt like it is the only hold of sanity you have left. He bit his bottom lip, hands again traveling up your legs, peeking from your soft pink skirt and as he lifts it up a little by accident…he comes across your same colored silk panties. He will fucking cum in his pants if he doesn’t have you on his face right now.

You are pulled from your blissful state as Chan pulls you closer to him, lifting you up slightly with his strength. Your eyes open, looking into his, again glistening under your hungry gaze. “Please, sit on my face.”

You gasp softly again, but you can’t stop the desire spreading across your face. “Are you sure?” Your hand caressed his features, thumb going over the bridge of his nose, making his eyes close for a second. He for an answer pulls you again closer, making you sit up. “Wait – let me just-“ You make a move to get up from him, but he immediately grabs you tightly in his grasp.

You wanted to maybe pull down your skirt for him to get a better access to your leaking cunt, but he possibly couldn’t miss the opportunity of having you like this. Still in that pretty skirt and matching panties, like you almost knew this was going to happened. The thought of you just wearing the same thing after, juices and his spit coating your thighs, silently hoping that the guys would be able to smell him on you, made his cock jump in his shorts. “Keep it on, all…” He says, voice deep, almost not being able to hear him from the way he is already so drunk on you.

You shiver then, shuffling finally up his body, stopping at his chest, chin just grazing the inside of your thigh. “Just stop me if you can’t breathe.” He could smell your scent from here, no way he will miss the opportunity of being choked to death by your weight on his nose. He actually also never done it before, he only got the idea when you came into the picture and he can’t thought of anyone else doing it to him.

Your fingers touch briefly his as you lift up your skirt to your waist, waiting for him to shuffle down. You gasp at the sight of his face so close to your pussy, as he only groans in response from the way he could see the wet patch on your underwear growing. His hands play with the meat of your thighs, the softness, making him turn his head to suck at the skin. You moan quietly, still aware that you two are not alone, but you just can’t help yourself from moaning again as he sucks on the inside of your thigh. You could already see the purple blotches forming, not even mad when he does the same with the other. It tickled slightly, a giggle falling from your lips, hand immediately going to your mouth to silent your laugh.

However he only melts at that sound, a grin becoming prominent on his lips and you could feel it against your skin. You are just so cute and adorable, but he had to shock you by lowering you finally to his lips. No sound though leaves you, only mouth hanging open when his tongue licks a long stripe up your clothed pussy. You curse, legs trembling slightly from the way he just started to make out with your center.

You could feel his saliva smearing all over you or maybe it was your juices? Chan is already going dizzy from your tanginess, cursing himself for not talking to you sooner. He for second pulls away from you, licking at his lips, not missing anything you are giving him. A sigh leaves him when his eyes trail over the visible outline of your pussy.

“Please-“ You whimper, hips rolling slightly in the air and he almost came right there from that. The idea of you riding his face is the only thing he can think of right now, so he just pushes your ruined panties to the side, showing his mouth into your soaking cunt.

You yelp again, hand shooting to grip at his hair but it only makes you fall forward, basically squishing your whole bottom half into him. You immediately try to sit up, but he only pulls you further down. His tongue is everywhere. You are absolutely wrecked, teeth biting at your tongue to silence yourself, because how good is he?

You have never been eaten out like this before. The angle made his nose graze your clit just right and you don’t even have the strength to pull yourself up, concern about him breathing flying out the window. However Chan really doesn’t seem to care, happy you are the only thing he is breathing in. The way you just try to move away from the intense feeling, made his own hips jump. The grip he has on your legs, will propably make bruises later, but it actually made the feeling even better.

You think you are almost crying from the pleasure, drooling when his tongue breaches you and he shivers at your raw taste — delicious like a Michelin star meal. Your back arches at that, pushing yourself even harder against him. The shift makes him moan into you, pulling himself away from you for a moment, but you could still feel him working you up. “Ride my face-“ You gasp and whimper when his hand gives your right cheek a nasty slap, making you jump, clit hitting the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, baby…just like that – good girl.”

He isn’t holding you up anymore, just laying there as you shift nervously. The cuteness like you are, you are still slightly shy with your movements. It is honestly endearing, but right now he just wants you to suffocate him. He basically shoves you down on his face, one hand playing with your asscheek and the other gripping at your leg.

You feel sweat dripping down your forehead, whimpering. Chan helps you with your movements, before you finally start riding his face on your own, just like he wanted. He only groans into you, the sound vibrating around your clit, his lips wrapping around it. When he suck at it, pulling your inner labia into his mouth, you almost cum right there. Your hand comes down to caress his soft curls, completely opposite from your wild movements. You look down, eyes glossy, but not missing the hungry look he gives you in return.

You could already feel your lower belly rumbling in the very familiar feeling, completely lost in the moment. His pretty nose, which you always complimented, rubs against you in the most delicious way. Your mind is fuzzy, mouth hanging open when you start to feel the ecstasy, but then a loud unexpected noice startles you, making you jump.

“Are you guys okay in there?”

Your eyes fly wide open, falling on to equally frightened Chan. Your breathing is heavy, quietly trying to catch your breath with him, before he slightly lifts you up to answer Han. “All good!” He answers, voice raspy.

You look at him in confusion when he suddenly grabs you by your waist, giving you a small peak at his drenched face. You don’t even have time to apologize for the mess you did, head still fuzzy from your ruined orgasm, when he flings you up in the air and making you fall onto your back.

Your surprise gasp is unheard by his overly loud voice, like he just knew you would do that. “We’ll be right there-“ You don’t miss the cheeky grin on his lips, watching him kiss your pubic bone, before wrapping your legs around his head. “Just have to finish something…” He mumbles and at that he flattens his tongue, pressing it right at your puffy clit. Your hand quickly flies to your lips, crying out into your skin when he wildly moves his head side to side, almost missing Han’s answer.

“Okay! Just don’t eat each other.“

Oh, for sure…

You don’t even care that he could probably still hear your loud cry of pleasure as Chan basically devours you. Your legs start to tremble, back arching, a hand holding your bottom half down. You are losing your mind about how good he is, fingers tugging at his hair as he only suck harder. “I’m gonna cum – fuuuuck” He at your words, pulls his mouth lower, again shoving his tongue into your cunt.

“Cum babygirl, I want it.” Chan growls, head tilting up so your clit hits his nose again. Even if the position is starting to hurt, he will never complain about that pain ever, because the image of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, was definitely worth it.

Your whole body trembles, legs pressing his head even closer to you as the rope snaps. You don’t even hear yourself anymore, letting your lips open wide, moaning wildly in pleasure. You could feel yourself leaking all over his face. The high doesn’t even stop, because he doesn’t stop. You feel tear run down your face, sitting up, gasping as his only quickened is movements.

You almost want to scream at the burning feeling, hole fluttering around his tongue. “Please stop — I’m gonna cum again!” He only looks up at you, so innocently you can’t stop your hips tilting up to his face. As the second peak starts to approach your hand, falls to his, squeezing it, nails scratching his skin as the immense pleasure hits you again, now even more intense as you didn’t even have time to clam your body from the first. You see completely white, ears ringing as you fall back down in exhaustion, just letting him lick your cream all up, whole body shaking. Your heart beats wildly inside your chest, body slumping tiredly into the sheets. You don’t even feel him pulling away from your red, puffy pussy, neither him falling next to you.

When you feel a hand touching your cheek softly, moving away the wet strands of hair from your face, your eye peaks open slightly. You sighs in bliss, a drunk smile stretching across your lips at the look he gives you. “You, okay?” What kind of question is even that? You feel like you had out of body experience, still feeling the lingering burning sensation.

“Yeah.” You say, voice little, maybe from your screaming. You really don’t even care anymore about the guys hearing you as Chan gives you the most loving, soft kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, looking up at him, eyes tracing over the wetness coating his face. You are sure that every time you will look at him from now on, you will see him under you eating your cunt like there’s no tomorrow. Definitely one of the best memories you have of him.

You grin again, pulling yourself up, only slumping right back with a huff. Chan laughs at you, cooing, pulling you against him instead. You could feel how his own heart is jumping as your head hits his chest and you can’t help smiling further. “You know, you’re not the only one kind of obsessed.” You say, at his silence looking up at him.

He humms in question, brows furrowed, ignoring the sudden loud noises, like cheering, coming from the living room as you are the only thing he will ever put his attention into from now on.

“You have really nice ass.”

[p1astr81]

friend is just a word

In which: you’re drunk off your ass and accidentally mistake formula one driver for a friend.

Pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

warnings: excessive alcohol consumption, not proofread😵‍💫

an: TYSM FOR 600 FOLLOWERS🥳🥳🥳

The music was blasting, light flares obstructing your vision while you tried to stumble back to your friends on weakening legs. The drink in your hand kissed the rim off the glass every now and then, but you hadn’t spilt any of it.

Your shoulder bumped into another, and you went to apologize, but your thoughts were thrown off by his familiar face.

If his face was familiar, he had to be a friend. Right?

A hand of yours gripped onto his shoulder for stability. He eyed the hand with a raised brow, but neglected to verbally question it.

It felt like your brain was trying to communicate with you, but it couldn’t penetrate the fog caused by the alcohol. “I didn’t know you were here!” His brown hair flopped when he flinched away from you, your voice far too loud for his ears to bare. “How have you been?! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Uh, good. I guess?” You didn’t catch his nervous glances.

“That’s amazing! You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I got that call back about the job with sky sports.”

He raised his brows in interest. “Oh really? What for?” His head cocked to the side.

“A second interview! I didn’t even know they did second interviews. I thought it was just one and done!” You laughed, an irregular high-pitched sound.

By now, Oscar was quite sure you weren’t aware of who he really was. Just that you thought you knew him. “Probably so they know you won’t bother the drivers.”

You feigned offense. “What! I would never do such a thing!”

Ironic, Oscar thought, you’re kind of doing it right now. But he didn’t really care. He actually found it kind of amusing.

He chuckled. “No, I’m sure you’d never bother them.”

You folded over in laughter. He didn’t even know he said anything funny. “Oh, you are too funny, Oscar!” You pretended to wipe a tear.

Strangely, that action might’ve brought you to your senses.

“Piastri.” Was the only word you spoke. It sat on the fringes of inaudible.

The panic that washed over your features was too humorous. He couldn’t not grin.

And then you went white. “I’m so sorry. I thought- oh, god.” You hid your face behind your hand. “I did not mean to bother you. I thought you were one of my friends.”

Oscar only chuckled. “I figured. No worries. It was pretty funny to watch.”

Maybe, just maybe, a part of him was glad it was him and not some other random guy in the bar.

“I’m gonna- yeah I’m gonna go back to my actually friends now.” You rambled. “Sorry!” A squeak.

The conversation didn’t end when you left, because then he had to return to his own party. Lando made fun of him for it.

“Awe! Osco finally found a girlfriend!” He teased, earning a head shake from Oscar.

“She was just drunk.” He waved off.

But lando wouldn’t let up. The whole night, he made off handed comments. He pointed her out anytime he saw her. And at one point,

“I’m gonna go talk to her. Be a wingman.” He flashed Oscar a toothy, mischievous grin and winked at him. Before Oscar could object, he was off.

You were laughing your ass off at something one of your friends said when a slightly slurred, British voice interjected. “Hey girls!” He greeted the group, a bright smile, before turning his gaze to you. “Hi.” He repeated, trying not to laugh at your overly shocked expression. “You see that guy in the blue shirt? Yeah, he wants your number but is too much of a pussy to ask for it himself, so here I am.” He explained with copious amounts of amusement.

Your brain took a minute to catch up with him. “Uh, uhm- yeah. Sure. I guess. Uh.” You scrambled to find something to write on and write with. “I have no paper.”

“Right.” Lando handed you his phone, open to the notes app. He couldn’t stop grinning as your fingers fumbled to type in your number, and when he said his goodbyes, and when he returned to Oscar.

“Got it. You can thank me by making me your best man.” He shrugged, too cocky for how easy the situation was.

“Yeah, whatever.” Oscar dismissed, but he took the number and saved it in his phone anyway.

He made a mental note to call you tomorrow, after your inevitable hangovers faded away.

[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[gf2bellamy]

bet — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you and spencer have a bet on who is going to be the first to expose your relationship content warnings: mention of a victim a/n: when i tell you this took me ages omg i was struggling

You and Spencer had a bet. 

A ridiculous, entirely unnecessary bet—but a bet nonetheless.

The stakes? Bragging rights, and the satisfaction of being able to tease the other endlessly.

The challenge? Who would be the first to slip up and accidentally reveal your secret relationship to the rest of the BAU team. 

Both of you knew that secrecy wasn’t exactly your strong suit. Between Spencer’s tendency to ramble when nervous and your habit of wearing your emotions like a neon sign, it was only a matter of time before someone pieced it all together.

And that was what made the bet so much fun—because neither of you wanted to be the one to crack first. 

Some mishaps had already happened, moments that came far too close to giving you both away. 

Like the time Derek had caught Spencer staring at you during a team briefing. “Hey, Pretty Boy, you got something to add, or are you just lost in thought over there?” Derek had teased, a smirk tugging at his lips. Spencer, predictably, had flushed a deep shade of red and stumbled over a vague response. 

And, of course, who could forget the case in Chicago when Hotch had walked into the room just as Spencer had brushed a strand of hair out of your face? The gesture had been so natural, so tender, that even Hotch had paused for a fraction of a second before continuing his sentence. You could’ve sworn he’d given you a knowing glance, though he hadn’t said a word. 

Right now, you were sitting at your desk, trying (and failing) to focus on finishing your report on the case from two days ago.

“Spence, what was the address of the place where we found the second victim?” you asked, tapping your pen on the paper as you glanced up at your boyfriend sitting across from you at his desk.

“1375 Oakridge Drive,” he replied almost automatically, barely looking up from his own report.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, jotting it down and trying not to get distracted by the little curl of hair falling onto his forehead.

The bullpen was unusually quiet, save for the faint clacking of keyboards and the low hum of the coffee machine.

That peace didn’t last long, though, as Derek and Garcia burst into the room, engaged in what sounded like a very enthusiastic debate. 

“Reid, listen to this!” Derek called out, cutting across the bullpen as Penelope trailed behind him, waving her arms dramatically. Both you and Spencer instinctively looked up from your work.

“Okay,” Derek began, leaning one arm casually on the divider of Spencer’s desk. “Do you think watching a rom-com with someone is romantic?” 

“Specifically with a friend,” Penelope interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because apparently, Mr. ‘Romance Expert’ here thinks it is!” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Come on, Penelope. It can be romantic. I mean, think about it—it’s all cozy, emotional, and half the time someone ends up crying or sharing popcorn. You’re telling me that doesn’t create a vibe?” 

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. He sat up straighter, adjusting his tie slightly as he considered his answer. 

“Well,” he began, his voice contemplative, “the concept of watching a romantic comedy doesn’t inherently equate to a romantic interaction. However, if the participants have underlying romantic feelings, the environment—such as sharing an intimate space or engaging in emotional dialogue—could certainly facilitate a sense of connection. For example, I—” 

He froze mid-sentence, his brain catching up with his mouth as he realized where he was going. 

Oh no. 

Your eyes widened in panic as you watched Spencer flounder. His lips parted as though he might try to backtrack, but the damage was already done. 

“For example…?” Derek prompted, his brows shooting up, clearly intrigued. 

Spencer quickly cleared his throat, fumbling for a save. “Uh, hypothetically. I mean, generally speaking. Like, if two people…were, um, interested in each other—not me, of course—then maybe…” His voice trailed off as he glanced at you. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, knowing full well that he was treading dangerously close to losing the bet. 

Derek narrowed his eyes, studying Spencer for a moment. “Hmm,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllable. “You’re acting a little weird there. Something you wanna share with the class?” 

“Nope!” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so forcefully it made his curls bounce. “Absolutely nothing.” 

Penelope raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Spencer with suspicion. “Uh-huh. If you say so.” 

You decided to intervene before they could dig any deeper. “Alright, Garcia, what’s your stance on the rom-com thing?” you asked, redirecting the conversation. 

The distraction worked, and Penelope launched into an impassioned argument, effectively pulling Derek’s attention away from Spencer.

You shot Spencer a look across the desks, mouthing close call. He gave you an apologetic shrug, his cheeks still faintly pink. 

Two days later, you made the mistake. The one that was ten times worse than the rom-com slip-up Spencer had made. 

You were in the file room, buried in paperwork that Hotch had assigned to you earlier that morning. The hours had been long and draining, and you’d barely made a dent in the pile.

Derek was there too, flipping through some files, his eyes narrowing in concentration, while Garcia sat at the table, her usual flair of colorful banter filling the otherwise quiet room.

She wasn’t doing much work, but she was keeping the rest of you entertained with her gossip. 

“This is tiring,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you stretched and yawned, your eyes heavy from exhaustion.

You handed Derek a file, trying to keep your energy up, though it was clear you weren’t succeeding. 

Spencer, who had been quietly scanning through a set of documents, glanced up at you, and then took a step closer. “You should go take a break and grab a coffee,” he suggested, his voice warm and concerned. “I’ll take these off your hands.” 

You spun around to face him, smiling at the sight of him standing there, his sleeves rolled up and his hair slightly tousled.

His expression was a mixture of concern and adoration, and you couldn’t help the little flutter in your chest. 

You smiled at him, genuinely grateful for the offer. You’d been working for hours, and the fatigue was beginning to take its toll. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft with appreciation. Without thinking, you leaned in slightly and planted a quick kiss on Spencer's cheek, your hand instinctively resting on his face—something you'd done countless times without giving it much thought.

The moment your lips brushed his skin, time seemed to slow. You pulled back almost immediately, but not fast enough. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up into Spencer’s eyes, wide and shocked.

His brown eyes were locked on yours, the same stunned expression mirroring your own. 

It was like a slow-motion realization hit you both at the exact same time—you just kissed him. 

Before either of you could process what had happened, a loud gasp echoed from behind you. 

“Oh my god!” Garcia squealed, her voice thick with excitement. 

You felt your face burn as you snapped your eyes shut, feeling a flush creep up your neck. You could practically hear Derek’s mischievous chuckle follow suit. 

Spencer's back stiffened, and you knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Well, well, well,” Derek's voice rang out, full of teasing amusement, “Look what we got here” His tone was almost dramatic as he clapped Spencer on the back. 

“Way to go, my man! Getting the girl!” Derek cheered loudly. 

You dropped your hand from Spencer’s face to his chest, your shoulders slumping as you sighed loudly.

It was out in the open now—so much for the bet. 

Penelope’s voice cut through the air like a burst of confetti. “I knew it! I’ve been saying it for months, but nobody would listen to me!”

She was practically bouncing on her feet as she grinned at the both of you, clearly pleased with herself. 

Spencer gave you a nervous but warm smile. You could tell he was about to say something, but before he could, you were swarmed by both Derek and Garcia. 

“I knew you two were adorable,” Garcia squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. “Oh my god, you two are going to be so cute together.” 

Derek, on the other hand, ruffled Spencer’s hair. “I’m proud of you, man.” 

You could feel your pulse racing as you glanced at Spencer, who was doing his best to keep his usual composure, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

He gave you a look that could only be described as amused exasperation, as if asking, Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about hiding it anymore, do we? 

A quiet laugh escaped your lips. Spencer’s smile softened as his hand reached for yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, leaning in a bit closer to him. “I didn’t mean for this to—” 

He cut you off with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I think it’s about time they found out.” 

Later that night, you and Spencer were lying in bed. Your head rested on his chest, and your fingers absentmindedly drew soft circles over his chest as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

His hand was gently resting around your waist, his thumb lightly brushing over the skin of your arm. 

"Today was fun," you murmured into his chest, the sound muffled but sincere. 

“A lot of fun,” he chuckled, the vibration of his laugh resonating through his chest. 

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, remembering the teasing from Derek and Garcia, and the way everything had just spilled out into the open.

“I for sure thought you’d be the one to lose the bet,” you teased, your voice light and playful. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a soft smile. "I didn’t," he said, his voice playful but confident. 

“Why is that?” you asked, lifting your head just enough to prop yourself up on your elbow. Spencer met your gaze, his smile never wavering.

He was looking down at you with that soft affection that always made your heart skip a beat, but there was something teasing behind his eyes now. 

"You're more obvious than me," he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with his fingers, the touch tender. 

You immediately furrowed your brow, sitting up a little straighter. “No I’m not,” you said, a playful frown tugging at your lips. 

But the moment his fingers gently brushed your hair again, any trace of the playful frown disappeared. A warm smile spread across your face, unable to resist the effect his touch had on you. 

Spencer tilted his head, his eyes glinting with that teasing spark you knew so well. “Oh really?” he said, his voice laced with amusement, his gaze never leaving yours. 

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “Okay, maybe,” you admitted with a mock sigh, before leaning back down onto his chest. 

Spencer’s laughter rumbled softly in his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

You snuggled closer to him, your face against his chest once more, feeling the beat of his heart beneath you.

"Goodnight, Spence," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Goodnight," he replied, his hand gently squeezing your waist as he kissed your forehead one last time. 

[ja3yun]

Tie me in Ribbons | S.JY

sub!jake x dom!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (m. rec), unprotected sex, cream pie, sub!jake, edging, petnames (good boy, princess, baby), use of ribbons, choking, nipple play, praising, actually very cute, almost no plot at all, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 12.2k synopsis: when jaeyun stumbles across one of your old diaries, he gets an inside look into your fantasies and decides it's time you explore them. a/n: hi! i have never written sub!enha before so please understand that it might not be great but bear with me <33 this was pure self indulgence and it won't be everyone's cuppa so feel free to skip! if you remeber love me tender, its kinda like the opposite of that! as always, comments, reblogs, and feedback is all welcome!

Jaeyun’s hands skim over the bedsheets for what feels like the umpteenth time, smoothing out creases that are barely there, his thoughts racing faster than his fingers. There’s a flutter in his chest that tilts between anxiety and excitement, and honestly, he’s uncertain which is winning.

Yesterday, while tidying up the shared apartment you moved into three years ago, Jaeyun stumbled upon something he never expected to find: the forbidden codes of your mind. Your old diary.  It toppled from the top shelf of your wardrobe as he sifted through the pile of clothes that seemed to grow with every season. The impact stung as it bounced off his head, but the pain was forgotten the moment his eyes landed on the words scrawled prettily across the cover - Y/N of 2021.

Now, Jaeyun is always someone who respects your boundaries. Never has he snooped through your phone or done anything that would express distrust in you, because quite frankly, he trusts you with his entire chest. 

Ever since the day he met you at university almost four years ago, he knew both of you were destined to be together until the end of time, his heart leapt straight into your chest and declared you his new home. It was love at first conversation for him. Your voice, your thoughts, your laughter - they wrapped around his soul like a warm embrace, claiming him entirely.

That diary, though - its pages whispered a possibility he couldn’t resist. It might hold the answer to the one question he’s carried since the day of dawn: Did you feel it too? That instant connection.

At first, he hesitated. But curiosity, paired with a need so tender it almost ached, won out. He flicked through its pages cautiously, skipping over pages that didn’t seem relevant to him. But even then, 70% of it turned out to be about him anyway. His breath caught in his throat with every mention of his name, every observation of his quirks, every confession of how your feelings bloom with each kiss. The remaining 30%? Literally just about the time before you met him.

You had noticed him, thought about him, written about him. You’d recorded every little moment, from your first awkward exchange to the way your heart betrayed you, beating faster in his presence. Reading those words was like holding your heart in his hands, fragile and real. It answered his question with a resounding yes. You did feel the same as him, from the very beginning.

But, as he was ready to close the diary, his heart full and his curiosity satisfied, something stopped him. A page adorned with pink hearts and misshaped bows, caught his eye…What’s one more page after sixty-four others?

August 23rd 2021.

Dear Diary,

Sim Jaeyun is sooooooo...I can’t put it into words. Every time I look at him, I want to wrap him up in pretty ribbons because he truly is a gift from the universe. Today, he met me outside of class and bought my usual lunch from Tesco - he even has a clubcard! (swoon!) And then he just spent time with me. It’s the bare minimum but I’m really enjoying having someone who loves being around me and taking the time to ask me silly questions which lead to deeper conversations. He’s perfect - and I don’t throw that word around lightly because literally nothing is perfect except maybe a cherry iced americano - which was also in his hand when he came to pick me up <33

He’s the best boyfriend ever. I’ve said it before to you, twenty times I guess by now, but I love him. I love being in love with him. I want to cherish him for the rest of my life, put pretty bows in his hair and call him my perfect boy. I want to kiss all over his chest and heart so he feels how much I adore him.

Between you and me, Diary, I had a sex dream about him last night. I came home from class and he was there, lying on my bed with ribbons all over his body. Ugh! He looked so good all I could do was pounce on him and fuck him until the cows came home. He was so needy and I was commanding and hot, and he loved it all. Of course, my alarm for today ruined it, but I don’t think it’s left my brain - or will - for the foreseeable. 

I wonder if he would let me do all of that? 

He’s not dominant but he definitely likes to take charge. I don’t mind that, fuck, I love it and I literally beg him to bend me over any chance we get. But wouldn’t it be fun to have him wriggling under me…to have his cock twitch because I’m teasing him. He might be into it, but we’ve also only been dating for 5 months so…maybe I’ll bring it up in a few years. Not like we won’t be together forever, right? There’s more time to look forward to.

You never know what the future holds, but I really hope it involves Jaeyun. Ribbons or not.

Anyway! I have to go to sleep; exam tomorrow :(( Speak tomorrow!

~ Y/N <33

The words he read had initially shocked him, then left him baffled, and finally sparked an idea so clever he’s spent the past few hours bringing it to life. He’s going to turn your fantasies into reality - ribbons, wriggling, and all.

He’s going to let you take control.

Is it risky, considering you wrote it four years ago? Maybe. But it could also end up being the most spectacular surprise he’s ever pulled off. Perhaps even better than the time he brought his family dog to meet you in the park after she’d been away in Australia for months - a day you still insist was the best of your life.

Your sex life is good, better than good, it’s smut on tumblr level good. You have ways to spice it up while also enjoying the familiarity of it all. The way Jaeyun pounds into you like he’s trying to break the bed in record time - and breaking the bed isn’t new for him, ask the sales rep at the bed centre who has made more commission from Jaeyun alone that he can afford to take his kids to Italy every year.

And yes, you wrote that he loves taking charge, which he can’t deny. The sheer bliss he feels when you moan his name, the delighted giggles you let out when he calls you his good girl, and those soft, shared whispers of I love you - all of it makes his heart soar. But why not shake things up at least once?

If he’d known you wanted to flip the script and take the reins, he would’ve jumped at the chance years ago. Not because he expects to enjoy being on the receiving end - though he might, the way his cock twitched at your written confession was a clear indicator - but because he’d do absolutely anything for you. If you asked him to pluck a star from the sky, he’d sign up for the NASA programme tomorrow, suit up, and bring back the brightest one he could find.

Jaeyun does one final sweep down the bed before huffing, glancing once more at the crisp pastel pink sheets that you insisted on buying. They will get wrecked as soon as you step over the flat’s threshold, so he doesn’t know why he’s so determined to make the bed look like it came straight out of a showroom.

But he knows why. The final piece of his plan involves the delicate, baby-pink ribbon he’d rushed out to buy this morning. After poring over an assortment of options - who knew ribbons came in so many varieties? - he’d settled on silk. It reminded him of that night after the university charity ball, when he tied you up with his sleek black tie, the one you’d been so complimentary about, both as a neckpiece and as a restraint. A smirk plays on his lips at the memory of that night, the way your breath hitched when his hands bound your wrists, how your eyes sparkled with mischief and trust.

He reaches into the bag, grabbing the ribbon as the softness of the material settles over his fingertips. Definitely a good choice. It’s pretty, and he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re going to lose your mind once you see him draped in it. Jaeyun can’t help but smile at the thought, a certain pride swelling in his chest, accompanied by a smirk that showcases a tint of confidence.

And if you don’t want to fuck him like you did in your diary, he’ll use the ribbons on you instead. He has always wanted to tie your hands to your legs and tease your clit until you’re a sobbing mess, bedsheets covered in your essence as he makes you cum again and again, pleads falling from your lips as he takes what he wants without giving you what you need…

Next time.

It’s this feeling of certainty that gets him stripping down until he’s naked, flicking each piece of clothing into the hamper that finds home in the corner of your room. He won’t be needing them after all of this anyway; you’re both not leaving the bed any time soon, that’s for sure.

The full-length mirror captures his reflection in the best light; the sunshine fluttering through the window kisses over his pretty, tanned skin. Jaeyun isn’t full of himself - humble to his core even when he doesn’t need to be -  but right now he feels a little cocky. His stomach is toned from just enough gym sessions to make having a membership worth it, and his chest is still painted with faint claw marks from your last night of bed-bonking, your touch still engraved. 

His gaze slides down, following his body's curves, and finally lands between his legs. His cock already hangs heavy and slightly hard, as if he knows what’s coming - or maybe it’s the unknown that has him bricking up. 

He has always been proud of it, not just its size - though he will pat himself on the back - but the things it has done to you.  The mess you make over it, how your juices honour it with each thrust and bounce. He's seen how your body reacts, how your eyes roll back as you take him, how your thighs tremble, and how your voice shakes as you moan his name. Sometimes, your pussy tries to push him out - too much, too soon you always say, but then he gets swallowed inside of you, lost as your walls welcome his impressive size. That makes him feel powerful.

But today is all about you feeling powerful.

So, he grabs his cock and squeezes it firmly. “It’s not about you today, okay?” Jaeyun begins, stroking slowly in warning rather than pleasure, speaking directly to his shaft. “It’s about our girl and what she wants.”

Jaeyun tilts his head as he feels his cock jump slightly at the mention of some planned fun, not getting the full memo.  “Don’t get any ideas, mate,” he continues, tone amused but firm. “Don’t be fucking greedy and take over. And for the love of god don’t embarrass me by blowing the moment she calls you a good boy or whatever the fuck she’s going to say.”

Although he’s speaking directly to his cock, he is also saying it to himself. Talking to one head means talking to the other, or however the saying goes.

“She might tease,” he says, his grip loosening as he speaks more gently now, coaxing himself into the right mindset for the evening. “Fuck she might even be a little mean. But she doesn’t mean it, yeah? Let her have this. Let her do what she wants.”

Satisfied with his little one-sided conversation, he releases himself, taking one last glance at himself. There’s a flicker of something new in his features - a mix of anticipation and excitement. He feels ready. Speaking his thoughts out loud, to his cock no less, has somehow shifted his apprehension into eagerness, the idea of relinquishing control no longer unnerving but thrilling.

At the end of the day, this is for you. For your happiness. That’s what matters most to him, and always will.

Jaeyun starts with his chest, wrapping the ribbon carefully around him, the satin cool against the heat of his flushed skin. The first loop sits just above his nipples, taut enough to tease but not constrict, while the second layer falls just below them, framing his pecs with deliberance. With a quick tug and a messy knot at his back, he secures the binding in place. 

Moving lower, he grabs another length of ribbon, this time letting it fall more loosely around his waist. He drapes it artfully across his toned tummy, arranging the fabric with a sense of carelessness that still shows intention. Each movement is calculated, designed to highlight the sharp lines of his body that you adore so much. The ribbon clings just enough to suggest the faint curve of his v-line, the rest of the fabric dipping provocatively over his hips. The tail of the ribbon hangs low, trailing down over his cock. Far from concealing, it draws attention to the main gift underneath.

Satisfied with his work, Jaeyun exhales softly, a breath of contentment escaping his plumpy lips as he steps back to take in his reflection from a new perspective. The sight staring back catches him off guard as his pulse stumbles, and he feels a flicker of heat at the tip of his dick as his gaze roams over himself.

The delicate ribbon, pale against the warmth of his skin, transforms him into something otherworldly. The soft contrast heightens the definition of his body - his abs etched deeper into his stomach, his chest broad and prominent. Yet, there’s an ethereal quality to him now, as though the juxtaposition of strength and fragility has created something almost too beautiful to be real.

Jaeyun’s trembling fingers glide over the fabric, tracing its edges, his touch reverent and curious. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, and he exhales a shaky breath, caught in a haze of disbelief and pride. He looks good. No, better than good. He looks fucking beautiful.

It’s a new kind of beauty, one he’s never seen in himself before. He’s accustomed to being called hot, handsome, and even cute on occasion. But this…this feels different. He feels irresistible, he looks so striking it’s hard to believe it’s his own reflection. Maybe he should consider modelling for those raunchy BookTok covers with half-naked men on horses.

Swallowing thickly, Jaeyun nods to himself, as if to anchor his thoughts and settle the pounding of his heart. He’s made absolutely the right decision. This was worth every single moment of preparation. A small, knowing smile graces his lips as he mutters to himself, “She’s going to love this…”

A grin forms on his blushed face, tearing his eyes away as he reaches for his phone. Now he just needs to get you here. But how? You’re studying for exams next week and the only way you’ll come home is if there is an emergency, but he hates the idea of panicking you. You will probably rush home, get mad that he lied, and then make him sleep on the couch. 

No, he needs a better way…

Then it hits him.

“I should take a picture for her!” Jaeyun exclaims to the empty room, the ghosts of your shared apartment watching him with amusement, their silent applause egging him on.

Between speaking to the ghosts and warning his cock, he’s not the most sane person in the world right now. 

But regardless of sanity or not, this is a perfect plan. How could you possibly resist coming home when he’s wrapped up like this, a living, breathing gift just for you?

It’s also a safe way to test the waters. If you reply with laughing emojis, he’ll laugh it off as a joke, something he did on a whim because he was bored. But if your response holds even a whisper of desire, Jaeyun is prepared. He’ll sprawl out on the bed and let you use every inch of him, ribbons and all.

Grabbing his phone, he swipes open the camera and steps back to get himself in frame. A moment of hesitation passes as he considers the best pose. He’s sent you nudes before, sure - pictures and videos of him holding his thick cock, teasing with soft movements, or those casual, aerial shots of his toned body from his gaming chair. Those were easy to pull off. But this? A sexy, teasing shot that’s literally impossible to resist? That’s a whole new ballgame.

Jaeyun tries a few positions, starting with an over-the-shoulder shot to highlight his perky bum. But the sloppy knots from the ribbon ruin the image, and he frowns at the result. Next, he flexes his left arm, veins protruding as his bicep bulges, his torso stretching just enough to shift the ribbons higher. He studies the photo for a moment before shaking his head in frustration.

“Jesus Christ, Jaeyun,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at himself. “She wants a soft boy, not some wannabe bodybuilder fuckboy with a small cock.” He lets out a huff of exasperation, tutting as he adjusts the ribbons once again.

Switching to video, he hits record, deciding it might be easier to sift through the footage later for the perfect screengrab. He winks into the lens, a playful twinkle in his eyes as his free hand drifts from his collarbone, down his chest, and towards his stomach, ghosting his skin.

He hooks his fingers into one of the ribbon loops, tugging it just enough to make the tail of fabric covering his cock dance suggestively. The movement is subtle, but it directs all attention downward, exactly like he wants.

Turning slowly, Jaeyun angles himself just right, concealing the messy knots while ensuring his ass is perfectly framed. It looks good, not Seungcheol from Seventeen level juicy, but no one can achieve that bar the man himself. Jaeyun’s ass is just right for you, thick enough to grab and claw at when he has you in a mating press, but subtle enough that he can fit into all types of jeans.

He lightly smacks his ass, dulling the sharp sting with a gentle caress. Jaeyun imagines it’s you spanking him and suddenly, he’s ready to get on all fours.

When the recording ends, he smirks at the screen, reviewing and scrutinising his award-winning performance.

And award-winning it is because the next hurdle he has to leap over is finding the perfect shot. But why settle for one still frame when he could just…send you the entire video?

And that’s exactly what he does.

Opening up your contact, he sees the last message you sent.

I love you, baby! kisses when i get home. promise <33

Jaeyun bites his lips together, concealing the cheshire cat smile that threatens to take over his entire face. He’s hoping for a lot more than just some kisses, and he thinks he might just get what he’s wishing for. 

Jaeyun: hey, my love! did you order something?

Y/N: no? not that i remember. why?

With that, he hits upload, the video takes a few minutes due to its length, and his thumbs jump across the keyboard as he writes the accompanying message.

A few moments pass and he hears nothing from you. He guesses it’s because you’re processing what you have just witnessed, but he can’t stop his brain from overthinking. His teeth gnaw at his bottom lip as he conjures up different scenarios for your reaction, some of which include disgust, embarrassment, and other not-so-nice outcomes. 

Jaeyun: [1 video attachment]there’s a present here for you

Then, those three dots wipe every thought.

Y/N: baby? what…is this?

Jaeyun: come home and find out, love ;)

Y/N: omw <33

As soon as your last message is received, he realises it’s do or die, so he cleans up the bedroom once again, the nerves and excitement merging into one ball of energy inside his heart. He is ecstatic that you clearly are at least intrigued by the idea, which is better than flat-out rejection or mockery.

He now needs to make sure he’s pretty for you.

_____

The keypad beeps echo in the landing as you punch in your PIN and you swing the door open with urgency. Kicking off your shoes without care, you barely notice the way they clatter against the wall. Your focus is singular, your movements egged on by a mix of confusion and curiosity.

The video still plays in your mind in a loop, and each frame burns into your memory. Watching it in the library had been a mistake - or perhaps the best decision of your day. You had felt an overwhelming rush of emotions: surprise that Jaeyun would do something so bold, intrigue at the sheer prospect of it, and then…that flush of heat that went from your cheeks and travelled straight to your cunt.

Your steps quicken, the familiar flat blurring as you stride towards the bedroom. Your pulse thrums in your ears, and your breaths come faster with each passing second. You’re not sure what to expect, but you know you need answers. 

Now.

The door to your bedroom is slightly ajar, the flicker of the dull lamp from inside might as well be compared to the white flash at the pearl gates of heaven. Taking a deep breath, your hand hovers at the door, your body waiting for you to mentally prepare yourself. Are you excited? For sure. Excitement isn’t even enough to describe the bubble in your chest. God, he looked so pretty in the video, you hope this isn’t some sick prank and he’s actually fully clothed behind the door. You shake the thought away, swallowing the lump in your throat, and push the door open.

The sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs.

Jaeyun lays on your double-sized bed like a living work of art, his body draped in ribbons that teasingly hide the parts of his body your pussy is just now crying out for, your panties soaking instantly at the sight. He’s angled perfectly, one arm resting behind his head, the other draped across his stomach, fingers brushing the fabric. The pink ribbon winds around his chest, his abs, and down his hips, teasingly concealing just enough to leave your imagination reeling. His cock is so big though, that the ribbon isn’t even covering half of it and you could cum right now as your eyes widen and mouth slacks.

The pose it cheesy, it resembles Shawn Michaels on the cover of Playgirl if you’re being honest. But just like how wrestling fans in the 90s fawned over him with just a wrestling belt hiding his dick despite the awkward pose, you’ll do the same with your boyfriend - perhaps even more shamelessly. 

Jaeyun bites his lip, his teeth catching the soft flesh as his eyes dart down to himself before meeting yours again. “Surprise,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into that velvety bedroom tone he uses when describing in vivid detail how he plans to absolutely devour you. It sends a ripple of heat through your body, making it nearly impossible to focus, or rather figure out what to focus on. “So…what do you think?”

You let out a shaky breath, struggling to gather your thoughts. “I don’t even know what to think,” you manage, your words tumbling out in disbelief. Your eyes roam over him again, lingering shamelessly on the ribbon that teases more than it hides. “But I know you look so fucking hot.”

A grin spreads across his face, slow and sultry, as though your words are a symphony and he’s savouring every note. “Not pretty?” he quips, teasingly twirling the loose end of the ribbon between his fingers.

Your gaze locks onto the veins snaking up his forearms. They’re hypnotic, and you’re suddenly struck by the thought of gripping onto them, feeling their pulse under your desperate hands as he works you over with his fingers. The mere idea has your body responding, a warm ache blooming between your thighs.

Jaeyun raises an eyebrow, pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts. “Lost in there, baby?” he asks with a smirk, his teasing tone dripping with amusement.

“I mean…yeah,” you murmur, barely audible, your voice laced with awe. “You look beautiful. Perfect.” The last word is whispered, but it's easily the most earnest confession to fall from your lips.

A faint blush blooms across his cheeks, barely visible in the dim lighting, but enough to make your heart flutter. He shifts, sitting up on the bed with his legs spread and knees bent, the new position giving you an unfiltered view of his semi-hard cock. The tip is flushed, indicating that he’s been holding back as he waits for you, and the sight alone has you clenching around nothing.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says smoothly, gesturing to his body like it’s a gift he’s unwrapping just for you. “Because it’s all yours, baby. Do whatever you want.”

Your stomach tightens, a thrill shooting through you at his words. “What?” you whisper, needing to hear it again for clarification, because you’re sure your arousal is messing with your brain receptors. 

“I’m yours to use,” he explains, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “Just for tonight. Make me beg, whimper. Edge me. Tease me. Choke me. Tie me up with these ribbons. Whatever your pretty little head dreams up. I’m at your mercy.”

A gush of wetness soaks your panties, your body betraying your excitement before you can even process his offer. This has been a long-standing fantasy of yours, one you’ve never fully admitted to him, though you’d tried to hint at it countless times. The idea of taking control, of pinning him down and making him unravel beneath you, had lingered in the corners of your mind for years.

But somehow, he’d never caught on. All the subtle moments - your fingers wrapping around his throat but never squeezing, the way you’d pressed him into the mattress but let him take the reins again - had flown over his head. It seemed your silent desires had fallen flat.

Until now.

Your chest tightens at the thought. “You mean…” you trail off, your voice hesitant, hoping he’ll fill in the gaps so you won’t have to say it out loud.

His smirk grows, confidence radiating off him in waves. “I mean you have free reign,” he says, leaning back slightly, the ribbons shifting to reveal just a bit more of his toned stomach. “I’ll be your good boy the entire night.”

That does it to you. 

Next thing you know, you’re pouncing on the boy, pinning him back to the bed as your lips crash against his with hunger you can’t contain, your bodies instinctively fitting together like yin and yang. His breath hitches as your mouths meld, the soft, pliant press of his lips yielding eagerly to you. You kiss him like you’ve been starving, like the taste of him is the only thing that could ever satiate you, and his low, needy moans tell you he feels the same. You would think that you hadn’t seen each other for months, deprived of touch, but in reality, you were tangled like this just last night.

Your tongue flicks against his, a bold swipe that coaxes him to open further for you. The heat between you grows with every glide of your tongue against his, every playful nip at his bottom lip that makes him shudder beneath you. His hands hover at your hips, unsure if he is allowed to touch, unfamiliar with this new dynamic, but you’re already too far gone to notice.

You pull back slightly, just enough to move your attention to his neck, dragging your lips across the sensitive skin. A breathless chuckle escapes him, quickly turning into a sharp inhale as you nip at his pulse point, your teeth leaving claims over him. The quiet gasps and whimpers that fall from his lips fuel you further, your lips and teeth trailing lower, leaving a delicate constellation of marks down the column of his throat. 

When you reach his collarbone, you let your tongue dart out to taste him, revelling in the way he squirms beneath you. You’ve heard him moan, but never like this, like he’s moaning in both pleasure and pain. The pain comes from the desperate need to take control. You nip gently, then soothe the spot with a kiss, and he lets out a broken moan, his head tipping back into the plush pillows. 

But it’s his chest that truly captures your attention. The ribbon wrapped snugly around him creates a pretty display, his nipples peeking out like individual presents waiting to be unwrapped. You can’t help but smirk as you dip your head lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the centre of his chest before trailing to one side.

You pause just above his nipple, the soft rise and fall of his breathing making it all the more tempting. Without hesitation, you brush your lips over the taut bud, then suck lightly at the sensitive skin. His reaction is immediate - a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low groan that sends a thrill straight through you. He’s into this and you’ve barely even started.

Tonight is going to be so much fun.

Straddling his lap, you take a moment to admire the way he looks beneath you, the ribbons framing him perfectly, his chest flushed and glistening from your attention. He’s exquisite, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart race. You grip the top layer of the ribbon, using it to pull him up towards you.

“Come here,” you murmur, your voice soft but commanding. His eyes flutter open, dazed and dark with arousal, and he obeys without hesitation. You kiss him again, this time slower, deeper, savouring every moment.

When you pull back, your hand drifts to his chest, your thumb brushing over his nipple, slow but with pressure. The effect is instantaneous - he hisses, his body jerking slightly as he throws his head back.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice shaky, the word drawn out like a plea. His reaction makes your smirk grow, confidence surging through you.

“Not used to being touched here, huh?” you tease, your voice a low purr as you circle his nipple again, watching the way his body tenses and trembles under your touch. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive, baby.”

“Neither did I,” he confesses. Considering he did most - if not all - of his sexual exploring with you, it makes sense. If you both haven’t tried something together, he doesn’t know about it. As much as this is fulfilling a fantasy for you, it’s also opening up his horizons, helping him explore his body and needs. And so far, he’s loving every second.

He flutters his eyes closed, enjoying the pressure and pull of your thumbs on his nipples, and instinctively, his hands trail up your body, dipping under your t-shirt so he can feel your soft skin under the pads on his fingers. Jaeyun tries to cup your tits, but when you feel him, you surprise him - and yourself - with something entirely new.

You pinch his nipples tight, twisting them enough to make him yelp and jerk his hands away.

“Ow!” he yelps, his hands that tried to grope you now bunched up at his sides. 

“Baby, oh my god, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” you blurt out, eyes wide with worry as your hands move to cup his face. Frantically, you search his gaze for any sign of pain or discomfort. Though you find traces of both, there’s a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You caught me off guard, that’s all, princess,” he reassures you softly, his hands covering yours. The sight of your panicked expression tugs at his heartstrings, and he can’t help but pout playfully. “It’s okay. You can do whatever you want, remember?”

You nod slowly, agreeing that while yes that was the plan, you don’t want him to not enjoy it. Your fingers slide down to entwine with his, hoping to soothe him. “Maybe we should use a safeword,” you suggest tentatively, biting your lip.

Jaeyun bursts into laughter, his chest shaking as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you planning to do to me, baby, huh?” he teases, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

His reaction only makes you groan, covering your face with your hands as you shake your head. “No! Not like that,” you protest, your voice muffled by your palms. “This is new for me, and I didn’t even know I was going to… tweak your nipples…”

Jaeyun laughs again, this time with immense fondness at its base, eyes crinkling at the edges as he reaches up to pull your hands away from your face. “Baby, don’t hide,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing the back of your hands. “I can take it, I was just surprised.” His voice is warm and reassuring. He’s so considerate and loving, even after you’ve violated his nipples…what a man.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with…I mean we can just have sex like normal. You can tie me-”

“Stop,” Jaeyun cuts you off with a small laugh, his tone steady but playful. “No. You want this, and I want this. I can handle a little nipple play or whatever else that pretty mind of yours comes up with.” He punctuates his words with a gentle poke to your forehead, his grin so genuine and full of trust that you almost break down sobbing. You lean in to kiss him, melting all your apprehensions away. 

As you pull back, you find your resolve again. If he wants this, and so do you, then you should do it. 

“Okay… yeah…” you murmur, clearing your throat and slipping back into the role you’d started to embrace. Your voice takes on a firmer tone as you meet his gaze. “No touching me unless I say so. And no taking over. These are my only rules. I really want to try this properly.”

Jaeyun nods excitedly as his cock twitches, watching your eyes go from concern to slowly regaining that power you had earlier, the commanding presence that seems to wrap around you like a second skin. He can’t lie, it’s so fucking sexy to him - this new allure and aura that seems to overtake you when you’re on top of him. “Yes, Ma’am.”

With that, your hands grip the hem of your t-shirt and pull it over your head, discarding it without breaking eye contact with the boy underneath you. Jaeyun instantly begins to lick his lips, knowing you’re going for your lavender bra next.

When Jaeyun says he loves your tits, it means he loves your tits. Adores them. Cannot think of anything better than fondling them, sucking them, marking them, even just holding them in his hand while you both watch a movie. He’s obsessed. If you plan on depriving him, that might just be the hardest part of this.

Your hands circle to your back, grabbing the clasp and undoing it achingly slow. Jaeyun almost pants like a dog as he awaits his favourite treats. 

“You can’t touch until I say so,” you warn him, already pre-empting the inevitable. He’s going to swarm in, his eyes already giving his intention away more than his prodding cock against your ass.

“Okay…don’t be mean though,” he whines, licking his lips in anticipation, hands scrunching up beside him. He wants nothing more than to pin you draw you closer to him and bury his face into your pretty, tantalising chest.

You can’t help but smirk as you see him practically drooling over your body, feeling how he wriggles underneath you as he impatiently waits for you to give him the green light. Jaeyun swipes his tongue over his bottom lip as he looks up at you, like butter wouldn’t melt, and you almost fold. The stars in his eyes set your heart racing and blood pulsing.

Your boyfriend has those eyes, the one that can make you flip your mind and give him anything he wants. You’ve spent years trying to master how to not give in, to stand your ground and finally have your way for once. Yet, all his attempts have worked. Every. Single. Time.

But not today.

Instead of giving in to his unspoken pleas, you cup your breasts in your hands, kneading them slowly and deliberately, as if moulding the softest dough. Your fingers tease your nipples, catching them just enough to send a shiver of pleasure down your spine, your breath escaping in a quiet, lustful sigh. They don’t feel nearly as good as Jaeyun’s hands do, but the expression on his face makes it all worthwhile.

Jaeyun’s gaze stays glued to you, wide and glassy, like a starving man who can see the sweetest fruit just out of reach. His eyes follow every movement, his thighs clenching and relaxing in time with the slow rhythm of your hands. His lips part slightly, and his tongue flicks out with each pinch you give your nipples, as if he can almost feel it himself.

The way he reacts - so helpless and captivated - only fuels your confidence. You wonder how much further you can push him before offering even a shred of mercy. Slowly, your hips begin to roll against him, the rough denim of your jeans grazing over his shaft. The friction pulls a sharp inhale from his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, overwhelmed by the sensation.

When soft, breathy moans escape your lips, your body moving in perfect harmony with the teasing motion of your hands, he feels caught in a torturous balance between bliss and agony. You’re divine, ethereal, and just out of reach; close enough to admire but too far to claim.

“Fuck, baby, you’re enjoying yourself, huh?” His voice is strained, his words not really a question but more of a jealous statement.

You smirk, grinding a little harder against him. While the thickness of your jeans dulls your own sensations, the way his ragged breaths hitch with every movement is more than enough to keep you going. “I love it. Don’t you?”

Jaeyun chuckles, nodding eagerly. “Yeah, I love it,” he admits, his voice breathy and filled with want. He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip as if the next words might be too bold, too risky. He’s terrified you’ll stop the intoxicating pressure against his cock. “I would love it even more if-”

“If I touched you?” you interrupt with a sly grin, your voice dripping with mischief.

It wasn’t what he was going to say - not exactly. What he wanted was to touch you, to feel your skin under his palms and reclaim even a little bit of control. But if you’re offering him pleasure, he’s not about to argue.

Your hands leave your chest, letting your breasts bounce naturally as they settle. The sight makes Jaeyun’s breath hitch, his eyes glued to the mesmerising way they jiggle. A low sound escapes his throat, almost like a purr, and you can feel the heat of his gaze travelling over every inch of you.

The corners of your lips twitch as you stand up slowly, your hips swaying slightly as you step off the bed. His eyes spark, and the loss of your weight on him is immediately missed, but his curiosity overrides his disappointment. You reach for the button of your jeans, unhooking it with teasing slowness.

“You’ve been so good for me,” you say, your voice soft yet commanding. “I think you deserve a little more, don’t you?”

Jaeyun nods frantically as he watches you with rapt attention. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as you shimmy out of your jeans, letting the fabric slide down your legs. You step out of them, kicking them to the side without breaking eye contact.

Now standing before him in nothing but your panties, you let the tension linger, watching the way his chest rises and falls with every ragged breath. His gaze drinks you in, and his jaw slacks as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing even though he has seen you in those pretty blue pants more than he can count. They’re your favourite pair after all.

“Better?” you ask, cocking your head to the side with a playful smirk, relishing in how he devours you with his gaze.

“Fuck, yes.” 

You climb back onto the bed, positioning yourself between his legs and you see his cock, red and hard, laying against his stomach and over those pretty ribbons. The contrast between the angry and the delicate makes your tummy flutter and pussy pulse. 

Dipping your head down, you run your tongue in one slow, sensual stroke from the base of his length to the tip, tracing the prominent vein like it’s a map guiding you to treasure. Jaeyun’s reaction is instant; his hips buck up as he demands more, and a deep, guttural groan escapes his lips. The soft, wet warmth of your tongue gives him just a taste of what he craves, but it’s nowhere near enough to satisfy him.

You don’t stop there. Instead, you shift your focus, trailing your tongue up his torso, leaving a path of kisses over each ribbon he put so much effort into. Each kiss is like a silent thank you for making him look even more breathtaking than he already does. Your hands grip his hips firmly, holding him down with as much strength as you can muster to keep his excited movements in check.

Jaeyun’s breathing is erratic, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you continue your ascent. Your teeth nip at his skin playfully, just enough to make him gasp and shiver beneath you. Exactly what you want.

“You’re so needy, baby,” you tease softly, your voice laced with amusement.

His head falls back against the pillow, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he fights the urge to take control. “And you’re a tease,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite in his words - just breathless adoration.

You hum in response, your lips curling into a smirk as you reach his collarbone, nipping and sucking gently before kissing the spot to soothe it. His body trembles under your touch, and you feel a surge of satisfaction knowing you’re driving him wild.

“Good boys don’t complain,” you murmur against his skin, your hands still firmly planted on his hips.

Jaeyun swallows hard, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. “Jesus fuck, if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna bust,” he admits, his earlier resolve crumbling under the weight of your words. The way you call him a good boy, it’s so much better than anything his imagination could have conjured.

You smirk, leaning in closer until your face is mere inches from his, your breasts hovering just above his chest. The silk ribbon brushing against your own sensitive nipples sends a spark of pleasure through you, adding to the growing fire inside. “That’s another rule, actually,” you purr. “You can’t cum until I say so.”

“Wai-”

“No talking back, baby,” you interrupt, your hand sliding to the base of his neck. Your fingers tighten just enough to send a warning, your power over him radiating through the simple touch. “Do as you’re told.”

Jaeyun’s jaw tightens, his instinct to argue bubbling up, but the glint in your eyes and the sheer joy radiating from you makes him pause. He can see how much you’re revelling in the moment, how fully you’ve stepped into this role. So he yields, nodding.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with both love and resignation. “I promise.”

His heart flutters, a mix of disappointment and excitement swirling within him. He knows you’re going to make him earn it, make him work for every ounce of pleasure. And while the thought of being denied drives him crazy, he can’t help but feel giddy seeing you so confident and in control. You’re getting everything that you wrote about, and he is so, so happy to be able to give you this.

You smile, brushing your lips over his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “Good boy,” you whisper, the praise making his body shudder beneath you. “Now, let’s see how long you can keep that promise,” you tease, your voice laced with wicked delight.

Removing your hand from his throat, you trail down his body the pads of your fingers brushing lightly over his skin and tugging at the ribbons, making his body shudder. You drum your fingers against his stomach, missing his strained cock each time. The vibrations shoot straight through him and make his dick jump, reaching out for you.

When you finally make contact with his cock, you wrap your fingers around the head with care, gripping it like it’s a joystick and playing with it teasingly.

Jaeyun sucks in a sharp breath, his hips twitching at the contact, but he holds himself back, remembering your rules, or at least trying to. You reward his restraint with a soft kiss on his lips, brief but sweet, before pulling away to make better use of your mouth.

Sliding down his body, you take your time, letting your lips graze his skin, your breath warm and whispy. His abs contract under your kisses, and his whimpers grow louder with every inch you descend. When you’re finally face-to-face with his shaft, you pause, letting the anticipation build as you glance up at him. His wide, pleading eyes meet yours, his chest heaving with each shaky breath.

“Doing so well, baby,” you murmur, your voice soft and filled with pure bliss. He is so good at this, being submissive, whether he’s playing it up to make this more enjoyable for you, or he is actually falling into his own role with the same amount of ease as you did yours, you’re thankful. 

Little do you know that Jaeyun is enjoying this much more than you are at this point.

Your tongue darts out, tracing a slow, wet line along the underside of his length, starting from the base and moving toward the tip. You pause to swirl your tongue around the head, savouring the way his body jolts at the contact. His groan is high-pitched, almost desperate, and it sends a thrill through you. He’s usually such a grunter, his moans low and primal, but now he’s almost like a puppy compared to a wolf.

“Please,” he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper, but you don’t respond. Instead, you press your lips to his shaft, kissing your way back down to the base. You alternate between featherlight kisses and gentle nips, each one drawing a new sound from him - soft gasps, low groans, and broken moans, you name it, he’s making it.

Your hands hold his hips firmly in place, ensuring he can’t move as your mouth continues its torment. You flatten your tongue against him, licking up his length in long, languid strokes, relishing in every beautiful inch. The contrast between the warmth of your mouth and the cool air in the room has him trembling beneath you. With each attempt to wiggle, the pink ribbons tighten around him, adding a new layer of lust to his loins.

“Y-you’re killing me,” Jaeyun stammers, his voice trembling as his head falls back against the pillow.

You hum against him, the vibration making him shudder. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” you purr, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below the head.

Finally, you take him into your mouth and begin sucking gently, your cheeks hollowing as you create the perfect amount of pressure. His hands clutch the sheets, his knuckles white as he fights the urge to reach for you. All he wants to do is grab your hair and make you go faster or to start throat fucking you until he’s pouring you a glass of his seed. 

But you move slowly, taking your time, pulling off with a soft pop before returning to tease him again, your tongue flicking over the slit. Your tongue dips into him, swirling around and reaching as deep as you can. Jaeyun has never in his life experienced something so tortuous yet delicious. Somehow, you’re giving him what he wants and it still isn’t enough, like you know how to just get him on the edge before stepping back.

Jaeyun’s whimpers grow louder, his voice breaking as he pleads. His body is taut, every muscle straining as he struggles to keep his promise. “Please… please…” he chokes out, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity of your teasing.

You glance up, your lips curling into a wicked smile as you meet his gaze. “Not yet, baby,” you whisper, your voice dripping with authority. “Be patient for me.”

His groan is a mix of frustration and submission, and you can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the sight of him - completely undone, trembling, and at your mercy. He gets even more worked up once you take him completely in your mouth, his head kissing your tonsils before you quickly take it all away again. The only thing he can do is kick his legs each time your warm mouth is replaced with the cold air of the room. 

To you, it’s adorable; his scrunched up, frustrated face with his bottom lip slightly pouting. You can tell he’s seconds away from picking you up and taking over, letting you have it rough and hard for being cruel like this. And as much as that sounds delightful, this is also far too much fun.

So you do it again, and again, and again, until he finally cries out, pleading incoherently. “Just let me cum, “ he mewls out, “Fuck, I’m being so good.” The end of his sentence comes with a high-pitched groan as you grab onto his balls, gripping them just enough that it’s more pleasurable than painful. 

“You are being so good,” you begin, giving him a false sense of hope. “But that was before you demanded I let you cum.” And just like that, his face falls, all that hope vanishing into thin air and the grip you have on his balls tightens, transforming that euphoric pleasure into agony. 

He arches off the bed and his hands grip the sheets, somehow still restraining himself from touching you. Jaeyun feels a mix of everything. Desperation from the need to cum, distress from the pressure you’re putting on his sensitive balls, and pride that you’re having a great time. Sure, it’s sort of at his expense, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that underneath the bruising balls and edging he wasn’t having the time of his life. 

No wonder you love it so much when he's in control, being at his command. It’s fun and exciting, albeit painful. 

You loosen your grip, checking his face to assess how he’s feeling. Crushing his balls wasn’t a fantasy, and you don’t take great pleasure in causing him pain, but something inside you assured your worried mind that he would love it. And by the smile on his face and heaving in his ribbon-clad chest, you were right. 

He is loving this.

“Now, do you want to ask again nicely?” You offer him the chance to beg, massaging his balls to ease the ache you caused which only riles him up more, his length leaping once with sheer joy.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes, a pleased smile overtaking the remnants of his earlier wince. The pain is a fading memory now, overshadowed by the way your touch sends sparks through him. “Please...may I cum?”

You release a soft hum, dragging your nails lightly over his sensitive sacks, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. His chest quivers, the ribbon tied around it a cruelly beautiful contrast to his helplessness. You take your time, savouring the way his voice falters in its eagerness, the desperate edge that sounds so foreign from his lips.

“Hmm,” you murmur, pretending to consider it as your hand trails upward, fingers ghosting over the base of his length. “I don’t know if you’ve earned it yet.”

His hips jerk, entirely involuntary, as though his body seeks for the permission his lips have lost confidence to beg for. That insatiable hunger in his eyes, those pupils blown wide with need and reverence - it’s intoxicating. He’s utterly yours.

“Please,” he tries again, voice cracking ever so slightly. It’s almost pitiful, but there’s no denying the thrill it sends through you. “I need to, baby. Please let me cum.”

The power in your hands feels like fire and ice, a balance of control and chaos. You grip his chin lightly, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. “Do you?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

He swallows hard, the muscles in his throat bobbing against your touch. “More than anything,” he says hoarsely, his breath coming in shallow, shaky waves. “I’ll do whatever you want, anything - just let me have this.”

Your lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “Good boy,” you praise, leaning in just enough for your breath to ghost over his lips, teasing but not quite giving him what he craves. “But I’ll decide when you’ve earned it. And you’ll wait, won’t you?”

The groan that escapes him is somewhere between frustration and ecstasy, his head falling back as he nods fervently, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. “Okay. I’ll be patient.”

You cup his cheek and bring his eyes back to yours. “Thank you, Jaeyun. For all of this.” It’s a thank you for being good, but it’s also a thank you for letting you explore this. You don’t know why he decided to do this today or how he figured your desires out, but you’re thankful for it all. 

Not many men would let you crush their balls and respond with a smile.

The tenderness of your touch flows through to your boyfriend’s chest, injecting his heart with a newfound gem of love. He has a treasure chest of gold and rubies in there just for you, overflowing with gratitude and adoration. Each time you share a quiet moment like this, the treasure gets more grand, taking up much-deserved space. He carries around your love, heavy and cherished.

“Anything for you, baby,” he murmurs, smiling softly at you, the light in his eyes conveying his love. “Can I get permission to kiss you, or?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with exaggerated disappointment. “No. And now, thanks to your cheek, you’ve just earned yourself an even longer wait.”

And with that, Jaeyun captures your lips in his, gentle yet passionate, tentative but meaningful. His hand cups your cheek, guiding your head into a tilt as you nuzzle against his touch. Despite the roles you’re both playing there’s a window of just being Y/N and Jaeyun. It’s perfect. 

"Since you're feeling generous...can I cum?" He wiggles his brows, chancing his arm that you'll say yes even though just two minutes ago you told him no.

“Oh, c’mon-”

“Shh!” you cut him off sharply, your voice laced with authority and amusement. “Or I’ll make it so you don’t cum at all.”

That shuts him up instantly. His mouth clamps shut, and his eyes widen in alarm, the threat of complete denial hitting him harder than any punishment ever could. It’s bad enough being forced to wait now, but the thought of being denied entirely? He won’t dare risk it. So, gulping down his protests, he nods meekly, slipping back into the role of the obedient sub you’ve trained him to be.

Satisfied with his compliance, you sit up, your movements unhurried as you slide your underwear down your legs. The air in the room seems to grow hotter, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sends a rush of heat through your bloodstream. Your lips glisten under the dim light, catching his attention like a lighthouse beyond the dark sea. He stares, his throat working as he swallows hard, his desire palpable in the way his chest heaves and his hands twitch with restraint.

In an ideal world - his ideal world - he’d be between your legs right this fucking second, his face buried between your thighs, tasting you, worshipping you until you unravel on his tongue over and over again. He’d wear your pleasure like a mask, his face shining with evidence of your release, and he’d be the happiest man alive - happier than he already is if you can believe it.

But that’s not the reality - not yet. So he waits, muscles straining with anticipation, his cock twitching in sync with his heartbeat, almost wagging like the eager tail of a dog desperate to please. Even his body seems to understand the privilege of what’s coming next - the sheer joy of being buried deep inside you.

What does recognise deep down though, is the torment that comes with that privilege. Because let's face it, you’re not about to make it easy for him. Not tonight. And he’s prepared…he thinks.

Your hand strokes him again, leisurely dragging along his length, each slow pump a deliberate tease that pulls a low groan from deep within his chest. His restraint is paper-thin, and you know it. You line him up at your entrance, loving the way he shudders beneath you, every nerve ending alight with anticipation and greed. 

As you begin to sink down onto him, the air between you shifts, its intensity has both of you gasping. The stretch is magical, the way he fills you inch by inch sending a flood of pleasure up your spine. A shared moan escapes, his deep and guttural, yours breathy and high-pitched, the perfect harmony of bodies fitting together, just like always.

Your hands rest on his stomach, fingers splayed over the soft ribbon binding him, and you watch as his head tips back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. His lips part in a silent cry, and his eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the way your warmth grips him, tight and unrelenting.

But you don’t rush. No, that would be too easy. He’s already so close you know that if you gave him what he wanted, you’d be full of his seed in a minute. Instead, you move torturously slowly, lifting your hips just enough to keep him on the edge before sinking back down, your walls fluttering around him in a way that makes him curse under his breath.

“Patience,” you giggle, a sly smile playing on your lips as you roll your hips just slightly, just enough to make his cock twitch inside you. “You’re supposed to be my good boy, remember?”

His hands fist the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back. “I am,” he rasps, his voice strained, desperate. “I am your good boy. Please...Y/N, I am begging you to let me move.”

But you’re not ready to give him that freedom - not yet. So you ride him at your own pace, hips moving in a soft figure eight. It’s so pretty to see him hold back. Honestly, half of this night hasn’t even been you doing anything drastic - bar the ball squeezing and nipple tweaking - it’s all about what he can’t do. He can’t touch you, pound into you the way he does oh so well. He can’t even buck up his hips right now. That is what’s making this so torturous for him.

And so, so fun for you.

Bouncing once, you slam back onto him and he strains his entire body, the way your cervix batters down on the tip of his cock makes him see stars and his balls tighten, but you don’t budge after that, letting the feeling wash away and his orgasm sits at the base of his cock, never quite able to reach the top. 

Jaeyun can last hours in bed, there have been instances where he has made you cum at least four times before he even cums once. No matter how long he is inside you, he can hold out to prolong your pleasure. But because he’s relinquished all control to you, that also means holding back is proving a lot harder. 

You see him shaking, breathing out like he’s trying to calm himself down. His eyes prick with tears of desperation and you take a moment to soak in the sight of him beneath you. His flushed face and sweaty skin show you just how much he’s going through even if he can’t vocalise it. You would feel bad if his cock wasn’t jumping for joy inside of you.

Lifting your hips once more, you sit so only the tip of his cock is inside of you, and you squeeze your pelvis, eliciting a sweet moan from his lips and etching a pleased smile on your face. You grip the ribbons and admire how they dance under his contracting, needy body.

“They’re so pretty, Jaeyun,” you mutter, sinking back down fully onto his length. “So pretty.”

“They look good, right?” he asks with a smirk, though there is still a need for his slight insecurity to be soothed. Since this is new territory for him, he needs to be reassured that he has done well.

You nod, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate motion that makes him groan. His cock presses against your walls perfectly, thick and unyielding, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you let the sensation consume you. “They look amazing, baby,” you whisper, voice heavy with satisfaction. “So pretty on you.”

Gripping the ribbons like reins, you take control, moving your body with a confidence that leaves him breathless. Your hips gyrate in a rhythm that drives him wild, his hands clutching at the sheets as his body arches beneath you. Every motion, every sound, is a testament to how completely he’s yours.

Jaeyun’s breath is uneven as he struggles to hold himself together, the way you’re clutching onto the ribbons as you bounce your pussy on his shaft, expertly squeezing at both the bottom and top of his member. You can see it in his eyes - the need, the desperation - but he doesn’t move, his hands still gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Please,” he finally whispers, whining out as his hands hover in the air.

You tilt your head, slowing your movements just enough to make him squirm beneath you. “Please, what, baby?” you ask softly, though your tone carries a teasing edge.

His fingers dance in the air, begging to latch onto something - or someone - and his gaze locks onto yours, raw and pleading. “Can I touch you?” he asks with such vulnerability in his voice it makes your heart ache in the best possible way. “Please…I need to.”

You pause for a moment, letting his words hang between you as your hands trail down the ribbons, pulling them tight enough just enough to remind him who’s in control. His body tenses beneath you, his cock throbbing inside you as he waits for your response.

Leaning down, you bring your lips close to his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “You have been really good for me, Jaeyun,” you murmur, your voice low and sickeningly sweet it’s hard to believe it’s honest. “So good. Maybe you do deserve a reward, huh?”

His breath hitches, hope flickering in his eyes as he nods eagerly. “I’ve been the best,” he huffs out through an excited laugh. “I’ve done everything you ask. Let me touch you? Please, baby.”

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw before straightening up again. Releasing the ribbons from your grip, you reach for his hands, guiding them slowly toward your hips. His fingers tremble as they make contact with your skin, and the moment he feels you beneath his touch, a soft, reverent sigh escapes his lips. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed holding you until right now.

He will never take it for granted again.

“There,” you say softly, watching the way his hands explore you like he so casually always does, but this one feels more meaningful. “You can touch me anywhere.”

And he does. His hands slide over your hips, gripping you firmly but gently as if grounding himself in the reality of you. The warmth of his palms sends shivers down your spine, and his touch grows bolder with each passing second, his desperation translating into reverence and care. He makes his way to your tits, his eyes rolling back as he squeezes your breasts, flicking your nipples much like you had done to yourself earlier. 

“You feel so perfect,” he breathes, “You always do.”

You watch him, a mix of affection and desire swirling in your chest as you lean into his touch. “So do you, baby” you whisper, the words coaxing a groan from his lips as his grip tightens slightly as he realises you’re talking about the way his cock moves inside of you.

With that, you bounce on his cock with purpose. This has been fun, a lot of fun in fact, but you just want to feel him now. To just be with him and have sex. No more dom/sub, no more making him work for it.

Well…maybe there is one last thing you want to try before the night ends.

“Sit up for me, Jaeyun,” you command, and Jaeyun sits up as you instructed, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. His chest presses against yours, the heat radiating between your bodies intensifying the moment. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as his breath comes out in short, ragged gasps. He doesn’t want to push it by kissing you

You tangle your fingers in his hair for a moment, letting him savour the closeness, before reaching for the ribbon tied across his chest. His body tenses slightly as he feels you undo the sloppy knot, but he doesn’t question it - to be honest, he’s too far gone, too consumed by you to do anything but follow your lead.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you murmur, the praise making him melt as you pull the ribbon free. The soft fabric slides against his skin and his eyes flicker up to meet yours, curiosity and desire swirling in their depths.

“What are you-” he starts, but his words are cut off as you loop the ribbon around his neck, pulling it by both ends just enough to make him gasp softly, the tightness cutting off his airwaves a fraction.

His lips part in surprise, his pupils blown wide as he stares at you. He expected a lot tonight, but somehow not you choking him with the ribbon he spent forever deciding upon. “You trust me, don’t you, Jaeyun?” you ask, your voice soft but commanding, your hands wrapping the ends of the ribbon between your fingers to secure your grip.

“Yes,” he breathes without hesitation, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

A satisfied smile curves your lips as you tighten the ribbon just a little more, enough to make him feel strain but not enough to hurt. His hands grip your waist instinctively, his cock twitching inside you as the new sensation sends a bolt of lust through him.

Choking kink. Check.

“Good,” you reply, rolling your hips against him, the friction drawing a low moan from his throat. “Then let me take care of you.”

He nods, his head tilting back slightly as you tug on the ribbon, guiding his movements. His hands move restlessly over your body, gripping and caressing as though he can’t get enough of you.

“You look so good like this,” you whisper, your voice dripping with approval. “So pretty, Jaeyun. All mine.”

The praise makes him groan, his hips bucking up into you as he loses himself in the moment. The combination of your control and the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies leaves him utterly at your mercy, his breaths coming in shallow, needy gasps.

With every tightening of the ribbon and every bounce or roll of your hips, the tension between you builds, the air around you electric. The room is filled with the sound of your bodies moving together, his broken moans blending with your breathy sighs. Every pull of the ribbon tightens the coil of pleasure in both of you, and every bounce of your hips pushes you closer to the edge.

Jaeyun is infatuated with the way you’re choking him, how his head is getting lighter, and how you’re tightening it more and more the closer you are to coming undone. He’s choked you before, lots of times, and you always tell him you love it. But only now is he understanding why. It feels like he’s high, having an outerbody experience while still being attuned to everything around him.

It’s fucking unreal.

“I’m close, Jaeyun,” you whine, bouncing faster but rhythm faltering as you chase your release. This is where your doting boyfriend can lend a helping hand. Despite his own hazed state, he grabs your ass and guides you manually up and down his length in a rhythm he knows you love.

It’s frantic and raw, and you can feel the coil inside begin to burn. You kiss his temple and wrap your arms around his neck, the ribbon long forgotten and only the thought of cumming on your mind. Jaeyun doesn’t mind, he’s ready to pop any second so he welcomes the blood rushing back to his head so he can get you both there.

“Let go for me, princess. You did so well,” he whispers into your chest, your heart receiving the words like a love letter. “I’m cumming too, yeah?” he asks one more bought of permission to which you grant, crying out a definite ‘yes’.

Your head falls back, a cry escaping your throat as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless. Your walls pulse around him, simulating both of you in the most delicious way possible. “Fuck! Jaeyun, please cum inside me.”

The words push him over the edge. With a loud, primal moan, his body tenses beneath you, his hips jerking up as he spills inside you, the heat of his release adding an extra level of pleasure through you. The way he clings to you, the sound of your name falling from his lips, how his hands claw at your hips as if to ground him, it’s all beautiful and makes you want to cry.

For a moment, neither of you moves and the only sound in the room is your sputtered breaths and the pounding of your synced hearts. Slowly, you loosen your arms around him, the ribbon slightly tightening around him again. 

Jaeyun’s hands trail up your back, holding you close as his forehead rests against yours. His eyes flutter open, and the love and adoration in his gaze make your heart leap and stomach do cartwheels.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, his voice hoarse but still soft enough to portray his awe. “That was so much fun.”

A giggle escapes your lips as you play with the ribbon. “You think I did okay?” 

“Perfect.” He says it so matter-of-factly that any apprehension disappears instantly. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and kisses your nose. “We’re definitely doing this again.”

You pull him in for a kiss, exciting his cock once again, much to your happiness. “I’m glad you had fun, baby…” you trail off pulling back slightly, “How did you know I wanted to try that?”

Jaeyun blushes and contemplates whether to tell you the truth or not. But since he can’t keep anything from you, he decides to just be honest. He reaches for the diary he not-so-subtly hid under the bed. “I snooped”

“Sim Jaeyun!” You slap his chest and snatch the precious notebook from his grasp, inspecting it. “This is private!” Your ears turn bright red and your body shakes in slight shame. You know what you wrote in this, some of it innocent, some of it not so much, but every single word meant.

“Sorry! I couldn’t help it. It was from the year we met, I wanted to know what kind of impression I made.” He bites your earlobe suggestively, “Apparently it was a good one.”

You roll your eyes and flick through it, landing on the page decorated in ribbons, instantly heating up. If only you could go back to 2021 Y/N and tell her that her fantasy would become reality, even better than she imagined.

“Yknow, I’m surprised you took inspiration from this page and not the one with the swing…”

“What swing?” Jaeyun nabs the book back and skim-reads the pages he missed upon first glance, making you laugh loudly. 

This won’t be the end of your diary adventures. Not by a long shot.

You wonder if you can get him to consider Page 89…pegging.

_____

[screampied]

‘ THAT [ GIRL ] IS MINE ! ,

ᡴꪫ sum. university still majorly sucks, and spring break is practically over. time to say goodbye to your dad’s best friend, but before you do—you have a jarring confession to make, and it’s definitely not those three words.

wc. 6.4k

warnings. fem! reader, dad's best friend! toji, age gap (reader is over twenty), booty call, unprotected, size kink, praise, fıngering, cunnılingus (toji eating it from the back), degredation, dumbification, toji's very whipped for you, overstim, squırting.

an. this is the last chapter WOOOOO. thank you to everyone who read dbf! toji. may he return somedayy

girl, are you fucking stupid?

a simple question you couldn’t answer as if your life depended on it. if only you knew the deep consequences you’d face by having some careless fun on spring break. oh, but it’s just a one time thing, it’s just a little fling that won’t mean anything once april’s over. you continue to keep reminding yourself that every time you were with him. toji fushiguro—your father’s sleazy best friend, the guy who was about eight years older than your twenty-two year old self, the guy who was shameless, the guy who literally fingered you underneath the table during dinner, same said guy who makes you clean off his fingers with your tongue like the good obedient girl you were.

maybe you are fucking stupid,

spring break was coming to its inevitable end, meaning it’d be the end of your little fling with mr. fushiguro. oh and you did get caught, your father knows— but let’s not focus on that part, let’s focus on the part on how you were questioning yourself. was this love or just a game? surely it couldn’t be love, ew. toji himself said that he can’t stand relationships. you yourself was too busy with being a studious university student to even consider a significant other. so… what exactly was this peculiar feeling? a good description was a weird stir in your stomach, especially whenever he’s lay his eyes on you. alas, maybe instead of love, the feeling was entirely different.

you know what they say about karma though, it always catches up to you in the long run. oops..?

it was about three thirty in the morning. you were tossing and turning in your sleep. birds could just about be heard outside your window, chirping and chirping away. with an exaggerated sigh, you stare into the beige drywall that coats against your ceiling for a long, long time. no matter how much you tried to delay the inevitable—you had to get up, you just had to get it off your chest.

you should probably not keep this yourself..

but you pondered deeply at what his reaction might be— would he feel the same way, or would he hate you and turn a cold eye … ?

just thinking about it for such a long duration of a time made your stomach churn. at the same time though, whenever you thought about toji for too long . . that happened. you’d get aroused, having your pretty little panties in a twist.

you still question just how your father and him even met. a guy like toji isn’t really a guy you’d stumble across everyday. he mentioned to you on how he was gambling at boat races—you believed that, but still, you always did wanna know more about him.

toji was a very private man though, nothing wrong with that.

you couldn’t help but be a little curious about the man you’ve been screwing with for the past thirteen days now. thirteen days felt more like thirteen long consecutive weeks. like most, your break was supposed to only last five days to a week. it only ended up getting extended because of some kind of altercation at your campus. albeit, you didn’t ever want it to end,

but all good things do come to an end, right?

reaching for your phone, you decide to text him— you didn’t exactly expect a reply despite it being so late but still, you unlock your phone before scrolling for his contact..

< 69 Toji Fushiguro 🎥 >

Today 3:27 AM

hi toji.

u up?

• • •

Yo

Yea. Just woke up actually. Why?

lol no reason, i can’t sleep.

i miss u and i need to tell you smth

Oh?

Fuck I miss ya too, girl.

Come over then. you still got my location?

yeah be there in a bit xx

Read 3:29

locking your phone again, you take a quick thorough six minute shower. toji missed you just as much as you missed him— it’s been about a day or two or three that’s passed, of course you two wouldn’t be able to see each other every day.

it was mostly every other day. with spring break coming to a crashing depressing end, this would all be the end of your little spring season fling.

damn.

the drive to toji’s apartment was about maybe nine minutes from you. not exactly far, you’d have him come over to yours but you forgot that your father was literally next door to you. he’s already aware of what was taken place at his own home but again, let’s not focus on that part of the story.

at least not yet.. or ever,

you threw on a simple ample outfit, one of your oversized university hoodies and some leggings. something homely, something comfortable.

the weather was actually pretty decent, a bit humid but not exactly too cold either.

once you arrive at toji’s surprisingly well kept apartment, he met up with you at the door with that same smug grin. “….hey,” is all he says, eyes staring down your body for a while. you take the chance to ogle at him too. even with it being the middle of the night, he still looked handsome. with dark black hair of his a bit ruffled, toji had on nothing but obsidian black colored shorts and a white tee. his muscles, you always did feen over his mammoth-like jacked muscles. he was so toned— a lot taller than you, the epitome of what a real man was. “how was the drive? drive okay?”

“it was okay,” you mutter, stepping into his apartment. he’s holding a half empty can of cheap off brand booze, locking the door behind you as you take in the scenery. you feel a bit of butterflies rummage throughout your tummy as he slings an arm around you. it was like each time you’d meet with him again, he’d get more and more affectionate towards you. facing him, you had a cute abashed smile. “you look sleepy. did i wake you?”

“nah,” he firmly shakes his head, placing his empty can aside. toji takes off the thin coat you wore over your hoodie before hanging it up on the nearby rack for you. “i was ‘bout ‘ta get ready for work but then ya texted me.”

work.

toji never did tell you what he does for a living.

your eyebrows slightly raise. “wha— why? i can wait, just go to work.”

“dollface, really. it’s fine,” he chuckles, his voice a rough low. he leads you towards his bedroom, the bed wasn’t made up although it smelled a lot like him in here. a cheap musk of cologne fills through your nose as you sit down on his bed beside him. toji stretches, the veins in his forearms exposing ever so slightly and it’s so hot. “besides, didn’t feel like clockin’ in anyway. still gotta finish my taxes.”

“oh,” you mumble, completely lost in his gaze as he continues to speak. toji notices you staring and he smirks.

playfully, he pokes at your forehead, a teasing flick with two fingers to snap you out of whatever trance you were in. “. . soooooooo,” toji hums in a raspy pitched tone. his fingers that went against your skin was abnormally warm. “what did you wanna talk ‘ta me about?”

right, that..

suddenly, you felt your thighs squeeze together. toji’s staring at you, awaiting for a response and whilst you smother your glossed lips together, you rub the back of your neck. “oh, it can wait. it’s not that important,” damn, if looks could kill, you’d be screwed. dark green irises focus on your lips, then your eyes before back towards your pursed up lips. toji was quite familiar with your awkward body language, you lean up close to him before dragging a finger down his chest. so sensually, “like i said though, i missed you toji. i go back home tomorrow.”

“you’re lying, doll,” he whispers, letting your finger run down the middle part of his chest. a few bristles of chest hair pokes through his white tank before he raises a brow. “but fine,” and he grabs you to sit right on his lap. instinctively, your arms wrap around his broad neck. the closer you got, the more you got a good whiff of him. his cologne was so strong, it made you dizzy. “i missed ya more. and that’s right, y’er spring break’s ‘bout to end,” and you almost moan at feeling his clammy hands squeeze against your thighs. “excited to go back?”

“no,” you grumble, a grouse hiding underneath your tone. he slyly smiles, a thumb skimming against your skin. “i don’t wanna leave yet.”

“well girl then jus’ stay,” he rolls his eyes, forever a sassy, sassy man. “and, i find it kinda amusing. the whole point of your spring break was to visit your father ‘n you basically spent it all with me,” and his eyes run down your body, pulling you up close to kiss the outside of your neck. “ain’t complainin’ though.”

you pout, he had a point. “i can’t stay, my campus is like five hours away,” and you moan a bit from the softness of his lips meeting against your tender skin. “maybe.. you could visit me though.”

“eh. we’ll see.”

moments pass before you find yourself making out with toji. it lasts for a good while, ten precise minutes exactly. his hands free-for-all all over your body, the warmth of his hot breath goes against yours. the bitter taste of rich booze lingers on his breath, it’s chemically and it almost burns, yet it’s addictive. toji’s taste alone was addictive. you moan, feeling him ghost a big hand between your thighs to locate your arising heat. your leggings could only conceal your arousal for so long. his eyes were barely open, half-lidded as another hand travels up your hoodie. stubby fingers of his drag against your skin in such a way that you couldn’t help but grind against his lap.

toji grunts, deepening the passionate kiss—his tongue was so sweet, occasionally sucking against yours. perhaps he did miss you more than you missed him. with his head slightly cocked back to a certain angle, you start to hear and feel your own breaths shudder.

everything was going so fast yet slow, he parts his lips a bit further before you feel a hand of his reach all the way down between your legs. after a while of mashing teeth and sucking against tongues together, he pulls away. “y’er still as nasty as i remember. walkin’ around with no fuckin’ panties, huh?”

“nasty for you,” you whine, feeling his rough hands tug all over your body. swiftly, a hand snakes underneath your thighs. he runs a single thumb down your soaked slit and he guffaws. with a sly grin, he leans in to kiss more against your neck. so tender, he knew all the right spots to make you whimper out and squirm. his balmy hot breath resuming to collide against your skin made you bite your lip, an arm still throwing around his neck. “you don’t like me wearing panties anyway.”

“well yeah,” he sneers, his touch going further against your pre-soaked clit. you were already a bit drenched and he hums. “i steal them from ya regardless. my ‘lil souvenir. besides, what’s the point of wearin’ those things when y’er always this fuckin’ soaked.”

you moan, feeling him insert a single finger inside. his fingers were always so thick, stretching you out probably even better than his dick ever could. almost as if your entrance was elastic with how good it stretches. it’s his middle finger, then it sporadically turns into two— two thickset fingers prodding inside your slick heat.

you coat his digits so well with your syrupy arousal, he glances at you with a simper as you clamp around them both at once. “you get more nastier for me every time,” he murmurs, slowly swirling his fingers inside you. you’re clinging onto his neck tightly, feeling that strain in your lungs drag out as you pant. “drivin’ around this wet, girl i ‘oughta spank ya.”

“do it then.”

he glares at you before you gasp. toji lightly shoves you into the bed and you flop down, uttering out a soft ‘oof.’ landing on the sound mounds of your chest, he yanks down your leggings fully before meanly kissing the right cheek of your ass with his palm. “do it then,” he mocks you, pitching his naturally gruff tone to your own. “shut the fuck up,” and the sting feels good, his fingers were now out of you and again, you pout. clamping around nothing now, you were quite really just arched over his bare knee. “have ya been touchin’ y’erself lately? tell me.”

“no,” you lie, and that earns another spank— you moan out, the feeling of his palm was so hot at first touch. quite literally, the sting made you twinge before you grip onto his bulky thighs. “haven’t touched myself, swear.”

“oh bye, don’t bullshit me, sweetheart,” toji mutters, and you’re just dangling over his knee.

occasionally, the coolish air against his room would waft right against your skin. “known ya for a good what, two weeks? i can tell y’er lying,” and the way his voice pitches— it’s so rough, gravelly.

the baritone in his voice never fails to make you wet, so deep. you didn’t really know a good way to describe toji’s voice, all you knew was that it was raspy as hell. heavily and utterly raspy to the point where even him whispering against your ear was enough to have you drenched. “don’t like ya touchin’ her when ‘m not around,” he clicks his tongue, caressing your bare stinging ass. you’re panting, aching for him to just hurry up, to do something. toji cackles, noticing from how impatient you were simply from your body language. “aw. am i talkin’ too much for the pretty girl? you bein’ over my knee not enough to satisfy ya?”

you sigh, wriggling your ass a bit and he spanks it again just to watch the recoil bounce against your skin.

“t— tojiiii. just fuck me already.” you grumble, you didn’t really care how whiny you sounded.

it was late at night and you were horny. that was for sure pretty much all you knew. besides, despite it being about two to three days since you last saw him, yeah.. maybe that wasn’t even long of an absence— but you did kind of miss toji.

more importantly, you missed his little friend between his legs.

“i’ll fuck ya when i wanna,” he gruffs. you whine once he sprawls your legs open a bit more. toji stares at your ass, spreading them to see your sloppy cunt opening for him. a sweet little meet and greet. so wet, you’re still laid over his lap before he leans down. “shh. listen to her,” is all he says. whilst he’s inching his face closer, two exact seconds later you feel toji’s saliva trickle into your pulsating entrance. oh. he spat on your pussy, he was quite direct with it too. he then gathers a long stringy wad of gossamer-like spit before spitting it right between your swollen folds. you bite your lip hard, forgetting how much of a nasty man he was. “yeah she’s missed the fuck outta me.”

toji was purely fluent in pussy talk. it was common for him. he’d always refuse to your cunt as ‘she’ as if she had a name or something.

no shame, shameless— toji brings a thumb towards your clit, rubbing against it just so you could hear the squelches you made yourself.

“you used a toy, baby?” he hums, sliding his tongue against his lips, against the scar that slants against his skin oh-so-sexily..

“y-yeah,” you whimper, the coldness of his saliva making you shudder within his hold. your breathing became more rapid as you tighten the hold on his legs. “magic wand. i jus’ wanted to try it.”

“tch… magic fuckin’ wand,” he snarls, actually sounding quite offended.

continuing to drag and skim his fat thumb down your slit, you mewl out. you’re effortlessly soaking his single slender digit with such sheeny amounts of your sweet. “bet ya didn’t even know what the fuck you were doin.’ how long it take ‘ta make you finish?”

you’re panting now, trying to recall your lewd moments with your sweet beloved hitachi, it was expensive too.

you bought it from some shady link online, one of your friends recommended it to you so you shrugged it off, saying why not. besides, you hardly ever have time to play with yourself anyway. even more now that you had toji.

“like … maybe thirty minutes.” you exhale deeply, the fast paced strokes of his fingers making your eyes almost roll back. so so good, all he was really doing was skimming his fingers against your sopping wet entrance— barely even doing anything, yet you were still a mess.

toji chuckles, making you get off his lap before laying you face first on the mattress. he grabs your waist, pulling your ass upward to stick out before he gets up close for a nice direct view. “aw. thirty minutes? thirty minutes when it can only take me five with my tongue?”

“f-fuckkk.” you start to babble, his warm breath fanning all against your exposed cunt.

it cools against your skin, sending each nerve that resides inside of your entrance to spiral uncontrollably. toji had you arched all over, arched over like some slut.

to be fair, if the shoe fits you might as well wear it.

“dunno if ya deserve to be eaten out,” he speaks in a low undertone. your dilated pupils roll way back at his simple touch.

he teasingly brings his tongue towards your pussy, it’s retting, sloppily so. toji drags two fingers and you eagerly coat his digits with such salaciously, lewd arousal. “mhm. look at that, fuckin’ drenched. my favorite waterpark,” and he spits against your folds once more before snickering darkly. “jus’ thinkin’ you used those useless hands on this pretty pussy makes me ill.”

oh, you’re about to lose it..

he was stalling, more talking and less eating.

instead, it should have been vice versa.

you’re a mover, writhing in his lap, still hunched over with a cute arch before he spanks your ass.

“little girl, cut that shit out,” he grunts and abruptly, you feel the coldness of his flat tongue finally lap against your pussy.

immensely, your mouth forms into an ‘o’. if it was anything toji fushiguro knew how to do well, it was that he knew how to eat.

he ate you out like it was the end of the fucking world, as if your pussy was the only food remaining left in stock.

you gnaw on your bottom lip further, gasping once he wastes no time to dig in.

. . slow slow sluuuurps,

he makes sure you hear how wet you were on his mouth. just downright filthy, his tongue lays itself flat before he nibbles all against your throbbing clit.

“o-oh my god, toji, hngh,” you’d babble out in pathetic sweet sobs. with his tongue scrapping against your entrance, creating suction with his mouth had you stupid.

as your maw dramatically drops, he’s eating you from the back. there’s a concise dull moment where he pauses. with big two rough hands, he spreads your ass open fully. “f-fuuuck.” you moan, feeling him blow his warm breath all against your puffed folds.

from behind, you hear his sexy low titter before he resumes—yet this time, he lolls his pink tongue all the way out, so fucking long..

and as he does, he licks from the very bottom of your cunt until he’s reaching near your puckering hole— he’s never acknowledged that spot before, your ass.

your eyes widen, a clamoring gasp exits from your lips before he spits against it, lathering his tongue everywhere. he likes it wet, more importantly though, he likes it nasty.

“arch that back more for me, bend girl, bend,” he coos in a muffled tone— purely speaking with his mouth full. his stubble tickles against your pussy and your back voluntarily moves itself forward. a curve, he found it so appealing,

so . . amusing.

“there mphm we go baby, good girl. keep that head on the bed. ‘m fuckin’ starved.”

you’re clinging tight onto one of toji’s satin covered pillows, feeling his tongue roam everywhere. it knew no bounds. your heart starts to race at a more rapid speed the second he sneakily dips his tongue back into your needy clit.

he passionately sucks against the clitoral hood before using a hand to smack your ass every single time you squirm.

after about probably the nth time of his lewd escapades with his tongue, he starts to prod his calloused fingertips near your entrance once more. his fingers featuring his tongue, oh you were really no match.

“imgonnacumimgonnacumimgonna—”

“mhm, bet ya are,” he rasps, a deep chuckle dragging out of his throat.

the way your body responds to him was so cute. “keep that ass up ‘n y’er face down,” he orders, earning another vicious smack on the rear from him. you’re moaning, feeling yourself start to spasm. toji occasionally breaks his lips away to kiss near your ankle, your thighs, anywhere but your cunt and he knows how much you hated that.

the teasing— he’d purposely stop just to move his lips elsewhere, watching you fidget in such obscene anticipation. “don’t fuckin’ cum yet.”

“but—”

“but shit. you heard me,” he groans, bringing his mouth back towards between your legs. you whine, feeling him roll out his tongue before slurping up such a good amount of your syrupy taste.

with your toes curling, stomach seizing, you couldn’t stop shaking.

so damn good, his buttony nose rubs against your folds and it tickles for a split second. the stimulation has your mind going for a loop, you even slip your hands underneath your sweatshirt just to touch on your sensitive perky nipples. “wait for me. hold it, yeah.”

but of course, you didn’t listen,

your body had other plans.

it was inevitable, your orgasm ignored toji anyway, you’re ponderously throbbing.

the pulse between your thighs only grow more briskly before you realize you’re drooling all over his bedsheets.

oh, the feeling felt so delicious, your jaw remains open and you feel so much pressure. so much, his tongue still grazes against your slit before you shriek out, gasping for whatever air was left. it was quick, very very quick.

it’s speed..

it’s tempo was like lightning speed—a bolt that flashes within a blink of an eye, concentric circles steadily building up within your lower abdomen pooling up with heat before it just snaps,

you came.

“o-oh fuck, f-fuuuck, toji,”

suddenly, the room grows quiet. you knew toji didn’t like for you to finish early—especially finishing after he tells you to wait, but oh well.

you couldn’t help it, and the orgasm he just gave you was so good, mouth watering. with weak legs that could barely stand up it’s on own, you inhale a single sharp breath before you’re flipped over quickly.

“the fuck did i just tell you?”

“s-sorry,” you giggle, sprawled all on his bed. your eyes immediately meet the gaze of his shorts, they were half on. he’s got a bulge going on, a hard one at that. his black boxers briefly stick out and it’s so attractive—you catch a glimpse of his happy trail from his tank top that was pulled up just a bit, exposing a bit of his skin. sharp v-line, slim snatched waist.

slut..

god, he was so jacked. the more you stare at his sculptured body, the more you fantasized about how he could just toss you around the—

“oh, is somethin’ funny to you?” he utters lowly, and his tone— he sounds ticked off, he’s barely even raising his tone, projecting it but you still hear the slight rasp to it. you just got even more soaked. “was gonna let ya ride me but i don’t wanna stare at a brat right now.”

“h-huh?” you reply, and then your face was met against the plush mattress again.

you lewdly mewl out a whimper once he spanks your ass, a hand grabbing onto your hip.

“don’t act like ya can’t here me, girl. bring that ass up a bit more,” and you gasp, feeling him drag your hips a bit closer towards his slim waist. “yeah.” he breathes, having a gentle yet firm grip on you.

rough coarse fingertips glide up against your own hips as you feel him take a second to align himself. fuck, you missed this.

you missed him.

in the midst of toji already pulling down his shorts and boxers— he then grabs ahold of his thick cock, giving it a few solid strokes.

he was so hard, leaky tip glistening with pre that he wished he made you lick the top off.

but it was far too late, he just wanted to be inside, just as much as you wanted him inside. the crown of his cock was so fat, even with toji being slow to ease himself inside, he’s still practically splitting you open.

“shit, i missed this,” he grunts in a hoarse tone whilst he’s going inside you.

“f-fuck,” you bawl up the creamy white sheets into your fists.

you almost forgot just how big he was, despite it only being a good three days without feeling him stretch you out.

toji groans, feeling the subtle tightness of your walls adjust to him like always— it usually lasts a second or two. he’s furthering himself in, already about to bottom out.

he’s already niiice and snug. a perfect fit,

every. single. time.

toji rarely does doggy with you because he prefers staring at your face— solely to make fun of your little facial expressions. but whenever you were bent over for him on all fours, it was simply an experience you never wanted to end. “oh fuck m-me,” you croak, feeling him yank harshly against the hood of your hoodie. you bump back against him and that’s when he unhurriedly starts to create an unkempt, sloppy pace.

it was rhythmic, he starts off slow before strenuously pounding into you.

churning up your sweet savory insides like butter, you clamp around him so good that it makes his abs tense up. “mhm,” he tugs tighter against the fabric that was thrown over you from the torso up. dark eyes of his flicker toward your ass, each time he moves, your ass moves.

in full compatibility, the sheer skin slaps was brutal. your head was spinning like a merri-go-‘round, strained inhales pulling your heaving lungs every few milliseconds. “. . girl,” toji groans, and you moan once he gives your ass a spank again for probably the umpteenth time today. his voice, every syllable he drags out in that deep hoarsely voice of his had you so soaked. “fuck back against me, c’mon. ‘s a two way street, baby.”

“y-you’re so fuckin’ big though,” you whine, pawing into the soft cushions of his comforter.

“awww,” he utters in a faux, sympathetic tone.

he leans against you, so close to where he’s basically in prone bone— no more doggy.

he’s so deep that the tip of his dick prods all against your secluded g-spot. toji’s hefty weight hovers against your bare ass and you moan melodically. “i’m big, yeah?” and a colossal, veiny hand of his wraps around your throat. gentle, barely any pressure but a good amount to make you whine again. “but y’er doin’ so good, was jus’ about to praise you but you don’t want praises, huh,” and you’re falling in love time and time again with his sensual yet reckless rhythm. the way the bed rocks and shakes in harmony, you’re at a lost of words.

speechless, breathless, every -less word by this point.

he was hitting you so deep, every angle.

so thorough,

his hips were sharp— your moans grow louder the moment he gets right up against you, a hand gripping into your hair rigidly. mercilessly, a hand lightly digs into your scalp as he’s holding your head up. toji’s damn near balls deep now, making sure you feel every consecutive thrust. “some nerve, textin’ me at three am just to fuck this sloppy cunt,” and his hot breath fans against your neck. you whine once you feel his tongue slide against your sensitive collarbone. so deep—you were sure he’s just jackhammering his cock into you by this point. each movement was pivotal, he was precise with the way his hips snapped against you. whiplash got you good, you’re currently just a babbling mess listening to his crude words. “but i bet ‘s more than that, yeah? you wanted to tell me somethin’ so just tell me.”

“n-not yet,” a sweet moan dies out your throat.

toji rolls his eyes— this girl, he’s thinking in his head. you were testing his patience, a stubborn little thing. one of the many things he’s liked about you. “fuck, h-harder toji. harder.”

“sloooow? i can do slow,” he replies in a deriding tone, and his deep thrusts turn into satirical unserious, slow pumps. you whine, he lets go of your hair and you just plop down on your chest. he knew what you wanted, he knew how you liked to be fucked, and yet he was just being a tease.

toji fucking fushiguro for you.

he’s always been rough with you, treating you like nothing more than a mere rag doll at times. there’s been sweet affectionate moments too, rarely, but it has its moments.

toji’s infatuation with you only grows, the more he spends time with you the more he even starts to question himself.

you’ve got him whipped.. precisely with your pussy, yes, but whipped in another way completely. he didn’t know how to describe it, mainly because it was nothing to describe,

indescribable.

he couldn’t put anything to words—especially whenever he was deep in your guts, mashing your cunt around with his cock like homemade dough. kneading it with his tip,

stretch, mold, ply, repeat..

he’s doing all that with his dick. he sucks his teeth, a tsk escapes from his mouth before he spanks your ass— bringing you right back to reality.

“fuckin’ gonna milk the shit out of me,” he groans, his hips all sloppy and vigorous.

toji’s so close to you that by now, he brings a foot up to press against the back of your neck. you gasp, really feeling just how deep he was inside your cunt.

the wool of his sock presses against your neck as your face was smushed against the satiny sheets. “mhm, that’s it girl, take it. take that shit. milk my fuckin’ cock, fuuuck.”

his groans get louder, you’re so wet it’s ludicrously sloshing against him and you’re all doe-eyed and dumb.

emphasis on dumb, not a single thought was embedded into your brain.

as his hips keenly buck against you, you’re breathing shallowly, trying to keep a good momentum against him before you whine.

you were close again, yet this time— something else was approaching,

something more . . provocative.

your legs shake and shake, your jaw aches from how much your teeth is shattering amongst each other before you feel him grab onto your wrist.

he pins it behind your back whilst he’s still fucking you raw.

broad, clammy hands of his roam down your voluptuous body, taking in to snag a feel of your curves, your pretty physique, everything..

beads of sweat droplets start to race down the sides of toji’s naturally dark brows— he huffs and puffs, the girth of his dick only stretching out inside of you even further.

you’re a babbling mess, the arch in your back was so cute that it makes him throb. you feel the throb that lingers from his dick, it pulsates at such a meteoric pace that it has you pulsing in response.

“where do ya want it,” he grumbles with a soft vexing pout on his lips. toji was trying his best to maintain composure—but he was flustered, the more he leers down your back, down your pretty structured spine, the more he’s starting to adapt this unexplainable feeling. “best fuckin’ tell m—”

“inside,” you purr out, your voice all strained and a raucous from the immense amounts of moans that left your throat. “i-inside, wanna feel you again, ‘n again, ‘again..”

toji snickers, swiping a tongue against his lips before he slows himself down for you to adjust.

you’re preparing to finish with him— he coos right up against your ear, sticking two fingers in your mouth. “finish with me, princess. ‘m givin’ you this one chance,” and he deepens his voice all the way down, balls so deep inside that you feel a faint gape stretch you whole.

you’re compressing him down tight with your gummy walls before you feel the slimy friction of pure sweat sticking against your own skin. “you gonna be a good girl ‘n cum on my cock? or a bad girl who’s not even listenin’ to a damn thing ‘m saying.. ?”

“c-cum, toji, mphm,” you choke out a sweet desperate wail, feeling one of his bulky arms wrap around your torso. “wanna cum.”

as you spoke, your words were merely muffled from his thick digits shoving inside of your sloppy, needy mouth. his warmth, once it skids against your skin, it never ever leaves.

you think you’re about to cum but instead, you gush out.

violently, electricity courses through your veins. vibration after vibration pulses throughout your body and you’re hysterical,

it’s so abrupt, so intense..

you’re squirting, coating his dick with your honeydew arousal from the base down.

he chuckles at your body’s initial response, how you’re finding it impossible to stay still. you’re clenching around his shaft still, mouth all open, eyes wide as big as restaurant saucers.

swooning, you’re swooning from his length and that’s when you whimper once he groans right in your ear.

the raspiness, it’s got you drenched— drenched like a faucet, the sensation was beyond pleasurable.

toji ends up following seconds after, it hits him harder. like a truck, it comes at full speed before you’re met with such absurd milky ropes of his seed. it shoots out quick, but it’s thick. you get quiet, hearing the sloshing spurts trickle its way inside of you. “f-fuck,” he stutters, a shaky breath following as he slides his fingers out of your mouth. a trailing glimmering cobweb of your own spit drags from his two fingers as he’s dumping knots and knots of cum into your sweet, starving cunt. “saved so much f’r you, feel it deep ‘n y’er womb, doll?”

“y-yes.” you swallow, a multitude of moans emit from you before he slowly pulls out.

oh, the sight of it all. one of toji’s favorite parts was to simply gawk at the mess he created, taking in the mess he made you.

a messy girl.

the messiest, your chest feels tight and you’re heaving.

he licks his lips, staring at your ass with hazy eyes. his own cum oozes out of your hole and he just wants to lick it, plug it back into you and give you another thick load.

that’ll come soon enough— as much as he had stamina equivalent to a near stallion, he needed a little break. his chest felt like it was about to explode.

“fuck,” he collapses against his side of the bed, reaching towards his thigh to scratch it.

as if on instinct, you crawl towards him, an arm wraps around you and he pulls you closer. your head presses against his chest. you hear his rapid heart beat and he murmurs out a husky, “good girl,” and he leans in to kiss the crown of your head. “gimme a minute though. ‘m not as young as i used to be, y’know.”

you giggle, a simper stretching across your face as the time passes.

instantaneously, it gets quiet for a moment before you suddenly remember why you even came here . . for one last time.

“toji,” you utter, attempting to catch your breath.

you were still heaving with lungs full of build up oxygen, panting a bit before he glances down at you with that unreadable, naturally stern expression.

a hand of yours strums down his pecs seductively, playing with the curly chest hair that remains stuck against his skin. “i’ll um . . tell you what i wanted to say earlier.”

“let me go first.”

with your eyebrows slightly furrowing, you glance up at him and he stares up at the ceiling before back at you. “about a week back, at y’er dad’s place, i told ya i loved you,” and his breath hitches for a moment— even saying something as sentimental as that made him cringe.

you figure he was being serious though because his sudden eye contact never left yours. “you never gave me an answer back.”

“. . . oh,” you sheepishly say, remembering the exact encounter he was referring to. you then lean up to toji, gingerly planting your lips against the right side of his mouth where his tender scar resides. “you didn’t hear me? i said i love you too, toji.”

his chest feels all warm and mushy, you love him?

“you do?” he replies, being taken aback. this entire situation was messy as is, but again, they do say the heart knows what it wants.

you nod, repeating yourself before pulling him into a quick three second kiss. “i love you, toji.”

. . .

. . . is what he thought you was gonna say.

far from it actually, you’re sat in the passenger seat of toji’s car before you lightly tap him on the shoulder. he’s parked, slouched back against his seat before he snaps out of his erotic phantasm. he was dropping you off back home,

oh right.

home.

“toji? did you even hear a word i just said?”

“huh? yeah, you said you loved me too.”

“no … i didn’t. what?” you scrunch up your face, the most perplexed expression of all.

that was nothing you said, with a sheepish expression, you mutter out the words he’d never thought he’d hear you say. “toji, i said i’m pregnant.”

. .

happy spring fucking break.

[kryllia]

Through His Eyes

Yandere boyfriend x reader

art from pinterest

Prequel

The first time you met Aiden, he felt like a breath of fresh air. His smile was soft, his words laced with sincerity, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—were warm pools of honey that seemed to melt away all your worries. He was perfect, almost too perfect, but you never dared question it. After all, wasn’t this what everyone wanted? Someone who understood you without words, someone who loved you so wholly and selflessly?

Aiden was the embodiment of devotion. He knew your coffee order by heart, memorized your class schedule within days, and always texted you right when it was needed most. If you were stressed after a long day, he’d already be waiting at the door with your favorite snacks and that soft, knowing smile. It was as if he could read your mind.

And in a way, he could.

But you didn’t know that yet.

It wasn’t until much later—much too late—that you realized Aiden wasn’t just attentive. He was obsessive.

Aiden sat in his dimly lit room, multiple monitors casting a faint bluish glow on his face. Each screen displayed a different angle of your apartment: the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. His eyes lingered on the feed from the bedroom camera as you shuffled under the covers, sighing softly before drifting off to sleep.

He sighed too, mirroring you from miles away.

“You look so peaceful like this,” he whispered to no one in particular, his finger tracing the outline of your face on the screen. “So beautiful... mine.”

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his trance. It was the tracking app. You had left your phone on the nightstand, unmoving for the past hour. He smiled, knowing you were safe, knowing you were his.

You had always wondered how Aiden seemed to know everything so well. He’d always have your favorite song playing in his car, always know when illness was about to hit before symptoms even showed. It was... uncanny. But it felt good. It felt like love.

“Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?” you teased one evening, sitting across from him in a cozy cafe.

Aiden chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Perfect? Oh no, I just... pay attention to the things that matter.”

You.

It was always you.

The first red flag appeared on a rainy Thursday night. You had been at work late, phone dead, and bus delayed. When you finally got home, drenched and exhausted, Aiden was already there—waiting by the door, umbrella in hand.

“How did you...?” you stammered.

His smile didn’t waver. “You mentioned your shift would be longer today, remember? I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

You shrugged it off. Aiden was sweet. Too sweet to question.

But the nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when you stumbled upon a small black device tucked discreetly behind a picture frame in your bedroom, that reality came crashing down.

A camera.

Your hands trembled as you held it up, your breaths shallow. Your mind raced as puzzle pieces began snapping into place: the perfectly timed texts, the way he always seemed to know where you were, the way he... watched.

Your phone buzzed.

Aiden: Are you okay, sweetheart? You seem upset.

The camera was still in your hand.

He knew.

When Aiden arrived at your apartment that night, his smile was softer than usual, his eyes alight with something... dangerous.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he said quietly, stepping into your space.

Your voice trembled. “Why, Aiden? Why would you—?”

“Because I love you,” he interrupted, his voice trembling with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. “Don’t you see? I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

His hand reached for yours, but you pulled away.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered.

His expression crumbled, hurt flashing across his face. “No, no, please don’t say that. I’d never hurt you. I just... I just needed to be sure. I needed to keep you safe. They don’t love you like I do. They don’t understand you like I do.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but behind them, you saw something unhinged. Something feral.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your phone was in your hand now, your finger hovering over the emergency call button.

He saw it.

Aiden lunged.

-

Hours later, you woke up to the feeling of soft fabric against your cheek. You were lying on a plush bed in a room you didn’t recognize. The windows were covered, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and... him.

Aiden.

You tried to sit up, but your wrists were bound with silken ropes—tight enough to hold you, soft enough not to bruise.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Aiden’s voice cooed from the corner of the room. He stepped into view, his face illuminated by the faint glow of a bedside lamp.

“You’re safe now. No one can take you away from me here.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I love you so much. You understand that, don’t you?”

His eyes glistened with something almost holy, like he truly believed every word he said.

In that moment, you realized one thing with chilling certainty:

You belonged to him now.

And he was never going to let go.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I'LL SAY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ S. REID

SUMMARY ৎ୭ falling in love with spencer reid was never a question, only an inevitability. it was in the way he remembered things you barely remembered saying, the way he defied probability just to make you smile, the way he learned you like you were his favorite subject. four times he surprised you—quietly, sweetly, in ways only he could. and then, when it was your turn, you made sure to give him a surprise worth remembering

WARNINGS ಇ. excessive fluff, spencer reid being the most thoughtful man alive, reader being absolutely whipped, the bau being the ultimate group of enablers, and just an overwhelming amount of love A/N ಇ. my first 4 + 1 fic for spencer, and i had to make it disgustingly sweet. this man was made for the softest love. i wrote this with heart eyes the entire time. hope you love it as much as i do ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 2,524

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The first time Spencer surprised you, it wasn’t with some grand romantic gesture or an intricately thought-out plan—it was with a single sentence, delivered so casually you almost missed it.

You were at the BAU, perched on the edge of Spencer’s desk, absently flipping through a book he’d left open while he and Derek were mid-conversation about something you weren’t entirely following. The buzz of the bullpen droned around you, keys clacking, phones ringing—nothing unusual. You had half a mind to start daydreaming when you caught the tail end of Spencer’s words, his tone as effortless as if he were reciting a grocery list.

“—kind of like the 1972 edition of The Last Unicorn, you know, the one with the misprint where the dedication is in the wrong place. That’s her favorite edition. She mentioned it once, so if you ever see a copy, let me know.”

You blinked.

Your favorite edition? The one with the misprint? The edition you had rambled about once—once—over takeout months ago? The conversation had been a passing thought, a fleeting mention between bites of lo mein, something you’d figured was lost to the ether.

But no. Of course, Spencer remembered.

Derek smirked, a slow, knowing expression creeping across his face as he shifted his gaze to you. “Damn, pretty boy. You writing a dissertation on your girl or something?”

Heat surged up your neck so quickly it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot. “Spencer—”

“What?” Spencer blinked at you, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. “You said it was important to you. Why wouldn’t I remember?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Because I said it once. Months ago. In passing.”

He frowned, as if the very concept of forgetting something you loved was utterly foreign to him. “You love it. That makes it important.”

Your heart stumbled over itself, warmth pooling low in your stomach. You weren’t sure what to do with the way he looked at you, all soft certainty and quiet devotion, as if remembering the smallest details of your happiness was second nature to him.

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

Spencer barely acknowledged him, tilting his head at you. “Did I say something wrong?”

You exhaled a laugh, light and breathless. “No, Spence. Not at all.”

You were still flustered. Still shocked. But more than anything, you were his. And that made all the difference.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The second time Spencer surprised you was at the carnival. The lights flickered like a thousand fireflies overhead, washing the fairgrounds in a kaleidoscope of color. Laughter and music tangled in the air, mixing with the scent of popcorn and fried dough. You were walking past a row of game booths with Penelope, your fingers wrapped around a half-melted cotton candy, when your eyes landed on it.

A stuffed bear, slightly lopsided but endearingly so, with soft brown fur and a tiny pink bow.

“Oh, that’s cute,” you said absentmindedly, taking another bite of your sugary treat.

The game itself was one of those—the kind designed to be unwinnable. A cluster of milk bottles, stacked in a pyramid, just heavy enough and just angled enough that knocking them over with a weighted ball was statistically improbable, if not impossible.

Penelope gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, sugarplum, but those are rigged to hell and back. The guy running the booth said no one’s won that all night.”

You sighed, a little disappointed but not surprised. “Figures.”

With that, you let it go, continuing forward with Penelope while Spencer lingered behind. You didn’t think much of it—he probably got distracted by something, as he often did.

It wasn’t until you were waiting in line for the Ferris wheel that you felt something tap your shoulder.

You turned, and there stood Spencer, glasses slightly askew, his cardigan sleeves pushed up, holding the stuffed bear against his chest like it was some sort of peace offering.

Your mouth parted in shock. “Spence. No.”

Spencer, looking far too pleased with himself, simply shrugged. “Yes.”

You blinked. “How—?”

“It’s all physics.” He adjusted his glasses with one hand, shifting the bear to his other arm. “The way the bottles are stacked, they create a deceptive center of gravity. Most people aim for the middle, but if you hit the base bottle at the exact right angle—”

“You’re telling me you mathed the carnival?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Technically, I scienced it.”

Penelope let out an outrageously loud gasp. “Boy Wonder, did you just hack the universe for love?”

Spencer, deadpan, said, “Would you rather I hacked it for evil?”

You didn’t respond, mostly because you were still too busy gaping at him. The keeper had said the game was impossible, and yet, here he was, holding the proof in his hands.

Spencer held the bear out toward you with a small, shy smile. “You liked it.”

You took it, warmth blooming in your chest so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet.

“Spencer Reid,” you said, voice full of wonder, “you are ridiculous.”

His expression faltered. “But in a good way?”

You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“Yes,” you mumbled against his shoulder. “In the best way.”

And as if he hadn’t already ruined you completely, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head and murmured, “Good.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It started as a habit you barely noticed—something instinctive, something you never really thought about. When emotions ran too high, whether in frustration, excitement, or joy, you’d slip into your native language. A muttered curse when you stubbed your toe, rapid-fire exclamations when you got good news, whispered endearments when Spencer did something particularly sweet.

And Spencer, for all his genius, would just stare at you, brow furrowed, lips pressed together in frustration.

“I hate not knowing what you’re saying,” he admitted once, after you’d spent two minutes ranting under your breath about something someone had said. “It’s like…watching the best scene in a movie, but without subtitles.”

You had laughed, ruffled his hair, and moved on.

You didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it.

But, of course, this was Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t until months later, in the middle of a particularly heated argument over whose turn it was to do laundry, that you realized something had changed.

“Spencer,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “I literally did it last week, and I swear to God—”

You stopped mid-sentence, your frustration boiling over into a string of words in your native tongue, too sharp and fast for him to possibly understand.

Or so you thought.

Because instead of his usual confused frown, Spencer just…sighed. “I know, sweetheart,” he said, voice annoyingly soft. “You feel like you’re always the one keeping things in order, and it’s frustrating when I get caught up in my work and don’t notice.”

You froze.

Your brain froze.

Your soul left your body.

“Did you just—?”

Spencer shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into his cardigan pockets like he hadn’t just rocked your entire world. “I learned.”

“You learned?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just casually admitted to learning an entire language for you. “You use it when you’re overwhelmed. When you’re really happy. When you’re really upset. I wanted to be able to—” He hesitated, then sighed. “I wanted to understand you. All of you.”

You were reeling.

Your Spencer, the man who got overwhelmed by new foods and wore mismatched socks on purpose, had sat down and taught himself a whole language just to keep up with you.

The worst part? He wasn’t even bragging about it.

He was just looking at you with those big, earnest eyes, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Say something else,” you breathed, stepping closer, heart hammering in your chest.

Spencer’s lips quirked. He took your hand, lifted it to his lips, and murmured something in your language—something soft, warm, achingly tender.

You didn’t need a translation. You felt it.

And that was the moment you realized that if this man ever proposed, you wouldn’t even need a ring to say yes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The BAU wasn’t exactly known for throwing extravagant parties, but every once in a while—when the cases weren’t weighing too heavy, when the team needed to breathe—someone would organize a gathering. Tonight, it was at a cozy, dimly lit bar, where laughter hummed in the air, and glasses clinked together in celebration of nothing and everything all at once.

You were nursing a drink, swaying absently in your seat to the upbeat music thrumming through the speakers, when a hand ghosted over yours.

Spencer.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” you teased, raising a brow.

“I don’t,” he said. “Or, well—I told you I don’t.”

Before you could question him, he was tugging you to your feet, guiding you toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room.

“Spencer,” you laughed, trying to plant your feet. “What are you—?”

And then he spun you.

Spun you.

Not clumsily, not awkwardly—gracefully, like he’d been doing this for years, like he’d memorized the movements as easily as he memorized case files. His fingers found yours effortlessly, his other hand resting lightly on your waist, pulling you close in a way that sent warmth flooding through you.

Your breath caught.

“You lied,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Spencer had the audacity to smirk. “I omitted.”

You wanted to be annoyed—really, you did—but it was impossible when he was guiding you so effortlessly, his steps steady and sure, his touch sending sparks along your skin. The rest of the room faded, the music folding around the two of you like something made for this moment.

And then, over the music, someone yelled—loud, clear, amused.

"Put a ring on her, Reid!"

The team laughed, Penelope whooped, and Spencer—adorably, unbelievably—went scarlet.

But you?

You just smiled, pressing closer to him, because the thought had already taken root in your mind.

And if he kept surprising you like this, you had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You should’ve known things wouldn’t go exactly to plan.

But in your defense, you did the math.

And for a while, everything was going perfectly.

The entire BAU was in on it—except Hotch, who you had strategically placed on Spencer distraction duty. You needed someone with a natural air of authority to make sure Spencer didn’t suddenly wander back early, and Hotch, bless him, had agreed with only a single, unimpressed sigh.

Now, with Spencer successfully occupied, you had an entire team of federal agents setting up the most intricate, heartfelt surprise proposal the world had ever seen.

“Derek, the ribbons don’t loop like that,” you huffed, pointing accusingly at the offensive display of tulle bows on the ceiling. “They’re supposed to be elegant and flowy, not—” you gestured wildly at the mess he’d made, “—that.”

Derek scoffed. “Princess, I think we’re getting a little dramatic over some bows.”

“You’re dramatic over football games,” you shot back. “Let me have this.”

JJ and Emily were arranging candles while Penelope fussed over the lights, making sure everything had the perfect warm, golden glow. Even Rossi was involved, setting up the champagne and shaking his head fondly at your borderline-manic attention to detail.

Everything was falling into place.

Everything was perfect.

And then, the door opened.

At first, no one reacted. You were too busy adjusting the placement of the table centerpiece to notice. But then the silence hit you—thick, unnatural, the kind that only meant something had gone terribly wrong.

And that’s when you turned.

And saw Spencer.

Standing in the doorway.

Everyone. Froze.

Your heart plummeted.

“NO, NO, NO—” You lurched forward, waving your arms as if that would physically undo the moment. “YOU CAN’T BE HERE YET! YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE UNTIL 7:05, I DID THE MATH. IT WOULD TAKE YOU APPROXIMATELY ONE HOUR TO GET HERE AND THREE MINUTES TO COLLECT YOUR THINGS FROM THE CA—”

Spencer blinked. “You… did math?”

“That’s not the point!”

Spencer looked around, taking in the flickering candles, the flowers, the absolute chaos of the team caught mid-action like deer in headlights.

“Hotch was supposed to distract you,” you accused, glaring at the universe itself.

Spencer shrugged. “Yeah, after about ten minutes of his ‘So, Reid, how’s work lately?’ routine, I figured I should leave him alone.”

You groaned. “Dammit.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had planned this for weeks, accounted for everything, down to the minute, and yet here you were—standing in the middle of a half-finished proposal setup, Spencer staring at you like you were an anomaly he couldn’t quite solve.

But then he smiled.

Soft. Warm. Curious.

And you realized—it didn’t matter.

The plan had never mattered. Only he did.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Okay, well, this wasn’t supposed to go like this, but—” You turned, grabbed the velvet box from the table, and without any further hesitation, dropped to one knee.

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“Oh.”

And suddenly, words were spilling out of you, tumbling past your lips faster than your brain could catch up.

“Spencer, I have never met anyone like you,” you started, voice thick with emotion. “You remember every little thing I say, even if I say it once. You math carnivals just because I looked at a stuffed animal. You learned a whole language just to understand me better. You do all of these things not because you have to, but because that’s just who you are. You love me so much that it’s written into every detail of your life, and I—I just—”

Your voice broke.

Your vision blurred.

Tears streamed freely down your face, and you knew you were a mess—sniffling, shaking, soaked in emotions that should’ve been poetic but were just loud.

“There’s a reason girls don’t do this,” you hiccuped, rubbing at your eyes, utterly failing at keeping yourself together.

Spencer let out a soft, breathless laugh.

You swallowed, gripping the ring box so tight your knuckles went white. “But I figured you’d appreciate an unexpected variable for once.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then Spencer dropped to his knees too, hands framing your face with a reverence that made your breath stutter.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, and you were about to apologize, about to start rambling again, when he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “And I love you so much it terrifies me.”

Your breath caught.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, deep, sure. Like an answer. Like a promise.

Somewhere in the background, you dimly registered Penelope sobbing, Derek muttering, “Damn, pretty boy really does have it bad,” and Rossi popping open the champagne with a satisfied sigh.

But none of it mattered.

"Will you marry me, Spencer Reid?"

Spencer pulled back just enough to whisper, “Yes. Of course, yes,” and you knew—down to your bones—that this was the best equation you had ever solved.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[meowdei]

exes to lovers ; resolved (and poorly written) angst ; breaking up and getting back together ; emotionally stunted modern boyfriend sukuna and his self discovery or something like that idk

“Hey.”

You pause. Mid step, actually. You pause for long enough with your foot halfway over the concrete that you stumble for just a moment and then catch yourself.

“What are you doing here?” You squint.

Sukuna doesn’t like that look on your face. Not the look of anger or even mild distaste—that’s normal. A given, in fact. He has that effect on people and he’s well aware of it, too. It’s the look of shock that really weighs him down, pressing on his lungs enough that he has to cough slightly just to work out that hitch in his throat.

(He thinks, in a moment of stark, cold clarity, that you’re only shocked that he’s trying because he never tries. What does it feel like, he wonders, to feel love that doesn’t even try?

He’s always been privileged enough in this relationship to never have to know.)

He forces himself to grunt out, “Uh…just wanted to talk. ‘N stuff.”

“You wanted to talk,” you repeat. You mouth the words to yourself quietly once more, tasting them on your tongue again to be sure you got them right.

“…Yes….yeah,” he nods. It’s firmer the second time, like he really, really means it. You have to wonder to yourself why he never means it when you need him too.

The break up happens like clockwork, something like two weeks and four days ago (who’s counting, though? Not him). You storm out through salty tears and flailing arms and he walks you out through tired, rolling eyes and an impatiently tapping foot.

Maybe I should just leave, you say.

Then leave, he says back. (He remembers it so clearly, too. His mind is cruel like that—it plays his mistakes so vividly he wonders if some part of him is a masochistic freak).

I’m not coming back this time, Sukuna. I’ve had enough.

Well, that makes two of us! Don’t fuckin’ come crawling back then.

It ends like that. His slammed door. Your muffled sob. His irritated grunt. Your pounding footsteps as you run. His shrug of indifference as he convinces himself he doesn’t care. Your radio silence. His slow, bleeding heart that he staples shut and ignores.

That was two weeks and four days ago. (He’s counting, he realizes. He’s never counted before).

“I’m busy.”

You cut him off from his thoughts with the words plainly. They’re so bland yet blunt, he almost does a double take. It’s just so unlike you, so different and unnatural and weird. Faintly, he’s aware he deserves it. Acutely, he hates that things are changing.

“Yeah?” He huffs, staring at his feet as he shuffles on them. (He feels so weak. So seen. So scrutinized under your gaze. Why is it so hard to just get the words out like he rehearsed in his head?) “It’s just gonna take a moment.”

“And I suppose I owe a moment?” You raise a brow.

“I didn’t say that,” he clicks his teeth.

Agitation is second nature for him. It always has been. It’s easier that way, simpler to just be angry and done with it. People leave him alone more. Things are easier to process. He makes his way through life with downturned lips and an easy glare—things work out well enough that he’s never had to question it.

(Some time ago, you made some passing comment about his childhood developing his coping mechanisms or some bullshit like that. He rolled his eyes and insisted he didn’t need to be psychoanalyzed. Now, he thinks maybe he does need it—some logical explanation as to why he self destructs and destructs and destructs until it’s not self destruction anymore. Somehow, you get caught in the crossfire, too.)

You’re tired. Wary. He slumps his hands into his pocket as he clears his throat and mumbles out, “I miss you.”

It’s progress. That much, even you’re aware of because there’s a moment where you pause and blink. Almost instantly, your eyes soften. Almost as instantly again, you mask it with indifference as best as you can.

He sees through your resolve like it’s made of glass.

“You miss me?” You scoff incredulously. “And what, it took you two weeks to realize that?”

“Two weeks and four days,” he corrects with a scowl.

“Well, that really helps,” you say dryly, giving him a sarcastic smile. “What brought this on?”

“Look,” he pinches his nose, trying to get the words right. He just needs to get something right. For once. When it really matters this time, he’d really just like to get things right. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know how being in love and shit works so I’m trying my best here.”

“The first step would be to actually love someone,” you say blandly. “That might help.”

“Just because I’m not good at loving you, doesn’t mean I don’t,” he says back, frustratedly running a hand through his hair.

You shake your head, scoffing as you retort, “No, Sukuna. You can’t be bad at things you don’t even try to do. You can’t mess up and be bad at something you never even did.”

“I never loved you?” He asks incredulously, lips curling in a snarl.

(He’s hurt, you know that. Sukuna is so good at masking hurt with anger and indifference, some part of you always aches for him. For that part of him that learned to do that. That part of him that never knew anything outside of shoving aside his feelings.

It takes you a long time to start aching for yourself. To realize that every time he shoves down his feelings, you shove down yours, too.)

“I didn’t say that,” you shake your head, sighing tiredly.

“You don’t make any fuckin’ sense.”

“You can still love someone without loving them,” you shake your head, and none of it makes any sense. Not to him. Not to that part of him that’s stubborn and hardened and so disturbingly weak.

If he wasn’t so weak, he’d have no problem putting aside his stupid pride and be what you need.

“Now you’re just saying words,” he grumbles.

“I love you right now,” you spit out, “But I’m not loving you. I’m not picking up your socks or texting you good morning or asking about your day or holding your hand or god forbid hugging you once or twice, am I? There’s a difference.”

There is a difference. He knows it, too. Because it’s the difference between you and him.

You pick up his socks when he leaves them lying around. He doesn’t wash the mug you leave in the sink when you’re in a rush. You text him good morning as soon as your alarm goes off. He doesn’t text you when he’s awake so you know he thinks of you as soon as his day starts. You pester him about his nephew and his life. He doesn’t ask how work was or if that friend of yours was still being annoying. You latch onto his hand every chance you get. He doesn’t wrap an arm around your waist and pull you close. You scatter soft pecks along his jaw when it’s clenched from a long day. He doesn’t press a kiss to your cheek when life gets hard.

Yeah, he loves you. But you spend your time loving him.

It’s different. He knows it now. Maybe, if he’d cared enough to learn, he’d know it before. When you needed it. When you needed him.

Some fragile part of him, despite it all, still has hope that you still need him. Want him. Choose him.

Slowly, carefully, he walks up to where you stand. One hand cups your cheek and one hand finds your waist to pull you close. Your breath hitches and you stiffen. You don’t pull away, though—there’s a good sign in that.

“I love you too,” he says quietly. There’s a kiss to your forehead. He looks so unsure of what he’s doing, so unbelievably confused and lost. But not uncomfortable. It’s a start. “I’ll act like it more, okay? So just take back the break up and come back.”

“That’s not how it works, idiot” You ask through watery eyes, rolling them exasperatedly.

He rests his chin over your head, tightening his hold on you. “It’s how it works now. Take it back.”

“Why, so I can be sad over the same things again?”

“No,” he clicks his teeth. His hand cups the back of your head, tilting it to look at him as he grunts out, “I’m gonna fix this. So just take it back.”

He trying. You know it better than he does—and it’s not exactly good, but it’s at least better. Something about it is raw enough that your heart finally feels like it has a place next to his. That it’s not just there, alone and out of place.

You think your friends might call you stupid. Your coworkers might roll their eyes. Everyone might sigh in disbelief.

But you love Sukuna. Can’t help but keep loving him. Can’t help but look into his eyes and see the way he battles with himself not to hide the hope so you know he’s trying.

So, even if you maybe shouldn’t, even if it makes you stupid and weak and helplessly foolish, you whisper, “Fine. I take it back. But next time, I won’t.”

“Oi,” he huffs, “There’s no next time anymore.”

I won’t let there be—you hear it underneath his words. It’s the fine print, you think.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, propping his chin on your head as he holds you close. Closer than he ever has. Closer than he thinks he deserves, but takes anyway. “Cause I’m gonna love the fuck out of you so you quit cryin’ about it. Be ready.”

“Oh, I’m very ready,” you snort. It’s watery, a touch breathless and maybe even naive.

But you love him, and you just want him to love you too.