#how can one person encapsulate perfection

[0cta9on]

Breather

Length: 1.4k words

Genre: Smut

Young Posse Yeonjung x Male Reader

(Author's Note: Thank you to @mintwithchoco for beta <3 Enjoy!)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

There’s a subtle beauty in the way her chest rises and falls with heavy breath as the rest of her body poses perfectly still like a statue. Clothes damp with sweat, hair disheveled, and yet, she still somehow manages to be the sexiest person you’ve ever seen as she glares at you with those steely, determined eyes from the front of the camera.

“That’s a wrap!” As soon as those words leave your mouth, Yeonjung’s idol facade collapses to the ground, along with the rest of her body.

“Let me do it again,” she huffs, each word struggling against her breath. “I messed up that one part again. I can do it better this time, I—“

“Yeah, no.”

“What?” Her dedication to her craft is commendable, to say the least. 

“You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted, it’s 2AM, let me go home please.”

“But—”

“Nope.” You’re already halfway done packing up your camera before she can utter another word. “Amongst the billions of takes you made me record, I’m sure there’s a good one in there.”

Yeonjung crawls to you, barely enough energy to cling onto your pant leg. “Please, just one more!”

“Just look at you!” you point out as you help her to her feet. The clack of her heels echoes throughout the dance studio, a sound that will likely haunt you for the next couple of nights. “You need to go home and shower. You stink.”

She pouts at you, gripping onto your shoulder for balance. “Yah!”

As exhausting as the last five hours have been, you feel lucky every time you get to spend alone time with her. Amongst the hundreds of trainees you’ve seen come and go through the company, you’re certain that her debut is all but guaranteed. Even if she only put in half as much effort as she is now, she would still be the best trainee the company has by far. Yeonjung is perfect—you just wish she would see that too. 

“The CEO said he wants to speak with me tomorrow,” she says as she plops onto a bench by one of the walls. The sound of clattering heels is followed by a sigh of relief as she tosses them aside.

“Really? That’s great!” you exclaim.

She shakes her head, a look of worry donning on her. “I don’t know. I have a feeling he might be kicking me out.

“Hey, come on,” you soothe, scooting closer until you can feel the heat emanating from her body. “Look how much effort you put into tonight for a minute long choreo. You really think he’s gonna kick you out after this?”

“I’ve been stressed lately, maybe that’s showing in my performance. My last monthly evaluation was the worst I’ve ever done.”

“You ranked third out of everyone!”

“Yeah, but I—”

“I know, I know.” You pat her back reassuringly. “You usually get first, so you’re upset that your rank dropped and now you’re all worried.”

All Yeonjung can do is pout as you take the words right out of her mouth.

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad, don’t worry about it.” Your hand graces her thigh, tracing patterns on the denim of her tight jeans. She shivers underneath your touch, a knowing grin growing on her lips.

“But I can’t help but worry about it,” she says, her eyes glued to your hand.

“Then let me help you forget about it, hm?” You whisper into her ear before peppering her sensitive neck with kisses. The musk of all her effort wafts into your nostrils, getting you high on her pheromones.

“S-stop…” Her mouth says one thing, but the way her fingers cling desperately to your shoulder and the way her eyes flutter shut in ecstasy convey a completely different message. “You said t-that… I stink…”

“I didn’t say I hated it.”

That’s enough permission for her to straddle your lap, encapsulating you in her scent. “You have some strange fetishes, camera boy,” she chuckles, that silly little nickname rolling off her tongue like it’s something clever.

“It’s not a fetish,” you correct her, brushing a clinging hair off her forehead, nails gently dragging against the perfect skin of her cheek. 

“It’s just you.”

It barely registers in your mind, the speed of how quickly her tongue invades your mouth. Yeonjung has always been a sucker for sappy sentimental one-liners and it’s hard not to feel happy when a pretty girl is clawing the jacket off your shoulders like you’re her doll that she can just strip at will. With how much stress she’s under daily, you’re more than content with sitting back and letting her take control.

A pair of T-shirts and a black bra hit the wall behind you, becoming a mere afterthought as Yeonjung pulls your face into her sweaty breasts. You inhale deeply, letting her essence fill your lungs, before dragging your tongue all over her beautiful mounds, recompense for the last couple hours of filming she made you endure.

“Are you sure… you don’t have some kind of sweat fetish?” she asks in between moans. All you can do is chuckle against her skin, too focused on savoring her taste to make a quip. Her fingers comb through your hair, pulling every time you flick at her nipple or squeeze her perfect ass through those tight jeans. You don’t consider yourself to be a masochist, but that split second of fire in your scalp has become a sign that you’re doing something right.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” she breathes. Hours could be spent mapping out her entire body with just your tongue alone, tasting every nook and cranny, noting which spots make her purr, but with the tacit hunger in which she grinds her heat against you, it’s only a matter of time before lust takes over any ounce of self-control.

“I’m good at other things too.” The first thing you utter after a while of concentrated licking has her climbing off of your lap and planting her hands against the wall, begging you to take her pants off and fuck her silly with that look in her eyes alone. You run your hand up the back of her thigh while kissing the soft skin of her back, making sure to worship every inch of her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Yeonjung,” you grunt as you fiddle with the button of her jeans.

She chuckles lightly, pushing her hips into your crotch. “I bet you say that to all the girls you fuck.”

“I do.” You peel her jeans off, the aromatic musk of her sex hitting you like a bullet train. “Because you’re the only girl for me.”

“How sappy, camera boy—MMPH!”

The sweet melody of her moans mixes with the unmistakable slapping of skin against skin. If you weren’t so sure that the entire building is empty at this hour, you would make an effort to be a little quieter, maybe even a little gentler to her, but with the way she’s been teasing you all night by flaunting her perfect ass in those jeans and making you record all those takes, knowing it would rile you up, it’s only fair that you get to have your fun.

Dig your fingers into the curve of her hips, whisper into her ear about how good she feels, fuck her in the way that she deserves. Someone like her only comes around once every billion years, and you’re prepared to show her how special she is night after night after night.

“H-harder, baby,” she coos, scratching her nails against the walls. “I’m so close.”

You feel her tighten around your length, and you do everything you can to send her into sweet bliss—tease her clit, massage her perky breasts, pound into her until your legs start to burn. Nothing else matters at this moment except Yeonjung. Not you, not the CEO, not the other trainees, just her and that incredible body she has. All your hard work pays off as she begins to tremble in delight and her moans are reduced to a mere choke. You capture her in your arms before she falls, letting her rest within the safety of your embrace.

“You…” she begins, panting heavily, “...are way too good to me.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be good to you?”

“I… don’t know.” She reaches up and traces circles on your cheek, leaving a tinge of electricity in its wake. “Maybe because I made you stay here to record a dance video for me.” 

“That’s my job.”

“Is this your job too?” She bites her lip knowingly.

You shrug, grinning at her. “It has its perks.”

Even with her hair disheveled and a sheen of sweat covering her skin, she still somehow looks like the sexiest person you’ve ever seen.

[biffhofosho]

The very last photo in NYC unhinged me for days. I'm never weaker than I am for ballcap Honey.

Missing jooheon hour: open

Rb with ur fave pics of honey bee please🥺🤲

[cent-scratchnsniff]

doodle dump

[togglesbloggle]

My boyfriend has really vivid, elaborate dreams. He’ll often wake up and talk about some grand narrative- travel, exploration, politics, performances. I’ve always been a little jealous, he can hold really good plots together for them sometimes.

But anyway, this does have a downside; vivid, elaborate dreams make for vivid, elaborate nightmares. I can usually tell when it’s one of those nights, since he grinds his teeth pretty badly.

I was never quite sure what to do when I knew he was having a bad time of it, though the grinding alone was enough to worry me and push me towards intervening. I used to just shake him gently, hope to rouse him just enough to reset the dream or something, but it wasn’t too effective and anyway waking him up all the time isn’t good for rest.

I’m rather proud of the strategy I eventually settled on: gently, so as not to wake him up, I’d lay one arm across his hands, wrapping his fingers around me so that he was holding on. Nightmares being nightmares, I can usually count on a pretty tight grip when this happens.

It may seem a little odd, but consider that holding on to something with both hands is typically a very agentic frame of mind. We hold on to things that give us power, in one way or another, and possessing objects often makes us feel powerful in some respects. That has consequences, even for a dreaming mind.

I knew it was working when he woke up rather mystified from one such dream, and told me that he’d been running through the caverns of some dungeon or cave system, pursued by monsters, but then all of a sudden he was holding a giant anime sword and fought them off instead. So I got to be a sword for him that night, I was delighted.

I don’t usually get to know exactly what happened, since even for a very vivid dreamer like Ritter, nine tenths of these things get forgotten. But I know I’ve been things like door handles, steering wheels, stuff like that. And even when I don’t know what I am to him, he doesn’t grind his teeth nearly as much- the sleep is deeper and more peaceful, so I get plenty of feedback that it’s working.

It’s such a perfect encapsulation of love in microcosm, isn’t it? No matter how much you mean to them, and how much they mean to you, the gap between two conscious lives is fundamentally separating you. But fundamental does not mean insurmountable. There’s this whole world in him, full of dreams and perspectives that I’ll never truly experience. But I will be a part of those worlds all the same, finding little ways here and there to make sure that the dreams of me make him a better, stronger, and happier person.

Or at least, so one hopes. It’s a difficult challenge, and things often go awry. But usually you get at least a little lucky.

[lilacgaby]

title: awaken.

pairing: barbarian!bakugo x goddess!reader,

synopsisꨄ. you've been asleep all this time, who knew a barbarian would be the one to awaken you?

(extended ver of this)

as katsuki wandered through the never ending forest, he let the words of the elders ring through his head. "you'll never be anything more than a placeholder for the next king."

he set off, destined to prove himself, show that he was worth more than any of them could predict. his father was worried and heartbroken at his sudden departure, but his mother understood that he'd need to do this now, or he'd never forgive himself.

the first thing he did as he set off was to secure food for the night. he eyed a group of hogs, all large and heavy, perfect for feeding him throughout the night. he grabbed the bow out of his satchel and aimed it at the largest one, which landed perfectly in his target's head. he couldn't help but to let out a celebratory laugh as it fell to the ground, making the hogs around it scurry off into the forest.

that seemed to be the last of his luck for the day. he now wished he chose a different day to set off, as the rains and winds were heavy, it was impossible to set up camp in the forest as it was. suddenly, through the curtains of heavy greenery, he saw an abandoned structure. he'd prefer anything to the harsh conditions mother nature set out on him now, so he cut through the vines as he made his way into the structure.

it was grand inside, he thought. he couldn't see very well thanks to the darkness brought on by the rains, but from what he could see it must have been a place of high regard in its peak.

he lit a torch, carrying it as he continued on into the structure. he determined it had been a church in its old days, long forgotten due to.. well he didn't figure that part out yet.

he bumped into a object that resembled a bench, besides the old candle wax, fresh leaves, and golden statutes he saw littering it. he made a mental note to take those with him as he organized his things onto the bench.

he laid his wine down first, a treat he'd enjoy on the way back to his kingdom. next, he laid down his clothes he planned to change into. though he was a barbarian, and by nature they did not wear many clothes, katsuki knew the trip would require such clothing, so he brought the best.

his next item was the huge hog he'd caught earlier. he lugged it on to the bench-like object, thinking of how it was a perfect spot to gut and prepare it for his meal later on. speaking of his cooking, he made sure to bring only the finest oils to cook in. he set it down next to the hog, satisfied with his array of items, he'd slumped against the bench, closed his eyes and sighed.

when he opened it again, he saw the shadow of a person moving behind him. alarmed, he readied his other weapon he always kept on his side, his blade welded by his mother.

though, his blade was dropped out of his hand at the sight. his jaw went slack, eyes wide, and the sudden urge to worship overcame him as he finally saw who was behind him.

a gorgeous.. deity? who glowed with an luminous essence, who adorned pointed ears, heavy amounts of gold, a silk dress that encapsulated your body, and an unreadable expression as you sifted through his items.

the ability to speak was taken from him, he felt as if he was at your mercy, and he was. he was on his knees before he could process it.

your hands glided through the items he had placed on the bench, after you finished looking through the group, you finally spared him a glance.

"your gifts are of high value," you spoke, your voice royal, with an unimaginable presence. "i'm not as powerful as i used to be, my temple and followers were lost to time, my memory faded from the minds of the new." you sauntered over to him now, becoming eye-level with him.

he'd never felt so unworthy.

"i have not much i can give you or do for you, so what would you like from me?"

his ability to speak finalky returned, his mind though, remained blank, so he answered with the only thing on his blank mind:

"your hand."

he immediately rescinded back, never feeling so unnerved and unknowing as he did in this moment. "i- it was an unreasonable request! you-- it's beneath y-"

"that's acceptable. i will go with you, barbarian."

he was shocked as you accepted, though he wouldn't dare question your judgement. "katsuki." he blurted out. "please call me katsuki."

"i will marry you, if it's what you desire katsuki."

his eyes shot open. "yes. i-- it's what i'd like."

"you may call me [name] then." he clutched his heart, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming, but if he was he'd never want it to end.

"alright.. [name]." you smiled at the hesitance in his voice, and waved his worries off with a smile.

"shall we head out then?"

"we can't, the weather is horrible."

"what weather? it's sunny as normal." surely enough, as he turned around the weather had returned to a calm, warm day. the harsh winds and rains no longer present, replaced by the mundane weather.

"i-- i suppose you're correct." he gathered his supplies, even getting your permission to take the things he had on your alter, as he learned it was, back with you two. he slung his satchel behind his back and turned to you.

you held out your hand, and after he placed a chaste kiss on it, he carried you in his arms. the journey back was a blur to him, the burning in his feet nonexistent as he focused on the feeling of his skin on yours, the feeling of his hands on your body.

you arrived sooner then expected. internally, katsuki was excited. not only did he manage to revitalize a goddess, but he'd marry her. he was ecstatic not only at the prospect of beating this into the elders' faces, but to be yours for his eternity.

as he burst back into the conference room, the elders were shocked to see him back so soon. the smug expressions they would've gotten were wiped off the second they noticed you in his arms.

even they, from their distance at their cabinets, could sense the raw presence you had.

"prince bakugo, what is the meaning of this?"

"i've brought to you undeserving folks my wife."

the table of elders all collectively choked at the revelation. "wife? but we've yet to go through the proper trails and period of compatibility. that woman isn't even a barbarian."

"you're right, she's above all of you. she's a deity, and i've earned her hand in marriage. i want my wedding planned for next week, make it fit for a god."

"a deity you say?" the elder's felt like their eyes were about to burst out their sockets. "but--"

they heard nothing as he walked away from the room, you still in his arms. as you eyed the new, strange innovations and buildings around you, katsuki clutched you closer to his chest.

he set you onto a bed, the feeling of silk under your hands one that was foreign, as you hadn't been awakened for over a century.

he knelt in front of you, taking off one of his necklaces, and wordlessly asking for permission to set it on you.

you didn't know this, but this was sacred to the barbarians, presenting one's necklace to another was like talking a piece of your soul and entrusting them with it.

he looked at the sight of you, his ruby necklace with the teeth of the beasts he slayed contrasting severely to the gold you adorned, and he smiled.

you felt your heart go into a knot at the sight of him, he held your hand as he suddenly made a vow to you.

"i vow to be your greatest worshipper. even if i am not the last, i will set a standard that will long exceed my lifespan.

for you are my wife now, and i'll cherish you as long as i may live."

you smiled softly, reaching out to him to hold his other hand. "you've already become my most interesting worshipper, that i'm certain of."

as the two of you basked in each others presence, other gods were smiling upon you two as well.

unbeknownst to you, zeus, a god who had favored you since your birth, had set off the storm on bakugo, leading him to your alter.

not like it was what you were pondering at the moment anyway, as you caressed and embraced your soon to be husband, who you were already planning to turn into a god alongside you.

[weaselandfriends]

Sword Art Online (anime)

Sword Art Online is a Frankenstein monster. Here is every episode of the first arc and how it was adapted:

Episode 1 is from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 2 is from a more detailed rewrite of the story, Sword Art Online Progressive, published in 2012 (only a few months before the anime aired).

Episode 3 is from the second volume of the light novel, published in 2009.

Episode 4 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, in either 2002 or 2003.

Episodes 5 and 6 combine a side story published in 2007 and another side story from the eighth volume of the light novel, published in 2011.

Episode 7 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, likely in 2003.

Episodes 8, 9, and 10 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 11 and 12 are from a side story published in 2003.

Episodes 13 and 14 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

By stitching together stories written across an entire decade, often with wildly different purposes and goals, the anime is tonally erratic, with glaring plot and character inconsistencies. For example, Episode 3 is a tragic episode in which Kirito brings several low-level players to a high-level floor, leading to their deaths. Kirito is traumatized; he later explains that this incident is why he plays as a solo player, so nobody else will ever get hurt because of him. Episode 4, by contrast, is a lighthearted episode in which Kirito—having learned nothing, because this story was written six years before the previous one—brings a low-level player to a high-level floor as bait for dangerous player-killers. When the low-level player is comedically groped by a tentacle monster and cries out for Kirito to save her, Kirito only shrugs and says, "Come on, it's not that powerful." He's ultimately correct, and this time the player survives, but what happened to his trauma?

These inconsistencies, combined with Sword Art Online's massive popularity, made it the favorite target of the fledgling anime video essay community circa 2014 to 2017. Though it's possible to do a longform video poring over every single plot hole for almost anything, Sword Art Online made it easy; half of its "plot" was never intended to be arranged in this way, and even when there was intent, it was the intent of an amateur author writing their first-ever story. You couldn't generate a work more perfect for endless nitpicking and angry rants in a lab.

But if the show is blatantly incompetent, what made it so popular?

It's tempting to ascribe its popularity to "right place, right time." By 2012, the year Sword Art Online came out, the internet had changed the primary way people interacted socially. Rather than being bound by family, proximity, race, creed, religion, or so on, people grouped together by hobby. "Gamer" was now a community-binding identity, an attribute that distinguished a person and their niche online space from the othered outside. And the Gamers craved legitimacy. They craved the approval and recognition of mainstream culture. They craved representation, that feeling of seeing yourself reflected in the world around you.

The world refused them. The mood of the entrenched pop cultural elite was best encapsulated by Roger Ebert, famous film critic, who had been waging a years-long crusade against video games as an artistic medium. In 2005, in response to the live-action Doom movie, Ebert said, "Video games represent a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic." He reiterated this claim in statements and essays in 2006 and 2010, and in March 2012, on the eve of Sword Art Online's airing, described Dark Souls—Dark Souls!—as a "soul-deadening experience." "Video games can never be art," he asserted plainly later that year.

In this milieu, it makes sense why Gamers glommed onto Sword Art Online. If nothing else, Sword Art Online takes video games seriously, more seriously than any non-video game media before it (asterisk; excepting .hack). This seriousness manifests in a consistent theme, a singular perpetually present thread that lingers even as plot, character, and tone skew wildly, stated by Kirito to Klein in Episode 1:

"This may be a virtual world, but I feel more alive here than I do in the real world."

This statement defines Asuna, who stops seeing her time trapped in the game as years stolen from her life, and instead learns to live each moment as if it were truly real. It defines Silica, mourning her dead Neopet and willing to risk her actual life to revive it. It defines Lisbeth, hurtling a million miles into the air but still for a moment enraptured by the beauty of a digital sun shining over a digital land. It defines Griselda, murdered by her husband Grimlock for motives he can only confusingly explain as related to how she "changed" in the game, how she became more confident, more self-realized, while he sank into despair (he was not a Gamer. He lacked the Gamer spirit). It defines Yui, the sentient NPC whom Kirito and Asuna adopt as part of a pantomimed marriage that the show's nauseatingly boring second arc is about protecting against an outside world that does not acknowledge it. And it defines Akihiko Kayaba, the game's creator, who when confronted at the end over why he trapped 10,000 people in this death game, can only say that he no longer remembers, before rhapsodizing about the "castle in the sky" he so achingly desired to bring to life. Unstated is that, to make it truly alive, he needed to make it—and the people inside it—capable of death. This logic is twisted, even more bizarre than Grimlock's murder confession, but neither the scene's wistfully poignant tone nor Kirito's responses reject it.

As the video essayists have done, it's pathetically easy to pick apart Kayaba's rationale. But to mire oneself in the story's logic is a mistake; Sword Art Online is not a story guided by logic. What matters is that Kayaba's illogical words are consistent with the ethos that underlies the narrative: The virtual world is as important as, or even more important than, the real world.

The anime's production values reflect this ethos, too. Sword Art Online looks strikingly cheap for its level of popularity. In almost every fight, still images with blur lines vibrate in tacky simulation of animation. There is no dynamism in the camerawork, and sword duels are often depicted in shot-reverse shot so only one participant is on screen at a time. Nobody interacts with their environment; every battle occurs on a flat, empty plane. Some of the monsters are CGI and look awful. The character designs are bland and generic. Even the music, by the otherwise-excellent Yuki Kajiura, sounds like phoned-in B-sides from her work on Puella Magi Madoka Magica (2011) and its sequel film, Rebellion (2013).

But what the show does expend effort on is its backgrounds, which are both visually inventive—floating islands, towering columns that hold up the sky—and depicted with glimmering post-processing effects to bathe them in sunsets, sunrises, rainbows, and starry nights. First and foremost, Sword Art Online sells its virtual world to the viewer, makes them believe in that world the way the characters in the story do.

And in having that world sold to them, in expressing its legitimacy and the legitimacy of those (hero or villain) who believe in it, the Gamers had their rallying cry, the work of media that finally said: You are seen.

But was it really Gamers that Sword Art Online saw?

While Sword Art Online is invested in selling its virtual world, it is not invested in selling its virtual game. The in-universe Sword Art Online is primarily defined by its lack of gameplay mechanics, rather than those it actually has. In Episode 1, Klein explains that the game lacks a magic system, which he describes as a "bold choice." In Episode 2, members of the raid party state that the game also lacks a job or class system. There is no long-ranged weaponry; everyone uses melee weapons, usually swords. The only strategy during raids is human wave tactics, where armies of players charge in and attack at once. The only cooperative maneuver is "Switch," a mechanic that is never explicitly explained but seems to involve a player who has already charged in backing off so another player can charge in their place.

Compared to even basic single-player RPGs, these mechanics are primitive; for an MMORPG, they're antediluvian. The point isn't whether a game with these mechanics would be fun or not (in many ways, it's similar to Dark Souls, where the basic core gameplay of dodge-and-hit is rendered meaningful by the consequences for failure), but rather that the game's mechanics have little importance within the story.

They're so unimportant that it's never explained why Kirito is so good at the game, what he's doing differently from everyone else. He's not even a grinder. He spends most of the first half of the story slumming on floors far beneath his level. It's no-nonsense Asuna who grinds hard, who tries to exploit the game mechanics, like when she proposes using NPCs to lure a boss. The plan makes logical sense, but logic is absent from Sword Art Online's ethos; Kirito rejects it, not on the grounds it wouldn't work, but because the NPCs would be killed. He prioritizes respecting the game world, while Asuna—at least initially—prioritizes respecting the game mechanics. Kirito's philosophy is ultimately proven right when he and Asuna adopt an NPC daughter who turns out to be sentient.

Meanwhile, Kirito's most impressive feat involves him ignoring the game's rules entirely. The one mechanic described in detail is that if you die in the game, you die in real life; when Kirito dies, though, he wills himself back alive to defeat the final boss.

The game, the experience of gaming, being a Gamer—none of these are part of the underlying ethos that guides the narrative decisions of Sword Art Online. Kirito didn't tell Klein, "I feel more alive playing this game." He said, "I feel more alive in this virtual world." Asuna didn't find happiness by exploiting the game, but by learning to live in it as though it were her real life. Kayaba didn't design Sword Art Online because he loves games, but because he wanted to make his world real.

This isn't a story about Gamers. It's a story about a virtual world. It's a story about the internet. It's a story about online community.

In his introduction to Speaker for the Dead (1986), Orson Scott Card describes the heroes of most science fiction novels as "perpetual adolescents": "He belongs to no community; he is wandering from place to place, doing good (as he sees it), but then moving on. This is the life of the adolescent, full of passion, intensity, magic, and infinite possibility; but lacking responsibility, rarely expecting to have to stay and bear the consequences of error […] Who but the adolescent is free to have the adventures that most of us are looking for when we turn to storytellers to satisfy our hunger? And yet to me, at least, the most important stories are the ones that teach us how to be civilized: the stories about children and adults, about responsibility and dependency."

Card, of course, wrote Gamer fiction long before anyone craved it. Ender's Game (1985) is obsessed with the mechanical minutiae of its titular game in a way Sword Art Online is not; its protagonist is successful in the mold of Asuna, able to understand and exploit game mechanics better than anyone else. But in this quote, Card describes Kirito perfectly. Kirito is, of course, an actual adolescent, emphasized by his character design and Columbine trench coat ("Don't show up to the GameStop tomorrow," you can almost hear him say), but his character is also adolescent in terms of Card's model. He spends the first half of the story as a solo player, wandering from floor to floor, doing good (usually), moving on. He lacks—or rather, avoids—responsibility. While Asuna is second-in-command of a top guild organizing high-level raids, Kirito is off on his own reviving some girl's Neopet.

When viewed from this perspective, Sword Art Online actually does have a coherent and comprehensible character arc for its otherwise inconsistent protagonist. Kirito develops as a result of his relationship with Asuna, finding through his marriage to her the responsibility that he previously forsook. When Kirito's error causes Sachi to die in Episode 3, he moves on, immediately abandons even his own trauma by Episode 4; Sachi is never mentioned again. (Of course not, since her story was one of the last ones written.) He feels no lasting responsibility for his actions. But later, Kirito realizes he could not brush off the trauma if the same thing happened to Asuna. It is through his responsibility to her that he joins the final raid and thus bears, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else, the cooperative responsibility of the entire virtual community of Sword Art Online. He has become an adult, with wife and child. He has become "more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic," as Ebert would put it.

(And isn't that what Ebert is really saying, when he criticizes video games? That they are adolescent, childish, playthings?)

Through Kirito's character arc, and its underlying ethos about virtual worlds, Sword Art Online depicts online community via the language of marriage and responsibility that is traditionally ascribed to real-life community. This too resonated with its audience. After all, it wasn't just Gamers who craved recognition. Teenagers in 2012 had lived their entire conscious life in a world defined by the internet, and yet the "real world" considered online relationships and communities to be a joke. Sword Art Online, rather than legitimizing Gamers, legitimizes the virtual world, the internet.

But does it really even do that?

Immediately, Sword Art Online rejects the notion of online identity. Kayaba's first move upon trapping everyone inside the game is to force them all to look like their real-world selves. As per Sword Art Online's anti-logic ethos, he does not explain why he does this. Shortly afterward, Kirito looks at his real-world finger, which received a paper cut before he entered the game; he imagines it bleeding profusely, before saying, "It's not a game. It's real." By enforcing real-world identity within the game world, Kayaba possibly intends players to see the world as more real too, the way Kirito does. This fits the monomaniacal focus of Kayaba, and Sword Art Online as a story, on the importance of virtual space over any other aspect of virtual experience, and it's not surprising that Kirito tacitly agrees with Kayaba's decision when he and Klein tell each other they look better as their real selves than as their avatars. But it also alienates Sword Art Online from its connection to the reality of the internet, where personal identity is far more fluid.

Furthermore, despite his character arc, Kirito ultimately stands apart from his online community. At the end of the story, everyone lies on the ground paralyzed as he alone is given the privilege to duel the final boss, one-on-one. At this climactic moment, Kirito returns to being a solo player, while every other member of the community lacks agency, including Asuna. Especially Asuna. Shortly before the final battle, Asuna claims she'll commit suicide if Kirito dies, which is already an unhealthily adolescent view of marriage (as seen in Romeo & Juliet). Then, before the duel, when Asuna is paralyzed, Kirito demands that Kayaba "fix it so Asuna can't kill herself." Not only has Kayaba, the villain, stolen Asuna's agency over her own body, but now her husband is requesting he steal even more of it.

This, too, is part of Sword Art Online's ethos. Though the game has 10,000 people, nobody except Kirito actually matters. He is a "Solo Player" in the sense of Solo Leveling, the most popular airing anime, which has a mistranslated title; it should be "Only I Level Up." The implication of the real title is clear: Only the protagonist has agency. Kirito is the same. Only he plays the game, in any meaningful sense. The game—reality—bends to him; none of its rules, even death, constrain him.

It is total self-centeredness, a complete rejection of the responsibility to society that Card describes. This ethos pervades the show. Kirito is never wrong, even when he obviously is, like when he rejects Asuna's proposal to use NPCs as bait. The entire reason he realizes Heathcliff is Kayaba is because, during an earlier duel, Heathcliff beat him; Kirito (correctly) posits that someone who beat him must have been cheating. Everyone who likes Kirito is good, everyone who dislikes him is evil; Kuradeel, who chafes with Kirito initially over bureaucratic guild regulations, eventually unmasks himself as a sadistic serial killer. Every girl is in love with him, a harem rendered vestigial because Kirito is married to Asuna and expresses zero interest in Silica or Lisbeth or his sister or the second season's Carne Asada; but it's not about whether Kirito wants a harem, it's about the prestige of his ability to command one.

This is where the true face of Sword Art Online shows itself, what truly made it so popular, and where the core of its long-lasting influence remains.

Only the virtual world matters. Not the game, not the online community, not online identity. Only a different world, one that isn't the real world. And in this world, only Kirito matters. Sure, he'll fight to protect other people. Exactly like he'll fight to protect NPCs. In this world, real people are worth the same as NPCs, compared to Kirito. His wife is a real person; his daughter is not. But really, both his marriage and his child are a form of playacting, pretending at adulthood. When convenient, they are disregarded and trampled upon. Asuna spends the next two arcs of Sword Art Online sidelined—even viciously sexually assaulted—so Kirito can hang out with girls he doesn't even like, just because they're shiny and new; Yui is almost completely forgotten after the second arc, like a discarded toy.

This is an ethos of pure, distilled escapism. It is an escape from the real world to a false one, where every conceivable selfish fantasy is rendered real, where every desire can be granted and then disposed of when no longer wanted. It is an ethos without responsibility, without consequence.

And without shame. Sword Art Online is remarkably devoid of self-consciousness. It treats as real its virtual world, but doesn't feel the need to justify that world with logic. It doesn't feel the need to justify anything with logic; what it says is so, self-evidently.

In my Kill la Kill essay, I mentioned Sword Art Online's vast influence, and someone wrote (and sadly deleted) a well-reasoned response that explained how the aesthetics and tropes of modern isekai are much more heavily influenced by Japanese webfic that predate Sword Art Online, like GATE or Overlord or Re:Zero. That's true; I'd add that modern Gamer fiction, which is often obsessively concerned with the rules and statistics underlying game logic, is also not very similar to Sword Art Online on a superficial level. But Sword Art Online's ethos transcends genre. It can be found in isekai, Gamer lit, or even genres popular long before Sword Art Online, like battle shounen. Sword Art Online created the web fiction to light novel to anime pipeline, and in doing so popularized amateur literature and its decidedly adolescent mentality of shameless and solipsistic self-indulgence. "Only I Play the Game."

[verysium]

some thought on us/reader/yn (i don’t know how to address it lol 😭) and seeing ex-boyfriend, who preferably myb cheated and now is dump struck how we got a new boyfriend/it’s been some time since last seeing ex)

um.....i'm assuming the bllk boys are the new boyfriend for this. hopefully, that's what you meant, but here you go anon:

kaiser absolutely thrives off this situation. this is the perfect chance to stroke his ego, so he's going to take full advantage of it. definitely notices your ex before you do and tugs you closer, arm wrapped around your waist, nose buried in your hair. obviously, you can't see his facial expression, but you can tell by the way he's smirking that he's definitely up to no good. when your ex finally realizes that your new boyfriend is THE michael kaiser, he's like... 😏 that's right bitch. keep ogling. y/n's doing so much better without you. even better if your ex is actually a fan of kaiser. his sadistic ass will not let that go. you want my autograph or something? oh wait...sorry i don't give out autographs to losers. deliberately sets out on a mission to make your ex's day an absolute hell, and he's smug about it too. once your ex is gone, he looks back and asks...so did i do good? no, you don't need to thank me. i'm already thanking myself. (he's so stupid....i love him.)

sae's reaction is encapsulated in one word. side-eye. he won't actually say anything, but the judgmental aura leeching off him is already enough to send your ex running in the opposite direction. i don't even think your interaction is going to last more than one minute because sae is just so intimidating. the entirety of japan already knows who he is, and compared to him, your ex is an absolute nobody. poor guy will probably never recover especially after seeing you and sae on the front of every tabloid, magazine, and news channel. his ego is broken, masculinity in ruins, reputation in tatters. and honestly.....serves him right.

rin holds an even stronger grudge than you do. he never lets any personal slight go without consequence. probably still holding every single mistake your ex has made in the past five years over his head. what did you even see in him? he's a lukewarm piece of shit. again....like sae, i don't think you would even need to say anything because rin's death glare already says enough.

shidou needs a restraining order because i don't think your ex is going to make it out alive. probably goes straight for the throat too. he genuinely enjoys seeing other people in pain whether physically or emotionally. will probably make out with you right in front of your ex just to fuck with his mind a little bit. hand placement is key. he places one hand behind your head and the other one grasps your ass. uses a lot of tongue. leaves you winded with starry eyes and swollen lips before he maniacally grins at your ex. he definitely enjoyed that a little too much.

barou has a quiet but menacing aura. he's very tall, so i think he would likely tower over your ex. and uh...have you seen his physique? he would probably cross his arms, and his biceps would bulge, and he would whisper in the lowest, most chilling tone: you got a fucking problem? and that's about all it takes because your ex may be a wimp but at least he has enough self-preservation to know you don't mess with someone like barou. probably kisses you on the forehead after that and his voice softens just tad...you okay, baby? (dfhkjsdhf i just blushed)

nagi wouldn't really care. nothing fazes him, especially not your ex because he's in the past now and that makes him irrelevant. but he definitely does not back down from subtly throwing some insults. oh...him? he's just y/n's ex. a weak guy not worth the hassle. don't bother. if your ex is stupid enough to actually confront him though....he's not going to hold back. shut up. you sure bark a lot for someone with no bite. pet store's two blocks away. maybe you should check out a new collar. lmao nagi can be painfully rude when he wants to be.

[elysian-fawn]

꒰ 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍 : 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 ! ꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟡

꒰₊˚⊹꒱ whenever people gaze upon you it’s as though they’re looking at an angel who just so happens to grace earth as your beauty is far too perfect and harmonious to be that of a human

꒰₊˚⊹꒱ you innately wield an appearance so magnetic and mesmerizing, most often than not people have to remind themselves that you’re a real person as you appear to have stepped out of the most heavenly dream

꒰₊˚⊹꒱ your beauty is an encapsulation of the wonders and beauty of the universe. every magnetic aspect, every breathtaking view, every awe-inspiring star filled night sky seem to be compacted not only in your appearance but your general aura and demeanour as well

꒰₊˚⊹꒱ many artists strive to capture your likeness onto canvas as you look as though you stepped out of one of the most perfectly painted renaissance era portraits by an old master; though no matter how perfect of an artist they may be, they can never seem to capture your beauty in a 1:1 ratio as it’s nearly impossible to recreate it

꒰₊˚⊹꒱ you possess a beauty that’s never been seen before, a once in a lifetime beauty that defies any and all standards that could ever exist; the very definition of multidimensional beauty

꒰₊˚⊹꒱ it’s effortless how ethereal you appear, you could be doing the most mundane task there is and yet you still manage to appear with the dreamy grace and hazy beauty of an angel

[kingsoowolves]

what comes after: (im)perfect for you | l. at

part one (w/ Sungchan) | part two

pairing: Boyfriend!Anton x fem!reader

word count: 19.6k

author's note: Wrote this while listening to a lot of Ariana Grande, her new album just got me addicted. I feel like the song eternal sunshine has lots to do with reader’s memories of her relationship with Sungchan whereas imperfect for you and ordinary things perfectly encapsulate how she and Anton love each other. I also threw in some references from bed chem, by Sabrina Carpenter, for the anon who asked for it a while ago. This is for everyone who requested part 2 and some vengeance/justice for the reader. Thank you all for the kind comments and for caring so much for this story. I hope you guys enjoy this and love this couple just as much as I do! Happy Anton day! ❤

contents: Smut, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort. 10 years time jump, ex-fwb!Sungchan cameo, regretful!Sungchan. Descriptions about messed up family dynamics, depression, anxiety attacks, taking meds and going to therapy. Insecure!Anton, mention of a safe word, possessive/jealous sex turned soft in the end, Anton talks about Sungchan during sex. Vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving), squirting, vaginal penetration, petnames, reader sucks Anton's fingers like 3 times. Anton (lovingly) refers to reader as a "whore" once and as a "little slut" in another instance. Supreme aftercare!!! Anton and reader are so sweetly in love it gave me tooth ache — a bunch of praise, i love you's, healthy conversations, understanding and being silly with each other. And a happy ending, YAY!

extra info: This can be read as a standalone, but you might miss some backstory + clues from the first part. for the complete experience and understanding, I recommend checking out part one.

taglist: @shotaru-o @yoursyuno @dreamiestay @tonspresso @maripositaa @strawbrryvyy @hanniehq @sushimilks @severefireangelprune @kkyiu

you can also read this work on my ao3, if you'd like!

You’ve never been one to party much.

Although you did spend some years in college fooling around in parties and enjoying your youth, after graduation you’ve mostly stuck to bars, restaurants and small friend’s gatherings. When you finally hit thirty, the occasional affair became even more rare and you found yourself enjoying your time more inside your own home, either alone or with the ones you love.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you’re celebrating finally landing the promotion you’ve been aiming for for the past two years and you’re doing it in style. You’ve worked your butt off to get it and finally it paid off. You were already in talks with your boss for the past month about getting the higher position, but the news officially got delivered this morning and you signed the addendum to your contract in the afternoon, going over all the bureaucracies necessary so everything could be set in for next Monday. So you haven’t been able to meet your friends and commemorate it yet.

That’s why you’re currently at the most expensive nightclub in Seoul, texting your boyfriend to let him know you’ve just arrived. You send him your real-time location so he can find you inside the club and he replies saying he’s on his way. Then you move to your friends’ group chat, doing the same with them. You’ve just hit the button to send them your whereabouts, getting distracted while staring down your screen, when someone collides with you. Your arm brushes harshly against the person’s arm and some of their drink falls into your hands, also wetting your phone. You curse silently and shake your arm off, trying to get rid of the liquid as the person turns to you.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” a man’s voice says. You catch his silhouette in your peripheral vision while you look down to your phone, automatically trying to clean it on the fabric of your skirt. “Oh no. Here, let me help,” he offers, resting his drink on a small circular table near you and reaching for some napkins. He grabs your phone and starts cleaning it. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You watch his knuckles while he wipes the device clean. Once he’s done, he hands you the phone back with a couple of napkins that you gladly take.

“Thank yo—” you try to say, but your voice gets stuck in your throat as you finally glance up to look at him.

He has a gentle smile on his face, seemingly distracted and ready to reply when he gazes back at you. He also pauses for a bit while his eyes scan all over your face, with no doubt recognizing you back.

And then, with a stunned face and wide eyes, he asks, “Y/N?”

No way.

There’s no damn way you’ve just stumbled upon Jung Sungchan nearly ten years after that dreaded ending of your relationship. 

But it is him. Standing right in front of you in all his aggravating glory, at the club on the night you’re supposed to be filled with joy and nothing more.

It can only be a joke from destiny or God himself or whatever. Whoever’s the one who orchestrates the spinning wheels of your life must be having a pretty big laugh right now. And they are the only ones.

You sigh whilst you meet the soft brown orbs you haven’t seen for quite some time, feeling your heart constrict inside your chest. Looking at him, it’s hard not to get lost in awful old memories and all the trauma you already unpacked. But you decide that you won’t let this ruin your night. You’ll treat this brief encounter exactly as it is: a brief encounter. Nothing more.

As long as it ends right freaking now.

So you set your eyes hard and nod at him politely. “Sungchan,” is all you say, already moving to walk away from him. He doesn’t let you get very far, though, his hand closing over your elbow and stopping your steps.

Of fucking course he wouldn’t let you off the hook so easily. He never did before.

He seems almost suspended in the air, glancing up and down at you with his mouth slightly open while his fingers grip your skin firmly, no matter how much you try to pull your arm away. In another time, this action would drive a thrill through your spine. Right now, it only makes you feel annoyed and angry. So you rest your shoulders square and give him a pointed look. “Do you mind?” You say, looking at your arm and then back at him. 

He does the same with his eyes, glancing to your arm and then back to you. Finally clarity takes over his features and he releases you, cleaning his sweaty palm on the front of his jeans after. “Sorry. I was just shocked — I am shocked. Wow, I haven’t seen you in so long. It’s nice stumbling into you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, choosing to give him a closed lip smile instead. “Yeah, well… I actually have to meet someone, so—”

“Wait,” he exclaims suddenly and you flinch back before he even thinks of touching you again. He notices your reaction and switches back to his normal tone. “Sorry. I just wanted to catch up with you, you know? Like, how have you been? It’s been too long.”

It should’ve been longer, is what you think. But you’re still a polite woman and would not say something like that, even though that’s the phrase burning on the tip of your tongue when you finally access him. You wouldn’t walk away from him when he so clearly wants to chat either, even though that’s what you want and what he deserves. Alas, your parents raised you well enough to at least give him a proper reply. 

“I’m great,” you say, curt and final while using the napkin still clutched in your hand to rub at the liquid he spilled on you. It smells like whisky, you realize. After cleaning yourself, you toss the crumpled napkin back at the tabletop he found it on. “You?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good,” he says, his voice wavering a little bit, high pitched and then low. Your hesitancy towards him and your little intention in staying in conversation with him is probably obvious by now and you’re sure he catches it all from your answer with how his cheeks flush and his arm goes to the back of his head to scratch at it.

Before you have a chance to make an escape again, he continues. “You look different — good different, I mean. Fuck, sorry.”

Seeing him this helpless, you can’t help the smile that forces its way on your face or the laughter that follows suit. You’ve never seen Sungchan so out of place before. He’s being so awkward, stuttering and apologizing over and over again. And it’s all because of you, for some weird reason. It’s kind of pathetic. A little endearing too, but mostly pathetic.

You cover your mouth to save some of his dignity and compel yourself to stop laughing. “Sungchan, that’s like the fifth time you apologized to me in under two minutes,” you say, giggles still bubbling on your throat. “Just be chill.”

Sungchan smiles at you, his features softening because of your laughter. “Sorry, I just—” he says, and your giggles break free again because of the new apology, interrupting him and making him laugh with you.

Once the mirth dies down, he tries again. “I guess I’m just nervous. And you’re not helping. You’re looking at me like you want me dead.”

“Well, I kinda do,” you reply back and he narrows his eyes at you like he’s analyzing if you’re joking or not. You quickly quell his worries by giving him a soft smile, deciding ultimately to take it easy on him. Keeping up the tough act would just drain your energy. It’s not worth it. “Sorry, that isn’t true. But it’s not like we ended things on good terms, so can you blame me?”

At your words, Sungchan makes a remorseful face, putting a hand on the front pocket of his pants and casting his eyes down. “I know. And it’s all my fault.” Then he looks up like he had the greatest idea in the world, gaze glinting whilst he steps closer to you. “But what if you let me buy you a drink and hopefully we end things on a better note this time?”

The end of his sentence kind of stuns you. You can’t quite believe that, after all this time, Sungchan is flirting with you. But of course he is, because it’s Sungchan. He’s showing all his telltale signs, too — bulging his arms slightly, lowering his voice, poking the tip of his tongue out to wet his lips then giving you a cocky smile, checking you out like he wants to eat you alive, his free hand hanging too damn close to yours. Unfortunately, you’ve come to know all of his tactics after falling victim to them one too many times.

His eyes are eager and hopeful whilst he waits for your response. You feel like an owner dangling a piece of meat in front of his pet, taunting him with something delicious while still not giving him anything. Finally, after all this time, you are the one in control.

But as much as your ego is being stroked, you don’t want any of this. Not anymore. And it’s been like this for a long time.

“No, thanks,” you reply simply.

Two seconds pass until he registers your answer and his smirk vanishes, the corners of his mouth turning down and self-doubt filling his eyes. He starts to say something that seems like another apology, but at that point you’re not hearing nor looking at him anymore. Because that’s when you see him.

All clad in denim and with his fresh neck-length black hair, your boyfriend is making his way through the mass of people in the club to reach you, your gazes finding each other at the same time. You instantly feel calmness seep into your veins, the slight discomfort provoked by your meeting with Sungchan vanishing and being replaced by excitement while you hold your breath until he reaches you. When he’s a mere meter away from you, you step around Sungchan to receive him.

“Hi, love,” he greets with a beautiful smile, stopping right in front of you. “I know, I’m late. Sorry, I got caught up in—”

You leap on him before he has the chance to finish his sentence, arms going around his frame, and he stumbles back because of the knock of your bodies together. He chuckles, winding his arms around your waist as you hold him closely against you, nestling your head between his neck and clavicle.

“I missed you, too,” he says with laughter still in his voice and grips you just as tightly. You bury your nose on his neck and inhale his soft woody cologne. Peace and happiness run through your whole body at rapid speed. “Fridays in the hospital are always crazy and the line to this place is insane. I’m sorry I’m late.”

You shake your head as you pull away slightly. “It’s fine, baby, you’re here now.”

That’s when you really look at him. The royal blue of his denim clothes suit his complexion and the black belt with a silver buckle around his hips compliment the look. His shirt’s sleeves are folded nicely up to his elbow, showing off his pretty forearms. Everything combined with his long hair and accessories give him a soft rocker aura that makes your mouth water. 

It’s honestly unfair how extra good-looking he looks tonight. You feel the need to pounce on him right now, but you have to settle for giving him a peck and tugging on some of his strands while standing on your tiptoes.

“You look so good,” you whisper when your lips separate.

“You look so good!” He says, his eyes moving up and down your frame. “Real damn good! You got that Shiny New Miss Editor look!”

He moves his mouth to yours again and you smile against his lips, and then he’s spinning you around in his arms. You laugh loudly, hiding your face in his neck while his hands grip your hips, your legs dangling under you. After he completes three circles, you hit on his chest and ask him to stop, getting dizzy from happiness and being whirled. He puts you on your feet back and you try to balance yourself on your legs as he holds you up, pressing multiple kisses to your face. At this point, you’re laughing so much your cheeks start to hurt.

“I’m so, so, so damn proud of you, baby,” he says in between his stream of kisses. “Congrats, my love.”

“Thank you, baby,” you reply giggling, rearing back slightly and trying to escape his lips’ attack on your face. But he just follows you, still connecting his mouth to your skin repeatedly and making you lightheaded. “Wait, baby, I can’t breathe properly.”

Only then he stops, looking down at you with a huge smile on his face. You recompose yourself, putting your hair back into place and straightening your clothes. 

When you finish, you put your hands around his neck again and mutter with sincerity, “I couldn’t have done it without you, babe.”

You’re about to kiss him again, but your little bubble of joy and love pops when someone coughs just behind your boyfriend. You look over his shoulders to find Sungchan still standing there, having witnessed all of your interaction. You sigh, annoyed with him again. 

Does he ever catch a hint?

Of course, your partner, the politest person you’ve ever met, turns around to face Sungchan. The tip of his ears tinge pink at being caught by someone in such an intimate moment with you, but he quickly shakes it off to address the other man.

“Hi! Sorry, I didn’t know Y/N was talking with someone. I’m Anton, her boyfriend,” he introduces himself sheepishly and extends his free hand to Sungchan, his other arm still clinging to you by his side. You want to take a bite out of him from how cute he looks, so adorable being courteous to a stranger while still having his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

Sungchan looks at Anton’s hand for a moment before grasping it and you watch how their palms tightly press against each other, fingers bending while the veins in Anton’s forearm stand out and Sungchan’s bicep bulges slightly from the effort. It's a masculine showdown happening right in front of you. 

“Hi, I’m Sungchan. I’m Y/N’s—”

“He’s a friend from college,” you interfere, looking at Anton to explain it to him. “Back when I studied law. I’ve told you about him.”

Sungchan gives you a sly smile, finally taking his hand away from Anton’s handshake and trying to discreetly flex his fingers. “Has she told you we used to hook up, too? Because it seems like she wants to hide it from you, dude.”

A flash of anger passes through Anton's eyes and a second later it’s gone. Even though his grip around your waist tightens, he keeps cool and collected, his posture relaxed while he moves his now free hand to his pants’ pocket. “Actually, she has. Aren’t you the one who traded her over for a freshman or some dumbass move like that, dude?” He asks, holding steady eye contact with Sungchan and plastering a shit-eating grin on his face.

You snicker into your fist as you watch the arrogance flee from Sungchan’s features. He presses his lips together and drops his gaze down in dismay. Anton’s smile turns triumphal, knowing he had won the confrontation between the two of them. Then he turns to you with sweet eyes and you think it’s the hottest thing ever how he can change from harsh to tender in the blink of an eye.

“Baby, I’m going to grab you a drink while you speak with your friend, okay?” He says, rubbing your arms up and down. You plead him with your gaze to not to be left alone with Sungchan, the long time you’ve been together making it easy to talk with only your eyes, but Anton shakes his head almost imperceptibly, giving you an encouraging pat on your shoulder. “You want your usual?”

You sigh, defeated, and nod your head. “Yes, please.”

“You got it,” he says, bending down to kiss your lips and then your forehead. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When Anton walks away, you finally turn to Sungchan again. He has his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes are looking behind you, with no doubt still analyzing your boyfriend as he scurries to the bar. Only now you give yourself the chance to take him in. He looks good, in a fitted white t-shirt, black leather pants and a matching dark jacket. The same as ever. Still handsome, only older, just like you. And definitely a little bit buzzed, enough to make a move on you and irritate your usually peaceful partner.

Sugchan’s eyes jump back to you. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” he says, and you half expect him to make a snide remark about Anton, but he just completes his observation with, “He seems like a good guy.”

You smile and look over your shoulders, catching a glimpse of Anton already at the end of the line to the bar. He’s pretending to scroll through his phone and stealing glances at you and Sungchan, trying so hard to seem nonchalant while simultaneously watching you like a hawk. It’s freaking adorable and you make a mental note to tease him about it later. When his eyes meet yours, he lifts his eyebrows up and mouths, “What?”. You just wink at him and turn back to the conversation with Sungchan, still smiling.

“He’s a really good guy,” you answer him.

Sungchan nods, carefully watching your reaction. “You seem happy.”

Your smile becomes bigger. “I am happy.”

His eyes tremble slightly after your reply. Then he tilts his head to the side and relaxes his posture, arms going back to his sides. “You’re a book editor now?”

You’re taken aback that he actually heard everything you and Anton talked about. You were too overcome with joy to pay attention to anything else or care about being too loud.

“Yeah. I’ve been working with Gimm-Young since graduation,” you explain. “They offered me the promotion this morning.”

He listens to you with attentive eyes, nodding his head. “I remember Sohee told me back in college that you switched majors. I was really glad for you. But, wow, now you got an editor position at a big publishing house. And while you’re pretty young, too. Congratulations, Y/N. You made it.”

You’re shocked by his praise, but you take it nonetheless. And then pieces of memories you had with him flood your mind. Back then, you talked to him about your dream, showed him some of your writing and expressed doubts and insecurity on really going for it. In turn, he listened to your worries attentively, read and praised your works and spurred you on to go for what you wanted.

You scrunch your eyebrows up and look down at your feet, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden memories. Maybe Sungchan was an asshole, but he was a supportive asshole.

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes shifting back to him again. “I remember you— You encouraged me to study Lit back then, Sungchan. It was really meaningful at the time.”

He shakes his head. “Well, I’m not taking credit for your obvious hard work, Y/N.”

“I’m not giving you credit,” you say pointedly and he laughs. “I’m just saying thanks, I guess? For hearing me and supporting me back then.”

He shakes a hand in front of him, like he’s declining your explanation. “Hey, there’s no need for that. That’s the least I could do, really. You were great back then and I’m sure you're even better now.”

“Well, maybe you’ll read one of my editing works one day,” you say with a smile.

“Maybe.” He smiles back at you. “Or one of your books. I assume you’re still writing.”

“I am,” you confirm. “But that’ll still take a while to come to fruition.”

“When it does, can your first fan hope for an invite to your first book release party?” He asks, obviously referring to himself as your first fan, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. He’s showing the playful Sungchan you saw on occasion and the nostalgia gets to you. “We’ll see when the time comes.”

He nods with a smile. Then a beat later he’s stepping closer and the atmosphere turns serious, his sorrowful eyes gazing at you. “Y/N, I want you to know I’m very sorry for how I behaved with you back when we were together.” 

You can’t hide the astonishment on your face, being caught unprepared for this.

“I know it probably sounds like shit right now, but I cared for you. You really were special to me, even though I didn’t show it,” he barrels on. “You are a sweet girl, Y/N. You didn’t deserve what I did. I regret it every day since.”

The sincerity of his surprising words hits you right in the chest and you have to inhale deeply to prepare yourself for a response despite the shock. 

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s fine, Sungchan. I already worked everything out in therapy anyway.”

It’s the truth, you did work everything out in therapy. And despite being annoyed by meeting him tonight at first, you realize you really have no hard feelings towards Sungchan anymore. You’ve already come to the understanding that whatever happened back then, it wasn’t because of your actions, feelings or words. It wasn’t because you were undeserving of his love. He just couldn’t give it to you, for whatever personal reason he had. What happened was Sungchan’s responsibility, his guilt to carry, not yours. And, from what he’s saying, he acknowledges how carelessly he treated you and that finally puts you at peace with that chapter of your life. 

“My therapist thinks you’re an asshole, by the way,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

“Something both me and your boyfriend can agree on, too, apparently,” he says with a chuckle, balancing forwards and backwards on his feet a little. “Well, I won’t keep you from him any longer. I have to wallow in self-pity right now because I let the successful Gimm-Young editor slip from my fingers.”

You scoff, not believing his words at all. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re really sad about it,” you say ironically.

He probably has a long line of eager girls wanting to be his girlfriend, anyway. You’re just glad you’re not one of them anymore.

You stand there with him for a beat, smiling about it. Then, his gaze shifts to something vulnerable and he gulps his saliva down, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he speaks again. “So, just to be sure… If you didn’t have someone, would you still— Well, would you consider—”

You catch on to what he’s trying to ask pretty quickly and reply before he embarrasses himself further by completing the sentence. “Yup, I’d still reject you. That ship sailed a long time ago, pal.”

Because of his failed flirting attempt, you try to concentrate and search for the body reactions you used to have whenever he’d sweet-talked you in the past. But there’s no heat on your face and limbs anymore, no goosebumps on your arms, no itch in your hands from wanting to touch him, no more sweat accumulating on your hairline and no tingling on your body. It’s all gone. The only thing you feel left for him is a quiet sentimentalist from what you shared during your college days that translates into a soft but lingering pang in your heart. Nothing more.

“Okay, I just had to try,” Sungchan says with a blush on his cheeks and a glazed over look in his eyes. “I should probably go now… before your boyfriend’s eyes  actually turn into red lasers and open a hole through me.”

You look behind you one more time to see that he’s right. Anton is tapping his fingers on the bar countertop while he waits for your drink to be made, his eyes completely focused on both of you, not even pretending like he doesn’t care anymore. He does kinda look like he might commit attempted murder at any moment. You send him a kiss despite his sour face.

“I’m sure he treats you better than I ever could, anyway,” Sungchan completes.

You look back to answer him. “That’s not very hard to accomplish, but yes, he does,” you tease with a smile.

Sungchan smiles back at you. “Yeah, I deserved that one.” He sighs and shakes his head, rubbing a hand on his neck. “Thank you for talking with me. It was nice seeing you.”

“You too, Sungchan,” you reply sincerely.

He’s about to walk away, but then he halts his movements, looking at you one more time. “Oh, and Y/N? I really hope you’re happy.”

You nod and smile at him. “I really am, Sungchan.”

“Then I’m glad,” he says with finality, gazing at you one last time and starting to turn around.

However, just before Sungchan can fully spin around, your eyes catch the glimmer of a metallic chain connected in between two of his jeans’ belt loops. Beside it, in his front loop, dangles a keychain with three trinkets hanging from the same clasp — a burger charm, a soccer ball one and, if your eyes aren’t failing you, one very familiar lilac polka dotted scrunchie.

You smile to yourself after the keychain is out of your line of sight. 

Maybe you really were special to him once.

While you watch Sungchan’s retreating back, you’re taken by an abrupt feeling. It’s not the anxiety and dread you used to feel whenever he left you or the longing that always took over you. It’s something keen to relaxation and comfort, like the sense you get when you meet an old friend or are wrapped up in a warm fuzzy blanket on a cold winter night. There’s a tinge of nostalgia mixed with the emotion flowing from the place right behind your chest and spreading through your limbs.

When you can’t see him anymore, you take a deep breath and think that what you’re feeling is relief.

Only when Anton comes to you again with a few of your friends in tow right after, you completely understand the emotion. With your best friends squealing around you in a circle, giving you their congratulations about your promotion, and Anton smiling at your side, looking at you as if you hung the moon and the stars in the night sky, you feel pure, absolute and unrestrained joy.

“Did you know you are the most perfect boyfriend ever?”

Anton is clearly taken aback by your sentence. He has just helped you get inside his car and buckled your seat belt for you, humming happily when you lean close to press a kiss to his cheek. After showing bewilderment, he smiles, a small blush appearing on his cheeks because of your praise. It’s the cutest thing ever.

“Thank you, baby,” he says, the smile still lingering on his lips. “You’re the most perfect girlfriend ever, too.”

He leans in to give you a quick peck, but as he backs away, you put a hand on his nape to keep him there, following his mouth with your own until your lips are pressed together again. It only lasts five seconds, but it’s enough to make you whine when he pulls away completely.

Anton laughs at you and straightens up from his bent down position, getting his upper body out of the car. He closes the passenger door carefully, then comes around to the driver’s side, opening the door to get inside. 

He’s the designated driver for tonight, choosing to opt out of drinking so you could relax and have fun with your friends while he made sure you were safe and back home without any scratches. Being the perfect boyfriend that he is, of course he made sure your friends would get home safe, too, calling them a cab on his own phone and waiting it out with you until their taxi arrived before getting you both inside his car.

Once he’s buckled in, he turns the key in the ignition and the car springs to life. He gives you a soft smile before turning on his blinkers to safely enter the lane. In no time, you’re on the road to your home and your hands are tangled together over the center console.

“You want to stop by somewhere to grab food?” He asks after a while.

You shake your head. “I don’t feel hungry right now. Can we order in later?”

“Of course, baby.” He looks over to you for a brief moment before fixating his eyes back on the road, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, after four years of dating, I found out something new about you today.”

“Oh, did you?” You reply, leaning onto his teasing words. “What is it?”

“You’re a party girl,” he states accusingly, making you laugh.

“What? No, I’m not,” you say, trying to be firm and serious, but your words get interrupted by a giggle. You scrunch up your nose because of your own mistake. 

Anton just chuckles at you as he makes a turn on a street. “Tell that to the four shots you downed today, babe.”

You squint your eyes, pinching his wrist lightly, and he gives you a little groan. “Hey, I was celebrating today! Can’t a new promotee have a few shots?”

His eyes glint while he tightens his hold on your hand. “Yes, you can, love. I’m just teasing.”

“Well, don’t tease me, Anton.” You scrunch your eyebrows up and make a frown, pretending to be angry. “It’s my promotion day. You’re not allowed to tease me!”

“Sorry, Miss Editor, I forgot. No teasing for today, got it,” he says, letting your hand go to make a fake army salute. You laugh and squeeze his bicep in reprieve, and he chuckles with you.

“You’re a menace,” you say, letting him take your hand in his again just as the car slows down to stop at a traffic light.

You take the moment to pull his hand to your lips, pressing soft kisses on his knuckles as your eyes meet his. “Thank you for being with me today, baby,” you whisper over his skin and you smile to yourself when goosebumps rise in his forearm. “And for taking care of me and my friends.”

Anton moves the hand you’re kissing to your face, rubbing his fingers over your cheekbone, and you lean into his touch. “Of course, baby. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I love you so much,” you confess as you start to drop kisses into his open palm now, your lips lingering a bit too long over the tip of his thumb.

“I love you, my girl,” he says, pinching your cheek.

You wish you could do more to show him how much you actually appreciate him being who he is. But the light on the stoplight turns green and you have to reluctantly stop yourself from touching him a little more boldly over road safety. You’ll have plenty of time to make him feel loved once you get home.

You roll your window down and tilt your face towards the chilly wind as you think about how you really did hit the jackpot with Anton. You’ve met him at your job, while you were working in a book launch party from one of your company’s authors, helping out the social media crew that was currently short-staffed and busy.

In your position as an assistant editor, you’ve worked pretty closely with the author launching her book before. Your chief editor trusted you completely and let you bounce ideas back and forth with her, so you knew each other pretty well. Anton was the author’s cousin and when she introduced you to him at the release party, there was buzzing excitement in her eyes. She told you how he was a Korean-American that moved back to Seoul with his brother for medical school. Currently in his last year of college, he had been studying nonstop to get his professional license after it, so he needed a night off to relax and that’s why she ended up inviting him to the party. He had on a nice white jacket that complimented his thick shoulders and when he talked with you, you couldn’t help but be somewhat captivated by such a soft voice coming out of such a broad body, his cute accent making him even more adorable.

Later that night, when the party was already fizzling out and your body started to hurt from standing on high heels for too long, he approached you again. When you complained about the ache on your feet, he found a free chair for you to sit on. And when you laughed about something he said, he asked for your number. He looked too damn cute bouncing up and down between his two long legs while you typed your digits on his phone. And after your contact was saved, he pressed call so you could have his number, too.

When a colleague called you to help with something else, Anton pouted adorably because you had to go so soon. Before you went away, the tip of his fingers brushed against yours for a brief fleeting moment and he made a promise to contact you soon. The next morning, you woke up with a text from him on your phone, asking what type of food you enjoyed so he could take you out on a date.

It took a few dates and a couple of sincere conversations about both of your expectations in a relationship before you and Anton made it official. Since the beginning, he never let his intentions be misunderstood. From the first date, he made it very clear he was interested in you as a whole person, not parts of you. He didn’t want to have your body if he didn’t get to have your soul either. He has taken you seriously since then. After the fifth time you went out together, you brought him home with you. You still remember the image of him hovering above you, cheeks and neck flushed while he stared at you deeply, telling you in the softest voice ever how he wanted you to be his girlfriend. He made you feel secure, the sincerity in his tone helping you to never doubt his words. And when he used that same feathery intonation of his to coax out of you the most powerful orgasm you ever had in your life, you were done for. You wholeheartedly handed yourself out for him and he did the same right back.

You’re together for almost five years now and Anton has been with you through thick and thin. He deeply enjoyed the sheer joy in your mom’s face when you brought him up to meet your family. She kept going on and on about how tall and good-looking and young and amazing your doctor boyfriend was. Nothing you ever did in your life before made her as happy as introducing him as your partner and it felt nice seeing him being appreciated by your loved ones. Either way, whenever your family dinners took a turn and your father would try to convince you to study law again and become a judge like him and your mother would make poisonous comments about the amount of food on your plate, all while your sister boasted about her successful career as a lawyer, taking occasional jabs at you for giving up on it, Anton rubbed circles on the back of your hand under the table, soothing the ache he knew you felt about not being understood by your own flesh and blood, showing that he understands and sees you better than anyone.

Anton was with you during your grandfather’s funeral and one month after it, when your little dog died unexpectedly of a quiet illness. He hugged you and listened to you as you sobbed and babbled on for hours about how unfair death was. When your eyes became red and your throat sore, he wrapped you up in a blanket and held you firmly until you slept.

He was beside you during your depressive slumps, letting you sleep your exhaustion out for how long you needed to and not pressing you on about it, having food ready and plated for you when you woke up. When you made a mild mistake during work and got afraid of being fired, he encouraged you to talk to your boss and fix the problem, helping you come up with a plan to gain back her trust again. He was also with you when your brother married one of your best friends and when they told you they got pregnant. When you were announced as the child’s future godmother, he cried tears of happiness with you.

Anton bragged about you during his family dinners, telling his parents how brave you were for changing career paths and accomplishing so much in so little time and mentioning how he hoped his little brother would find a partner as amazing as you. He made sure your relationship with his parents was as lovely and safe as possible and you are constantly doted on by his family because of it.

Three months after your psychiatrist dosed down on your depression meds, he prepared you a homemade dinner and told you how proud he was of you for battling such a devious disease and pushing through despite all of your struggles.

And when he got anxiety attacks during his time studying for the surgery residency program, you taught him your methods to push through them and made him an appointment with your doctor. You were beside him, helping him work through his fears and the tension. When he got in the program, you were the first person he called. And he was also the number one on your call list when you got your promotion earlier today.

Whenever his sinusitis would flare up, you were also the one by his side, watching on his health, making sure he took his meds, making him tea and helping him with nebulizing.

Sometimes, when your bad thoughts get the best of you, you feel like you don’t deserve him. You think he’s too good to be true, that he does more for you than you do for him and that he’ll grow tired of it and drop you like so many have done in the past. On times like that, Anton always tells you he’s the lucky one for having you on his side and the sincerity dripping from his lips and eyes always scare your doubts away. You believe in him even when you don’t believe in yourself. He makes you see how you bring out the best out of each other. And when any of you are feeling down, you both always feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable.

There’s no pressure to be perfect with Anton. You can make mistakes and try again how many times it takes. And he does the same. Despite you seeing him as a pretty perfect man, Anton also messes up, like any normal human being. And you do the same. Over and over and over again.

Sometimes you speak with him a little too roughly. Or he gives you the silent treatment when things don’t go his way. Or you wake up in a bad mood and take it out on him. Or, on the same day, he forgets to take out the trash from your shared place and you arrive late to an important work dinner of his. You argue and get mad and upset like any other couple. But each time it happens, you talk it out. And he never leaves you alone in your relationship struggles, always meeting you halfway to solve the matter.

The thing is you accept each other, the good and the bad and the in-between. No feelings or thoughts are invalidated or dismissed. He makes you confident and comfortable in your own skin. And you like to think you do the same for him.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome and jacked, too, his swimming career in school building up his muscles nicely to the man he is today. That’s what you’re thinking about while he takes the final turn to enter your apartment building, parking the car on his spot with one hand on the steering wheel and the other one still gripping yours tightly, attentive eyes checking the car mirrors.

His shirt hangs nicely on his body and the two top buttons under its collar are undone, showing his clavicle and a hint of his chest. You lick your lips and breathe through your nose deeply, trying to settle the buzz deep in your belly while you admire him. When he’s done parking, he catches his jacket and your purse on the backseat and gets out, making his way to open your door and offering you his hand to help you out of the car. You grab it and step out carefully. Once you’re securely out of the car, he closes your door and rests his jacket over your shoulders, helping you to slip your arms through the sleeves. Then, with your purse still over his arm, he locks the car and grips your hand, leading you both on the walk to the lobby to call for the elevator.

You squeeze his hand with both of yours and lean your head onto his arm while you wait for the lift, appreciating his presence, warmth and attention. 

“I’m glad you had fun today, baby,” he whispers and you tilt your head up to find his eyes already searching for yours.

You smile at him. “So much fun. I’m so happy, Anton.”

His eyes shine seeing the true joy exuding from your body. “If my girl is happy, I’m happy.”

His admission makes you want to get closer, so you turn to stand in front of him, tugging slightly on his shirt collar to get him to bend down over you. “Thank you, baby.”

“For what?” He asks, an eyebrow shifting slightly up.

“For being happy for me and with me. For celebrating with me today,” you say, looking deep into his eyes.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, baby,” he whispers while his arms cross over your waist, pressing your body against his. “I want to celebrate this and so much more with you.”

“Yeah?” You mutter back, getting on your tippy toes as you watch him with hooded eyes. “Like what?”

He slides one hand up to rub your face, pulling you in to speak over your cheek. “Like when you get the editor-in-chief position next.” He drops a kiss on your cheekbone and moves his lips to your jaw next. “And when I finish my residency.” A new kiss is laid on your chin and another one on the corner of your mouth. “Then our engagement, our wedding…”

“Ahh, so you do plan on proposing,” you tease, leaning back to get your face out of reach from his lips. “It’s taking so long I’m starting to think you’re just stringing me along.”

Anton tightens his hold on your waist. “Stop it, you know I’m planning on it.” He moves his free hand to your nape to pull you close again, his lips one more time landing on your cheek. “You’ll just have to wait and see. It will be perfect. You’ll bawl your eyes out.”

“With how easy you get emotional, I think you’ll be the one bawling, Tonie,” you say, pulling on his hair a little while he rasps his teeth on the side of your neck.

“Oh, for sure,” he says, his voice muffled by his lips constantly pressing on your skin. “We’ll both be crying messes once the ring is on your finger.”

You chuckle at him and pull his head back to look at him, watching his mouth become an adorable pout at being denied kissing you more. “I can’t wait for this mysterious proposal, then.”

Anton’s pout turns into a wide smile. “I can’t wait to wife you up.”

You smile back at him, the thought of being his wife, of calling him your husband sending butterflies flying in your stomach.

The elevator finally arrives then, and you both get inside. Anton presses the number for your floor and slumps against its wall before the lift begins to move up, his arms settling around you and pressing you to his body again. You wind your arms around his shoulders and press a kiss onto his clavicle, making him groan, his hips instinctively moving forward to press against yours.

“Aren’t you eager today?” You mutter, looking up to find a flush creeping onto his cheeks. “What has gotten into you?”

“You’re just so happy right now. And I want to make you even happier.” He holds you flush against him while he nuzzles his nose against yours. “Wanna make you feel so good…”

“Oh.” You press your lips to his quickly, smoothing your thumbs on the sides of his neck. “I’d like that very much.”

“Plus, I’ve been thinking about something…” he says, gaze holding yours steady, building tension.

“Thinking about what?” You whisper, the expectation blooming on your chest.

Anton doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moves his face to drop kisses on your shoulder, his nose skimming under the jacket so his lips can reach your skin. He trails a path of kisses from your right shoulder until the place under your right ear, nibbling on your lobe while you whine. That’s when he finally replies, his breath blowing over the damp skin he just kissed, “Thinking about being a little possessive tonight, a little harsh…”

His words make your breathing heavy and warmth spread through your body. You tug on his hair, your mind getting dazed from his teasing. “Like, you wanna be mean?”

He shakes his head and places his hand on your face, stroking your cheekbone. “Not mean. Just taunt you, mess with your mind a little.”

“Oh,” you whimper, pressing your thighs together while mulling it over your mind, remembering all the times he teased you in bed and how it always made you feel. “I like it when you do that.”

“I know you do, baby,” he whispers, moving his mouth to your jaw. “You always get so—”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice a little high pitched, suddenly feeling self-conscious of being this close to him and thinking dirty things in the elevator. You can only hope there’s no audio on the camera by the corner that’s aimed directly at you both.

You hide your face on Anton’s neck and he snickers at you. “So, you’re up for it?”

You nod, the embarrassment shining red on your cheeks and heating your skin. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Anton rests his chin on top of your head and digs his fingers on your hips as he squeezes you against him. “If you dislike something, you remember the word, right?”

“Pineapple,” you say against his skin, reciting your safe word to him so he knows you remember.

“Good girl,” he purrs, tightening his grip on you.

When the elevator finally dings and its doors open on your floor, you and Anton both scramble up to get to your apartment as fast as possible.

As you type the code for your door, you think about how the night was fun enough until now. You drank cocktails, danced to songs, hugged your friends, screamed your lungs out in happiness and enjoyed your time. It was really really good. But there’s only one thing left to end this perfect day, one thing left to take the fun to the next level. It’s the one thing that’s been nagging at your mind, body and soul the whole time you were at the nightclub. The only thing you can think about after that spicy elevator ride — having Anton all to yourself.

So when the both of you cross the threshold of your place and take your sneakers off and your purse is out of Anton’s hand, you corner him into your entry door, kissing him fervently, slipping his jacket off your body and dropping it to the ground. Anton responds in kind, pressing his lips to yours just as hastily. When your tongue traces his bottom lip, he opens his mouth for you to invade it with, and when you stroke his tongue, he groans.

“You look so fucking good today,” you whisper on his lips, your fingers deftly undoing his shirt buttons. “I wanted to jump your bones the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

“You look so beautiful too, baby,” he mutters back at you, complimenting you with his soft-spoken voice and gentle demeanor.

Your sweet, loving, kind man. You love him so much. 

When you kiss him again and your nails scratch over the exposed skin of his chest, he moans, sliding his hands down your ass and pressing your body against his. You gasp from the feeling of his dick already twitching and fully erect inside his pants, your mouth opening up in surprise. He takes the moment to kiss you again, licking the inside of your mouth and biting your bottom lip, pulling on it a little before releasing it.

“I kept thinking about being inside you the whole time we were out, too,” he says with his lips over your neck, nipping on your pulse point. He licks the place and speaks against the moistness, making your skin jump. “I’m gonna fuck you so good today, Miss Editor.”

Your filthy, dirty, hot man. You love him so much.

You whimper from his words, trembling hands trying to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Before you can, Anton is lifting you up on his lap, and you yelp in surprise. You both giggle as he strides towards your bedroom and supports you with his hands on your ass, but you give up on laughing in favor of kissing him again, your lips becoming moist with spit. You don’t know how Anton manages to find your room while he keeps kissing you, but in just a few seconds he’s laying you over your silky sheets.

You stretch on the bed, moving further back until you’re positioned in the middle. Anton stands in front of you while he opens the rest of his shirt and you watch as more of his skin is revealed. After he’s done with it, he unbuckles his belt and opens his fly, showing the bulge under his boxers. You lick your lips at the sight.

He leaves his pants on, though, and kneels on the bed, crawling over until he reaches you. You sit up to run a hand on his front, from his chiseled pecs to his taut abs until it stops on his happy trail on his lower stomach.

He bends down to kiss you and your arms go around his shoulders to pull his shirt away from him completely. Anton helps you slide the fabric off his arms and once you throw it on the floor, his hands are pulling up your top over your head, your shirt also being off in an instant. Then he’s pressing his body on yours and laying you back on the mattress.

“God, would you look at you,” he says once your head is resting on the pillows, tracing a hand over your stomach and raising goosebumps over your skin, eyes shining while he looks at your chest. “So fucking pretty. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

There’s a reverent and low tone to his voice that always turns your insides into mush on moments like this. You press your legs against each other from the praise and tighten your grip on his shoulders, trying to kiss him one more time to show how much you appreciate it, but Anton rears back slightly, his eyebrows shooting up and eyes encouraging you to say what he wants to hear. 

“I’m all yours, Tonie,” you say with heavy breathing and he smiles approvingly. “Only yours.”

“Yeah, baby?” He mutters, his hand covering your boob over your bra. You gasp while he squeezes your flesh. “Seeing your past fling today didn’t confuse you? You didn’t think about leaving me for him, did you?”

It’s like a bucket of icy cold water is thrown on you. Anton’s words shock you to the core and you look at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Thinking about being a little possessive, he said. You never thought it would show up like this, though. You played with jealousy in bed before, of course, but it was always with creative scenarios — celebrities, fictional characters, strangers in the street, unnamed imaginary people. The line was drawn at real people in your life. You’ve never considered using any of your exes, friends or close acquaintances.

But Anton is changing that now by talking about Sungchan and your meeting with him earlier. And you know him well enough to decipher his words and body language, to know that he’s jealous. For real. 

Even though he has no reason to be.

Honestly, Sungchan was the furthest thing from your mind all night, your encounter with him long forgotten while you had the time of your life with Anton and your friends. You can’t quite believe your amazing boyfriend is actually insecure about it. But he is.

You blink up at him, still stunned to silence, and Anton sighs, annoyed by your lack of response. “Did you, love?” He asks again, squeezing your breast a little harder. 

The action springs you to life. “I— No, no, baby. Not at all,” you stutter out as he pulls down the lacey cup of your bra and circles his forefinger around your areola. “What made you— shit, what made you think that?”

Anton pinches your nipple then, making you arch your back and moan. ”I just think you spent too much time talking. Seemed like you were having fun, too, smiling and flirting with him.” He ends his sentence with another press on your nipple, harder than the last one, rolling the bud in between his thumb and forefinger to soothe the ache right after whilst you pant under him.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you defend yourself quickly. “I mean, he was flirting, but I didn’t—”

“Oh, was he, baby?” He asks, eyebrows going up. “And how did you respond to his flirting?”

Anton’s eyes are dark, hooded and lust-filled while he waits for your answer. There’s something about the jealousy and possessiveness he’s exuding that makes you whimper, feeling the release of more arousal into your panties. He looks so fucking hot. But you can’t have him thinking that you would trade him for Sungchan. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“I rejected him. I’m with you and he saw it. I told him how happy you make me,” you stutter. Anton just looks at you, analyzing your words in silence. It fills your heart with desperation. “Baby, I didn’t even think about him after that, I promise.” You reach your hands towards his face, but he remains out of reach, making you paw at the air. “There’s no reason to be jealous, Anton.”

He scoffs at you, tweaking your nipple one more time while his other hand goes around your chin, gripping it tightly. You moan loudly at the action and his thumb starts to trace over your areola again when he speaks. “I’m not jealous.” He hovers above you again and presses his nose to yours, looking down your eyes. “But he sure seemed like he was, talking shit about you two hooking up in the past. Like he had the right to act territorial over you when you’re my girl.”

“Baby, I don’t want to talk about him now,” you plead, your words coming out jumbled from the way he’s now pressing his fingers on your cheeks. At seeing your struggle, he loosens his grip a little and you’re able to speak better. “Please, let’s just—”

“So, what more did you tell him about me?” He asks, purposely interrupting you and ignoring your plea at the same time.

“I told him you’re amazing. And that you treat me so well, that I love you so much,” you babble out, mind racing trying to remember everything you said.

“Hmmm, and what else?” He says, his face still so close to yours.

”What do you mean, what else?” You gulp down, looking up at him.

Anton softens at your question, smoothing his fingers over your features and kissing on your pulse point. Then he descends, sucking on the upper part of your boob, tongue slipping out to flick your nipple. “I mean, did you tell him about this?” His hand moves to your other breast, still bra covered, blunt nails scratching the fabric down so his thumb can press on your nipple. “Or about this?”

Fuck. Anton wants you to lie.

Actually, he wants you to pretend like you’ve told Sungchan about your sex life, that Anton’s so good at it you boasted about his skills to your past affair. What he wants is an ego boost, to know that he’s still the only one that gets to have you like this. So much so that you needed to tell your ex how he makes you his.

It’s a little crazy. And adorable. And fucking hot.

“I did,” you whisper and Anton purrs on your neck, his hips grinding down on yours. “I told him how you always make me feel so good, how your fat cock stretches me just right.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, sinking his teeth on your skin. You tug on his hair while bucking your pelvis up to meet his. You love the way he melts into you so easily, how just a little praise gets him weak, even when he’s the one in control. It always makes you confident.

“I told him I’m too obsessed with how you fuck me to ever think about leaving you, baby,” you whisper in his ear, one hand going down to press on his ass so he can drive his hips down harder, the stimulation on your clit over all the clothes getting to you. “And that I’d never trade you for him, not in a million years.”

After that, Anton kisses you with so much force your teeth clash together. But you don’t care about it, letting him kiss you while you grip on his shoulders and press on his back so he keeps grinding down on you. You only break for air when he unfastens your bra, going right back into kissing him while he slides the straps down your arms and takes the button of your skirt out of its loop.

Anton pulls back to tug on the bottom of your skirt and you help him out by pulling your waistband down and wiggling your hips until the item is out of your body. You’re almost laid bare before him and he rests a firm hand on your lower stomach while he drinks you in, his other hand reaching up to cup your breasts, one after the other and then back again. You see his dick jump inside his underwear as his eyes devour you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty when you’re like this for me,” he says and you moan at him, hands trying to coax him back into putting his weight on you. “My perfect girl with her perfect body,” he praises, his free hand going up your body until his fingers meet your lips. He doesn’t need to command you to take them. You do it willingly, opening your lips to suck on his index and middle fingers greedily. Anton hums in approval. “Perfect mouth and tongue.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves them over to your right boob, brushing wetness on your areola before moving to your left one and doing the same. “Perfect tits.” He slides his hand down still, navigating it through the valley between your breasts and the plush flesh of your stomach until it brushes over the waistband of your panties. He caresses over the top of the fabric, and you try not to whimper pathetically or squirm too much. Then, he finally slips his hand in between your legs, cupping your cunt harshly over your underwear. “And perfect pussy.”

“Baby, please,” you moan out. “Please touch me.”

He snickers at your desperate state, but hooks his fingers on the sides of the elastic band and pulls them down. You release a deep breath when the underwear is finally off you and another one when Anton’s hands go back to your body. “Fuck, imagine if Sungchan could see you right now, love,” he says, his right hand coming back to one of your nipples to pinch it again as his left one strokes the inside of your thighs. “If he could watch how much of a pathetic mess you get for me. So fucking desperate.”

“Anton,” you moan as his hand inches closer to your heat and he presses his palm on your left thigh to separate it from your right one, spreading you open before him.

“I wish he could hear how pretty you sound while you whimper my name like that, baby,” he says, moving his free hand to your bottom lip again and tapping on it. You open up, taking three of his fingers into your mouth now, licking over them and sucking on them. He presses his digits deep, reaching for your throat and you gag on them, but still don’t let him pull them from your mouth, closing your hands over his wrist to keep them there. “I wish he could watch you suck on my fingers and gag on them just like that, my perfect girl.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth as fast as he slipped them in, getting his hand out of your hold and moving his damp digits to your pussy. You almost let out a squeal when he rubs on your clit, spreading your legs further apart for him. You look at his face while he watches the movements he makes on your cunt, his other fingers rubbing over your folds as his thumb keeps pressing on the nub on top of it. “I wish he could see how wet you are right now. You’re going to soak our sheets, love.”

You bite on your lip, gripping the sheets and planting the soles of your feet on the mattress while he remains kneeled in between your legs bringing you pleasure. “It’s your fault. You always get me so wet. I’ve been like this since the elevator.”

“Hmmm, I know, baby,” he mutters appreciatively, eyes glued to the juices sticking to your cunt, his fingers noisily working over you. “You’re so naughty. Can’t help getting horny for me anywhere, right?”

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek now, moving your hips slowly with the movements from his hand. “Yeah. I want you all the time.”

“Fuck,” he groans and you see his dick jumping against the wet patch forming on his underwear. “I think Sungchan would love seeing how much of a whore you become for me.”

“Just for you, baby,” you affirm between moans.

Anton’s gaze slides up to yours again whilst he starts to massage over your hole, the jealousy in it now fizzling out, leaving behind shiny heart-eyes for you. “Yeah, just for me. He can’t have all of that anymore, baby. He can’t see you or touch you or hold you or hear you or fuck you. Only I can, right?”

“Yes,” you groan, bucking your hips up when he finally slips one digit inside you, your walls contracting over it. “Only you can, baby. I’m your girl.”

“You’re my girl,” he repeats, adding another finger inside, making your head spin. “My perfect girl, I’m going to ruin you.”

Anton puts his free hand beside your head and hunches down so he can press his forehead against yours while his other hand keeps working your pussy slowly open. His long thick fingers plunge deep inside of you and it’s crazy how easy they slip in and out, your wetness making the slide smooth, even when he starts to make scissor motions and bending his knuckles.

“Anton,” you moan, touching his neck and trying to keep your eyes open to look at his flushed face. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He says with a sly smile, getting his fingers completely out of you at the same time to run over your pussy lips, making you whine in frustration from being empty again. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“I like how your fingers reach so deep inside me,” you grumble, trying not to close your eyes when you feel him grazing over your clitoris again. “Your cock, too. You’re so fucking big all over.”

“You like that I’m big?” He asks, rubbing little circles on your clit. 

You nod, scratching the nape of his neck to release some stress as he keeps teasing you. “I was afraid you wouldn’t fit the first time. But like I said, you always get me so wet.” 

“I do, don’t I?” He whispers, a sleek smile on his lips, focused eyes watching your every reaction to him.

His hands descend again, looking for your entrance, and you mewl when he finds it, his digits shallowly stroking it. You bite your bottom lip before replying to him. “You do. You’re so patient with me, too. I love how attentive you are.”

“Awww, sweet girl,” Anton coos, mocking your frenzied state, his lips curving up. “All of that praise just because you want me to finger you properly?”

You chuckle at his words. Of course he can read you like an open book. He always can.

You pull his mouth to yours to press a lingering peck on his lips, your hips grinding up to look for more friction. “I mean what I said,” you state over his lips, giving him pleading eyes. “But doesn't your sweet girl deserve a reward for inflating your ego?”

He snickers and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Of course you do, baby.”

Then he’s inserting two of his fingers inside you again, the stretch making you open your mouth in a big ‘O’ and squeeze his shoulders. He’s still relaxed with it, delicately rubbing your walls, slowly bringing you pleasure.

He kisses the moles on your shoulder and you crane your neck to the side, silently asking for more smooches on your skin. He chuckles and follows your silent request, pressing his kisses on your neck and clavicle.

“I love giving you what you want, baby,” he whispers, his thumbnail grazing under your clitoris. “You look so good taking it.”

You try so hard concentrating on what he’s saying, but the pace of his fingers inside you is slow and deliberate, making you dizzy with want, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You’re so good to me,” you reply after a beat passes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he confesses back, his lips now on your right boob.

He keeps kissing you and licking every part of your body his mouth can reach, sucking on your skin and marking you all over. When his kisses travel down your stomach, his fingers start to curl up in your pussy, and you hitch a breath when he comes face to face with it. He presses his free hand down on your lower belly and looks up to see your hazy eyes focused on him. He smirks, adding a third finger and you feel more juices coming out of you, enveloping his fingers in a slick mess. 

He looks down again, now laser-focused on your heat. “My baby’s got such a pretty pussy. I love to watch you from here.”

“Just watch?” You ask, your voice already hoarse from moaning.

He cocks his head to the side, as if he has no idea what you mean. “Why, baby? You want me to do something else?”

You move a hand to his face, thumb rubbing his cheek while your other fingers press on his neck, trying to get him closer to your cunt. He resists you easily, your hold on him being too weak in the state you're in.

“Anton,” you groan, giving him puppy eyes again. “Please.”

He sets his eyes firm on yours. “Ask for what you want with your words and I’ll give it to you, baby.”

“I w-w-want,” you stutter, your breath coming out ragged. “I want your mouth.”

“Where?”

You expel a frustrated sigh before replying. “On my clit, please.”

“You got it, babe.”

You’re expecting him to lick at your bud, but Anton surprises you by enveloping his whole mouth around it and suctioning hard.

“Oh my fuck,” you moan, hips bucking up as he combines speeding his fingers inside you and sucking on your clit with an enthusiasm that has you seeing stars. You try opening your legs more to feel it all and give him space, and he follows your cunt in every wiggle of your body.

“Sweetest pussy ever,” he says after retreating a little. “Can’t get enough of your taste, baby.”

Then he’s back at it, licking up at you, swift and strong strokes of his tongue going from your entrance to your clit and slurping up your juices. You squeeze his neck and move your hand up the top of his head to ruffle his hair and tug on his strands, earning a groan from him that vibrates through your whole body.

You move your free hand to grab at his forearm pressing on your belly. He looks up at you and grabs your hand, his fingers slipping on the space between yours. He moves both of your hands to press on your body again, bending his wrist up to keep your palms connected as his veins become prominent from the force he’s applying, making him even hotter. You ground yourself with his hand on yours, feeling his affection enveloping your body and soul.

You love when he eats you out just like this — hungry eyes gazing directly at you, hand linked with yours, messy hair from your pulls and a skilled experience years of getting to know your body gave him. It always makes you feel close to him and also never fails to drive you crazy.

He goes back to sucking at you in rough and messy intakes and the fingers inside you start to move deeper and harder. You lose eye contact, resting your head against the pillows as a prolonged moan of his name makes its way out of your lips. When it subsides into hoarse whimpers and cries, you begin to feel the bed shake and look down again. You see Anton is rutting his hips on the space in between your legs, jolting both of you with every one of his thrusts. The movement somehow helps with the feeling of his fingers inside of you, making them quicker and sharper, and you scratch on his shoulder from how good it all feels.

Anton catches your gaze again and tightens his hold on your hand, rearing back to lay kisses on your thighs while he speaks to you. “I’m so damn hard for you, baby.”

You press your nails on his skin again, probably leaving marks. Thinking about his hard dick and how his thrusts on the sheets could be inside you has you trembling with want. “I want it, Tonie. Need your thick cock inside me so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you after you cum for me one time, okay?” He asks, thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“Yeah, okay,” you breathe out, nodding at him.

He nips the inside of your left thigh. “You’re feeling good, right?”

You nod again, neck straining from the sensations moving through you. “So good. You’re so good at this, fuck.”

He gives your other leg the same attention, rasping his teeth on your skin. “You close?”

“I’m getting there.”

“Hmmm,” he ponders for a bit. Then he shifts his wrist slightly and bends his fingers in your cunt, finding that spongy spot inside you. “What if I do this?”

Your mouth hangs open in a hoarse moan, hips lifting up on instinct, trying to meet his hand. “Tonie, shit, that’s it. Please don’t stop.”

“Found it,” he whispers to himself, a smirk playing on his lips.

Anton’s mouth comes back to your clit, sucking and licking on it nonstop while he keeps his knuckles crooked inside you, driving his fingers in with more force and speed each time they slide out. He presses down your lower belly with more vigor, putting some of his weight into it, and you start to feel the crushing pleasure from inside and out. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, so you close your thighs on his head and hand, rest your feet on his shoulders and swivel your hips to the best of your ability given the force he’s applying on you, trying to meet his frantics movements, looking for more friction, more satisfaction, just more.

The noises become louder and harder to ignore, driving you to insanity. The squelching sounds from his fingers and your wetness, the slippery suction of your intimate flesh, the creaking of the bed, Anton’s soft groans pulsating through you, the rustling of the sheets, your own moans and whimpers coming out broken.

There’s sweat on Anton’s forehead and you brush his hair back, giving you a perfect view of his shiny black eyes and how he’s devouring you whole. Not only his fingers and mouth, but his mind and soul are working intently to get you to your high.

Your pussy starts to flutter around his digits, gripping them and sucking them in. You feel your muscles straining, tensing and relaxing repeatedly, twitching under your skin. Your legs are shaking, your fingers on Anton’s hair and hand trembling, your throat producing incoherent sounds and a familiar churning growing on your core.

You’re sure you can feel each one of your boyfriend’s three fingers rubbing at your walls, prodding at the sweet place deep inside you, when you become restless. Your impending orgasm creeps up on you unexpectedly, fast flames licking at your ankles, knees and elbows and spreading like wildfire to your limbs and torso, blowing your mind.

Then you feel it. The way your stomach contracts against Anton’s hand, how the weight over it is almost unbearable, a crushing presence urging you to peak. It makes you panic, hand gripping over Anton’s hand so hard your knuckles turn white and your nails dig into his skin.

“Baby, baby, wait, I’m—” You try to warn, but it’s too late. You’re cumming, your orgasm wrecking through your body and a clear and short stream of liquid pouring out of you and hitting your boyfriend on the chin. You’ve just squirted.

You’re instantly ashamed, covering your face with your hands, but Anton is unaffected by it. He just withdraws his face from your cunt, pins one of your legs to the bed and keeps pressing his fingers deep inside you, his thumb replacing his lips and moving messy and loud circles on your clit. Through the crack in between your fingers, you see his tongue poking out and licking down his chin and lips, his eyes set on your pussy, still trying to bring you the utmost pleasure.

He works you for a moment while your orgasm courses through you, and when the flames finally subside, you move your hand to push on his wrist, while tears brim your eyes and your jaw and throat hurt from all the moaning. Only then he pulls back completely, sitting on his haunches, resting his hands over his thighs and watching your chest heaving and the red flush all over your skin.

“I knew you’d soak our sheets,” he says, voice soft and frazzled.

You whine, closing your legs in embarrassment and pressing the heels of your hands on your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Your gargled words have Anton touching and hovering over you again, rubbing at your ankle and kissing your hip bones, one after the other. “Hey, hey, none of that, please.” His hand moves up to your waist and he trails a thread of kisses on your whole stomach. “You always look so sexy when you do that, baby.” He smooths his palms on your elbows, coaxing you to open up so he can see your face. “I wanted you to do it. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

You just whimper again, not loosening up to the pressure of Anton’s hands. 

He moves his hands to yours, rubbing on your knuckles. “Come on, baby. Let me see your pretty face all red.” He places a kiss on your left shoulder. “Wanna kiss you, please.”

You reluctantly pull your hands away, but you press your left cheek on the pillow so he can only see your profile. He chuckles and cradles your face on both of his hands, moving your head straight so he can see you clearly.

“There you are,” he coos, his thumbs swiping at the tears collected on your waterline. “Hi, love.”

You give him a pout and look down. “Hi.”

“Look,” he starts, voice soft and eyes kind. “I have no idea why you get so ashamed when that happens, but you need to know it’s fucking hot. Like, I wish it would happen everytime.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you mumble out, tracing patterns on the skin of his right shoulder, still not meeting his eyes.

“No, I’m not. Baby, some guys only dream of making their girlfriends squirt,” he explains. You flinch at the last word. “I get to do it every once in a while and it feels amazing.” He shifts his face so you have no choice but to look directly into his eyes. “Does it feel like that for you, too?”

You sigh deeply, his reasoning infiltrating your mind. “Yeah, it does.”

“Then stop ruining this for you,” he says with finality. “It’s a body reaction, it feels good, and you like it. So why not enjoy it? It’s not a bad thing, love.”

“Okay, you’re too reasonable for someone that just blew my brains out,” you complain, weakly pushing his face. “Stop, please.”

Anton laughs, his chest rumbling against yours, and you smile back at him. When his lips peck yours, he puts his whole weight on your body to press his still hard length on your leg, the fabric of his jeans rough against your skin. “Reasonable while I’m hard for you, at that.”

You make a grumpy face at him. “You didn’t cum in your pants for me?”

He smiles wickedly. “I held it in for you.”

“Why would you do that?” You ask, an annoyed look taking over your face.

“Wanna cum inside you,” he whispers, nipping on your bottom lip.

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “I don’t think you deserve it, Anton.”

“I don’t deserve it after blowing your brains out?”

“You should’ve cummed with me the first time!” You exclaim, feeling heated over the subject. “Honestly, how much do you like me squirting when you can’t even soil your pants over it?”

He chuckles because of your defensiveness. “Here I was thinking you’d be glad because this way we can get right to it—”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Huh?”

“My love,” you say calmly, trying to sound as patient as he was with you a minute ago. “I like to make you weak as much as you like to make me weak.”

“Ahhhh,” he mumbles, realization dawning on his features.

“So, next time be weak for me, all right?”

“Got it, love,” he says, giving you a happy smile you can’t help but return.

You move your hand to his face, feeling the softness of his underlip with your thumb. Then you’re pulling him in for a kiss and moving your tongue inside of his mouth. He tastes like your pussy and something still undeniably him, and you sigh against his mouth, sucking his tongue and biting his lips. He kisses you tenderly, tucking strands of your hair over your ear and massaging your shoulders. You can’t get enough of him.

When you separate for air, your eyes glint at his, hand going down to press on his bulge. “Great, now fuck me.”

Anton groans and bites your cheek. “You’re so romantic, baby.”

You laugh while you try to tug the waistband of his jeans down, but his hips being so close to yours hinder your actions. He gives you a peck and then slides down the bed to stand up, yanking his pants away and revealing his briefs, a moist patch on its front. Then he’s pulling that down, too, and his cock slaps against his abdomen while he kicks the clothes off.

You lick your lips staring at his puffy cock, moistness accumulated on his swollen tip. He goes back to the bed, climbing atop of you. You quickly wrap your hand around the root of his shaft, then collect his precum on his head to smear it all over his length. Anton whines, his forehead hitting your shoulder.

“So sensitive, right?” You whisper over his ear. “Maybe you wouldn’t be if you hadn’t held it in…”

He snickers, biting on your shoulder. “I said I got it, baby. Can we drop the subject now?”

You humph, squeezing his tip, earning a moan from him. “I’m just making a point here, pretty boy. I can tease too.”

“You tease me all the time by being you,” he whispers against your skin, moving his mouth to your neck. “Being annoyed at me only makes you hotter.”

You smile and kiss the end of his shoulder. “Well, then you should fuck your hot girlfriend, baby.”

He’s so quick to pull back from your shoulder that you almost laugh at him. “How do you want it?”

“Spoon me,” you say and he gets off of you so you can lay sideways.

Once you’re positioned, he comes behind you, chest pressing against your shoulder blades and left arm fitting in the space between your neck and the mattress to wrap around your torso, his hand gripping on your opposing shoulder. He places his other hand on the inside of your right thigh to separate it a little from the left one, getting his hips close to yours. His dick hits the swell of your ass and you wiggle your butt to feel more of it.

“You like that I get so deep like this, don’t you?” He taunts, lips on your earlobe raising goosebumps on your body.

You reach your hand back to grip on his hip bone. “Anton, just shut up and fuck me.”

You love the man, you really do, but sometimes — mainly in bed, when you’re horny and desperate — he just talks way too damn much.

“Alright, Miss Editor,” he says with a chuckle. “So impatient tonight.”

You feel his knuckles skimming against your skin as he grabs his dick to tap it on your cunt, his head sliding against your folds. You both sigh at the first contact, chests contracting and expanding at the same time, and you dig your nails at his skin. Then Anton is moving his hips back and positioning himself, his tip prodding at your entrance for a moment before he’s gliding inside in one swift motion until he bottoms out, your arousal making it smooth and painless.

Anton releases a sigh when his hips are flush against yours and you feel suspended in the air and filled, your chest falling forward, your back separating from his chest and your hands supporting yourself on the sheets.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, voice already strained.

Anton doesn’t let you be distant from him for too long. He pulls you right back against his body, hand moving down from your shoulder to your boob, and thrusts into you shallowly. 

“Stay with me, love,” he whispers in your ear.

You move your hand to grip onto his forearm, grounding yourself whilst you feel your pussy throbbing around him. “Tonie,” you say breathlessly. “Feels so full, so deep.”

He wraps his free arm around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to him, rocking your hips forward together, making sure he’s buried within you to the hilt. “That’s why you chose this position, right?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his wrist. “Can you move, baby?”

You feel him nod against your neck and a moment later he’s going almost all the way out, letting only his tip inside, and then pushing forward again, until he hits your deepest walls. He does it three times in a row and it’s like you can feel him all the way from your core to your lungs, his thrusts pushing air right out of you and leaving you breathless.

You move your hand back to his hip again for support.  Anton takes the moment to slide his hand down your butt, fingers spreading around one of your ass cheeks as he rests the top of his head between your shoulder blades to watch the way you take him in, keeping his thrusts slow and steady.

“Look at the way your pussy takes my cock, fuck,” he says, groaning in between his words. “Always stretching up for me so good, wrapping all around me.”

“Anton,” you moan, aiding his movements with your hand, trying to pull him closer and deeper inside you.

He starts pressing kisses over your skin and his hand lightly slaps your ass, rubbing the place right after, the sting making you clench around him. “I could live inside this pussy forever.”

His words get to you, like it always happens, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Would you like that, baby?” He whispers, his lips pressing on your neck, the hand on your boob flicking your nipple. “I bet you would. You love having me inside of you.”

You nod, sure that he can see you. “Yeah. I’m obsessed with—” The next words die in your mouth, replaced by a hiss when his hand pulls your leg up, changing the angle slightly.

“Obsessed with what, baby?” He asks, as if he’s not making your train of thought weaker by the second.

“With you… and your cock,” you say through gritted teeth while he starts to speed his pace. “Just obsessed. Love the way you fill me up.”

You’re not lying. You are obsessed with his dick. Truefully, you’re obsessed with all of him. Probably just as much as he’s obsessed with you. You make the hottest maniac couple possible.

You can’t see his face correctly, but you know he’s smiling because of the noise he makes, his smugness showing up from his sounds and the snap of his hips on yours. “I know you do, baby. Can’t get enough of this dick, right? You act like a little slut for it.”

“Jesus, baby…” You’re all out of words, your body and mind being consumed by him.

“My girl got a pussy made for me to fuck,” he praises, hand gripping your thigh so hard you’re a positive he’s bruising you. “Fucking perfect, made for me. Perfect for me.”

“You— you’re the one who’s perfect,” you stutter out, moving your lips to press kisses on his knuckles.

“You’re perfect for me and I’m perfect for you,” he states, his hand going from your thigh to your face, making you turn your head so he can look into his eyes. “We’re made for each other.”

And then he kisses you, stealing what’s left of your breath, tongue licking your lips and invading your mouth. After that, he taps two of his fingers on your lips and you take them in, sucking on them languidly as you give him the sultriest look you can muster. He smiles at you and puts the same fingers around your nipple, wetting it with your saliva as he twitches the peaked bud. His lips descend upon your neck to wrap around your other boob and he sucks on the neglected nipple. You moan and arch your back, driving your ass and hips back in time with his growing thrusts forward, mind going dizzy from how good you’re feeling.

Anton smiles around your breast, looking up at your face and you see in his eyes how much he loves driving you crazy. It makes you put your hands around his head and pull his lips back to yours, kissing him with all your might. You love him so much you think you might explode sometimes.

His hips start to hit you with more force and speed and you pull back for air, but keep his face close to yours, mouths still connected and breaths mingling whenever one of you moans, sharing kisses, licks and bites on each other’s lips.

“Love of my life,” Anton whispers over your mouth. “I love you so fucking much.”

From the very first time you fucked, Anton showed you how much he valued connection. Yes, you two love to try out freaky positions and new ways to pleasure each other. However, he said it time and time again the one thing that surpassed all of it was being close to you. Nothing could compare to the feeling of his skin against yours, of you being wrapped on his body and inside his embrace, gaze locking with yours and his hands being free to roam all around you.

He made you addicted to the feeling as well and without even noticing you started to always search for positions where he’d be pressed as close to you as possible.

The position you’re in right now is good, but not ideal, mainly after his thrusts became faster, his hips sending you lurching with each snap as his arms pulled you back to him, throwing your body back and forth. When he grabbed your face to kiss you, it just turned more uncomfortable, your body now twisted at the waist to keep looking at him as he pounds on you from behind.

You’re about to ask him for a change when he proves he’s one step ahead of you, slowing down his thrusts to a stop and rocking his hips one more time before pulling out. “Gotta change,” he says breathlessly, resting your thighs back on the mattress. “Need to look into your eyes while having you.”

“Should I ride you?” You ask, but he’s already moving over you and pushing your shoulder until your back hits the sheets, his other hand spreading your thighs open.

“Maybe for the second round,” he says and you chuckle, not quite believing he has the energy to think of doing all of this again. “Be my pillow princess for now, baby. Let me take good care of you.”

He sits on his haunches and secures your legs apart before moving a hand back to his cock, pressing on his leaking tip and then moving it down to the base. He teases you both for a second while he taps his cock on your folds, hissing with you in unison, and then he’s passing through your hole and pushing inside again, hips kissing yours.

You clench around him almost as an instinct and Anton throws his head back, reveling in the way you wrap around his cock, his hips pushing you forward. He lowers his chest to meet yours, caging you in between his arms that press on the sheets on both sides of your head, looming over you and dipping the mattress with his weight.

“Still soaking wet and tight for me even after we’ve done this a million times,” he says, pulling back slightly to drive inside you with more force. “You make it so hard to hold myself back.”

You move your hands to his neck, feeling his hair damp with sweat. “Don’t hold back. I want you to feel good.”

“Don’t worry.” He moves a hand to your waist, pressing you against the sheets and thrusting in again. “I always feel good when I’m inside you, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his lower back, crossing your ankles together and pressing your heels on his ass to force him to fuck you with more power. “Baby, you have no idea what you do to me,” you mumble, moving your lips to press on the apple of his cheek. “I feel like I’m addicted to you.”

Anton all but melts, slowing down to look directly in your eyes and pay attention to what you’re saying. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need you to know how much I need you,” you say, your voice starting to falter, your hands getting antsy and squeezing his shoulders. “I’d never ever think about replacing—”

He soothes you with a hand on your face, sweeping your hair back. “Shhh, I know, baby, I know.”

“No, you don’t.” You shake your head, eyes glazing over him. “I really don’t want anyone else. You’re the one for me.”

“I know, love,” he coos, stroking your face and kissing your temple. “You’re it for me, too, sweet girl.”

“I fucking love you,” you utter, your lips skiming against his at each word, in the same beat as he thrusts deep inside you. “Nothing— no one else measures up to this, you and me.”

He smiles, resting his forehead against yours. “You and me, baby. That's all that matters.”

You seal your vows with a kiss, your mouths clicking like puzzle pieces. Just like how your body fits beneath his, how his hands are carved to drag on your skin, how your fingers are modeled to grip his hair and your nails to rake through his back, how both of your moans sync up, harmonizing together, how his hips attach on the dip of yours, how his cock is suit to fuck you, how your pussy is made to suck it in.

There’s so many messy aspects of your lives, so much baggage you both carry. But this, being together, belonging with each other is what makes all the imperfection make sense, no matter how fucked up life gets.

Anton licks his way down from your lips to your neck, his mouth suctioning on your pulse point and his hands squeezing your waist. He’s still fucking you leisurely, every movement deliberate and intense, and from the way he digs his fingers into your skin and your moans make your throat hoarse, you know you’ll cum just like this.

“Shit, you’re so freaking perfect,” he chokes, his uneven breaths hitting your skin. “Perfect for me.”

You agree, lifting your hips up to move in tandem with his, chasing your high. “Yes, perfect for you.”

He bites on your earlobe, then speaks over it. “You’re gonna cum for me, my perfect girl? Gonna make a big mess on my cock?”

You speed up the movements a bit, trying to scratch the itch that gnaws at your lower belly, feeling yourself clenching over him. “Yeah, I’m so close, baby,” you gasp.

“That’s it, love, that’s it,” he says, pressing his face on yours again, nuzzling your nose. “You’re taking it so good. Such a good girl for me.”

He grabs one of your legs to crook it, fitting the back of your knee on the bend of his arm and stretching it up. The new move makes him plunge deeper inside you, his tip hitting the back of your walls, right on your g-spot.

“Oh my gosh, Anton,” you whimper, clawing at his lower back. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Fuck, I love how whiny you get every time,” he says, soft and gruff, pressing his lips to your cheeks. “So desperate to cum for me.”

He wraps his forearm around your leg to reach for your pussy, digits rubbing on your clit at rapid pace, in contrast with his slow fucking. You grow agitated, curling your toes and bucking your hips, hands gripping any of his flesh you can reach and a string of broken moans falling from your lips. Anton gulps on each one of your sounds, lips rasping against yours as he moves his free hand to your lower back, pulling you more into him while you arch for him, both still trying to feel every part of you as possible. Your pussy is clenching around him without control right now and you feel your restraint slipping away with each passing second.

“Shit, you’re clenching on me so tight, baby,” he groans, and you see the burning under his eyes, how his hands get more antsy, too. “Gonna make me cum, too.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes,” you mutter like crazy, pressing a hand on his face to smooth down the place between his eyebrows where his skin is squeezed shut, obviously trying to hold himself back. “Anton, inside, please.”

That’s what does it for him. The desperate plea on your lips, how urgent your voice calls his name, asking him to give you his seed. He kisses you one more time and then he’s cumming, hot thick spurts filling you up and triggering your own orgasm. It hits you right in the chest, stealing all breath while you chant his name like a religious hymn.

Anton doesn’t stop, because he never does. He frees your leg and sits on his haunches, grabbing your hips and making you ride the high together, still thrusting inside you whilst your cunt convulses around him, watching how white rings of your hole form around his swelled up cock, speaking nonsense. Once he’s almost done, he slowly dips inside you three more times, rocking his hips forward the most he can on the last one, until he can see his cum leaking out of you from how much he gave you.

He stays connected with you and sinks back down on the bed, fitting his head on the space between your neck and shoulder. You stay silent for a while, letting your labored breath slow down while you’re both brought down from the peak. You notice how loud you were being. The absence of your moans, the rustling of the sheets, of your skin slapping together and your headboard hitting the wall is calming right now, but it also stresses you for a whole different reason.

You rub on Anton’s shoulders and tilt your head to the side to kiss his cheek. “These walls are thick, right?”

He opens his tired eyes to look at you. “Scared we’ll get a noise complaint, baby?”

“I mean, we can’t afford being expelled from the building, Anton,” you say firmly in response to the humour in his voice.

He chuckles and drops a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Relax, baby. They can’t expel us until we get like three strikes.” 

You look at him quizzically. “What does that mean?”

“Like, we have to be notified three times for the same wrongful behavior,” he explains. “I read the condo regulations when we got this place.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “What did you read it for?”

“Hmm, moments like this?” He says with a teasing smile. “We both know how loud you can get.”

You roll your eyes and push at his shoulder, annoyed. “Get up, you’re all sweaty.”

He doesn’t back down, instead getting his face all up on yours and kissing your cheek. “You like it when I get sweaty.”

“Not like this,” you say, truly feeling sticky with his hot skin still pressed on yours. You try to push him off you, but he doesn’t even budge. “Seriously, baby, I feel gross. And we need to showeeer.”

He tightens his hold around you and pouts. “Gimme a kiss first.”

You give in to him, pressing your lips on his for the last time before he finally lets up, getting off your body, his softening cock pulling out of you. You feel more of his cum dripping out of you as you sit up and move your shaky legs to the side of the bed. Anton follows your movement, staying on his knees and pressing soft kisses on your spine whilst you breathe deeply.

“My hot, annoyed girlfriend,” he whispers on your skin. “I’ll have to fuck you again if you keep up with this act.”

You finally laugh as he kisses his way up your shoulders. “Well, you’re annoying sometimes! Always teasing me, even when I asked you not to!”

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says on your neck. “Would you forgive me if I carry you to the bathroom princess style?”

You pretend to muse on the thought. “Hmm, maybe.”

The next moment he’s up and wrapping one arm around your back and the other under your knees, picking you up to carry you to the en-suite bathroom. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his clavicle as he walks and a few seconds later he’s dropping you back to the ground.

“Start without me and I’ll join you in a minute,” he says before giving you a long peck on the lips. “I have to take care of the big mess you left on our sheets.”

He turns his back to you and you swat at his butt for that comment. “See? Annoying!”

Anton just laughs as he gets out of the bathroom, leaving you to it. You sigh and get on the toilet, analyzing your frazzled state in the mirror while you pee. Your hair sticks at odd places, your eyes look glassy and your skin is covered in perspiration and link marks. The boy said he would ruin you and ruin you he did. You sigh happily, the thought making you giddy.

After you clean yourself, you walk on still wobbly legs to your side of the bathroom vanity to grab a hair tie, then move to the shower to turn the faucet on. You brush back your strands with your fingers while you wait for the water to warm up, checking in the mirror that your hair looks decent enough before tying it in a firm bun. You step into the shower stream, then, letting it wash away all the grime and remnants of your lovemaking. Anton joins you a few minutes later, pressing his chest on your back so the water stream hits him, too. You hum contendly when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

His aftercare is the best, as always. He cleans you and himself up almost all on his own. You notice how he initially reaches for your body wash, but ends up brushing it aside to grab his body wash, lathering you up with bubbles. You keep your lips sealed about it as he scrubs you softly with your violet sponge, even getting down on his knees to brush it over your legs and feet, making you laugh. He also lets you hog the stronger stream of water, too busy kissing and caressing your skin to care for it. It all feels so good you start to feel sleepy. Once you’re done, he wraps you both in your matching fluffy white robes and pulls you back with him to the bedroom, kissing your lips again.

As you step in the bedroom, the room feels chilly and fresh, the pine scent of your air freshener spray lingering in the air. Your bed is made with new crispy white sheets and a pair of Anton’s pajamas rest over the quilt. He grabs the bottoms and starts to put them on and you move to your wardrobe to catch a nightie for you. But he’s quick to pull you back to him by your wrist, the top part of his pajamas in hand.

“Would you mind wearing this tonight?” He asks, voice soft and careful. “Please? For me?”

It’s funny how he’s gingerly requesting you something while towering over you, big shoulders and arms on display. A strong bulky man turned uncertain and sweet in front of his much weaker and dainty girlfriend.

“Sure, baby,” you reply, opening your robe and letting it fall off your shoulders. You reach your arms up and look at Anton expectantly. “Can you help me put it on, please?”

He gives you a giddy smile and rushes to do just that, helping by putting his shirt on you, first passing your arms through the holes first and then your head. He pulls it down until the comfy fabric hugs your body nicely and the bottom of it reaches until a little past your butt. With this, you’re completely wrapped around Anton's scent. Which definitely was his goal all along.

He makes it crystal clear when he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up and putting his nose right on your neck and inhaling deeply. “You smell so good, baby.”

You giggle, crossing your arms over his neck. “I smell like you, you mean.”

He pulls back with an embarrassed smile, a pink tint flushing his ears. “Exactly.”

You press your hand on the nape of his neck and pull him down to kiss him languidly. Anton hums happily on your lips, sitting down on the bottom of the bed and moving you to his lap. You sit with your legs perpendicular to his and wrap yourself tightly in his embrace, giving smooches on his face and neck.

When you pull back, Anton is smiling like a school boy at you. “Oh, I already ordered some jajangmyeon and fried chicken for us. It should be here in a few minutes,” he tells you.

You smile back at him and move a hand to your now growling stomach at the mention of your favorite comfort food. “Wow, you really are the love of my life.”

He nods proudly and grips your hand to press kisses onto your open palm. You trace the lines of the muscles on his shoulder with your free hand while he does it, scouring your mind for a way to softly broach the subject of his obvious jealousy.

Then you sigh and decide to just rip the bandaid off. 

“So, uh,” you start uncertain, and his eyes go to yours, showing he’s listening to you, his lips still pressed on your palm. “The Sungchan thing really bothered you, right?”

Anton tenses and pauses mid-kiss on your skin, his body becoming stiff under yours. He scrunches his eyebrows together and shrugs, trying too hard to seem laid back. “No, not at all. Does it look like I’m bothered?”

You bite on your lower lip and nod slowly, seeing his cheeks blushing.

“Oh,” he mutters after a beat, dropping your hand and looking down. “Well, I guess it did bug me a little bit, then.”

You scratch on his hair, trying to be supportive, and softly ask, “Can you tell me why, baby?”

“I don’t know,” he says, still looking down, suddenly very engrossed in pulling at a thread on his pants. “I mean, you told me all about him. And I think, maybe, knowing it all— Like how he was your first real thing, the first guy that you actually loved… It all made me a little insecure. And then he appeared out of nowhere and he’s obviously tall and handsome. And then he’s flirting with you, you said so yourself, and you’re chatting up with him all buddy-buddy—”

“I wasn’t buddy-buddy with him,” you say and Anton looks at you exasperated with the interruption, but you gaze back at him with an adamant expression. “We just talked. He heard about the promotion when I was speaking with you and asked me about it. Honestly, it didn’t mean anything to me, baby.”

“I’m not saying it meant something to you. But he was very obviously trying to get you, even after he saw you were committed. I’m not dumb, Y/N. It just upset me.”

“But I rejected him. Very clearly, at that — like no, thanks, you wouldn’t have a chance with me even if I didn’t have my amazing ass boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know all of that,” he huffs, still brooding. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t give you a play by play of our talk while you ravaged me,” you say, voice full with sarcasm.

He gives you a pointed look. “You could’ve told me before that!”

“And how was I supposed to know you were so upset about it if you didn’t say something?” you counter. “I know I’m great and all, but I can’t read minds yet, Anton.”

He shrugs and pouts. “Anyway, you asked me how I felt about it and that’s it.”

“You’re so cute when you’re this jealous,” you tease, squishing his cheeks and finally getting back at him from all the ways he taunted you tonight. Anton glares at you and you soften up, holding his face tenderly, your thumbs rubbing at his jaw. “Look, baby, I meant every word I said. You’re it for me. There’s no one else, no ex or past fling that can whisk me away from you, especially not a fuckboy like him.”

He nods at every word out of your mouth, eyes understanding.

“I completely get why you felt troubled tonight,” you continue. “But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it when I say it doesn’t matter what he or anyone else tries to do, I won’t leave you. You’re stuck with me, baby boy. No take backs. No running away. No cheating. It’s you and me until the end… okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he replies. His eyes are set firm now and you can tell he feels more confident by your reassurance. 

“You trust me, right?”

“I trust you, baby. And I feel the same way. You and me, always.”

“Always,” you nod, giving him a happy smile and looking him deep in his eyes. “I love you so bad.”

He visibly melts, his hands pressing on your waist again. “I love you, baby.” And a beat after he asks, “Was it okay, though? The possessive thing?”

You squint your eyes at him and stretch your arms around his back. “Well, I didn’t use our safe word…”

“I know, I’m just checking in,” he explains. “I  think I should’ve asked your color, right? But I was just so into it.”

“I was into it, too,” you confess, shimmying yourself further into his arms. “Honestly, it was freaking hot. You can do that again whenever you’d like.”

He laughs and pulls you closer, until your chest is flush against his. “Dirty girl.”

“What was it that you said again? That you’d love if he saw me like—”

“No, I said he can’t ever have you like that again. Never.”

“Never is such a strong word, baby,” you tease.

Anton’s eyes harden. “Is that your way of begging me to wreck you again? Because I will do it, Y/N,” he warns.

“I’m kidding!” You say, arms going up as if you're surrendering yourself. “Damn, tough crowd.”

“Wow, you should do stand up comedy, baby,” he sneers, still moping.

After that, you spend a while peppering kisses over his face to get him back to his smiling self and soon enough he’s cheerfully kissing you back.

“Oh, one more thing,” you say suddenly, rearing back to look at him. “You know what we talked about celebrating?” Anton nods and you barrel on. “I was thinking about how once you finish your residency, I’ll also be a year settled in my new spot at work. So we could totally take a few days off, maybe plan a big trip…”

“Oh, I like how you think, dirty girl,” he says and you jokingly slap at his arm. “No, seriously, that’s a great idea, love. Were you thinking about somewhere special?”

You nip at your bottom lip, nervous. “I was, actually.”

Anton moves his thumb to your mouth, brushing on your bottom lip to release it from your teeth. “Tell me, baby.”

“I was thinking… New Jersey,” you say with a smile.

Anton’s eyes widen at your answer and he corrects his posture a little, sitting up a little straighter. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his cheeks as his shocked bright eyes look at you. “I just want to know the place you grew up in. You already got to know all my family, my town, my school friends, everything… It’s only fair I get to know yours too, right?”

“Shit, I love you so much,” he says suddenly, catching you by surprise. He places his hands on your face and pulls you in, resting his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how happy you make me.”

Heat rushes to your face because of his praise and you smooth your thumbs over the sides of his neck as he looks at you with stars in his eyes. It’s crazy how he still makes you feel like a shy schoolgirl after all this time. “I take it you like the idea, then?”

“I love it,” he whispers, pressing his lips on yours for a brief moment. “I can’t wait to show you around. And I’ll get to show you off to my friends, too!”

You smile seeing his happiness. “I’m glad you love it, baby. We should start planning it soon.”

He nods and pulls you to a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. You hug him back just as tightly while you breathe together for a moment. Then Anton breaks the silence, “Wanna know what else we’ll get to do once we’re in New Jersey?”

“What?” You whisper.

Anton doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moves his face to drop kisses on your shoulder, making you sigh. It’s a simple action, but it already riles you up and ignites a flame on your core, and soon you’re whining in his arms. That’s when he finally replies, his breath blowing over the damp skin he just kissed, “I’ll get to fuck you on my teenager bedroom, too.”

“Shit, baby,” you whimper, tugging on his hair, feeling yourself flush with heat.

You press your thighs together while you think about it, the scenario automatically appearing inside your mind. You imagine Anton rushing you into his bedroom, how he’d get you on his twin bed and drop to his knees while taking your pants off. How he’d move a finger to his lips to ask you to be silent before he starts dropping kisses all over your thigh. And how he’d spread you apart and close his lips on—

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Anton asks, interrupting your imagination and you bite your lips at being caught red-handed.

“Yeah,” you reply faintly while he keeps kissing your body, his mouth now on your jaw. You let your hands wander over his chest and arms, pressing on the muscles he carefully built over the years.

“Filthy, dirty girl,” he mutters teasingly, digging his fingers on your hips as he squeezes you against him. “You really want me to destroy you again.”

“You started it!” You accuse, driving your pointer finger into his chest.

“And I’m gonna finish it, baby,” he says playfully, pulling you in to kiss you.

You kiss him back, letting his tongue invade your mouth, and then, just as the kiss starts to get more desperate, your hands roaming over each other, the doorbell rings.

You push on his chest and leap out of his lap. “Yay, food’s here.”

Anton shakes his head at your happiness state because of food when he’s already half-hard in his boxers. But he can’t help but smile when you beckon him to follow you, hollering giddily, “Let’s eat, my love!”

He’s on your tail a second later, wrapping his arms around your waist and hauling you up, making you squeal. “Yeah, let's eat so we can quickly get to the dessert after,” he whispers with his lips over the shell of your ear, making you shiver all over.

The next day, while you’re having a fresh cup of coffee Anton made for you, a small piece of paper is flown under your door. 

Anton grabs it and smiles, walking back to your kitchen table to place it down in front of you. 

You take a peek at it with sleepy eyes and then tilt your head up to him. “A noise complaint?”

He drops down just enough to put a hand on the back of your head and peck your mouth. Then he whispers proudly over your lips, “Strike one, baby.”

As he laughs, you roll your eyes at him, not believing this silly annoying man is the love of your life.

But you’re so happy he is.

This might be my most self-insert work to this date. So many of reader's struggles are inspired by my own life, and that's why this story is very very very dear to me. As always, comments are appreciated. You can also talk to me about the fic on my askbox or tip me on my ko-fi, if you want. As always, thank you for reading!

[muxshwriting]

almost (sweet music)

Bradley Bradshaw x reader

summary: a summer where you and Bradley remind Maverick of Goose and Carole || warnings: literally one swear word, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth (mentioned) || word count: 793 || masterlist

You had Bradley had met at the Hard Deck and hit it off instantly. You were charmed by his carefree attitude and charisma, and he was charmed by your kindness and your heart. Both of you had found the perfect person to spend the rest of their lives with, to be yourselves with. Bradley had never been more sure about anything in his life when he thought about marrying you. Your family loved him and, in turn, the squadron and especially Maverick, loved you.

Maverick viewed Bradley like a son, and was very particular about the girl that had captured his heart. However, the second he saw you, he was pulled in my your very soul, the pureness that was simply you. Bradley was lucky to find someone so well matched for him. There was something else, though. There were moments where Maverick would glance over to you and Bradley and see Goose and Carole staring back at him.

It began the night you and Bradley got engaged and went out to the Hard Deck to celebrate. As all good nights at the Hard Deck do, it ended with Bradley at the piano. Despite being at least eight beers in, he was rather coherent and playing a recognisable tune. Patrons and other people all joined in on the fun, crowding around the piano. You, smiling unabashedly at your man, were standing directly next to Bradley, leaning against the piano, glass in hand as you sang to whatever he was playing. Bradley had reached up, pulling you closer and down onto his lap. He kissed you passionately, laughing with you as he continued to play, choosing to stare lovingly at you instead of what notes he was hitting.

★--~-~--★

Then came your wedding, a beautifully private affair with a few friends and family members from both sides. Your vows were perfect, encapsulating your love for Bradley in a few short words. “Bradley, there are no words to fully describe how I feel about you but I will say this: I’ve never felt as much comfort as I have whenever I hear your name. It’s so bizarre to have a word that can make you feel so much in a second, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world. I love you.”

Maverick was thrown backwards to Goose, drunk on his bachelors night out, leaning against Maverick and rambling about his soon-to-be wife. “She’s like the wind beneath my wings. It’s so weird that her name makes everything feel alright whenever I hear it. God Mav, she’s perfect.”

★--~-~--★

Maverick will never forget the day that Rooster came to him with the amazing news that he would become a Great Uncle. Or a great, Great Uncle as he reminded Bradley. He had had a few beers in the back garden, talking about everything and nothing going on with life. “Gods Maverick, I’m gonna be a dad. That sounds terrifying, a good kind of terrifying but still terrifying.”

Goose had come onto base, a giddy grin plastered onto his face. “Carole’s pregnant. We’re gonna have our own little bird in the nest.” His eyes widened as he sighed. “A kid Mav, a whole entire human. That’s crazy.” He had hugged Goose, giving him his congratulations for him and Carole, wishing them the best for the future. Goose had stayed ecstatic for a week after the news, nothing could bring his mood down. “I’m gonna be a dad!”

★--~-~--★

He had gotten the call from Rooster that you’d gone into labour and that his son had been born (his son!), inviting Maverick down to the hospital to meet his great nephew. He got to hold him in his arms, a newborn baby, so small and innocent. “What did you name him?”

Rooster had smiled proudly, “Nick Bradshaw.”

From the bed you had perked up, taking your baby back when Pete handed him over. “His full name, however, is Nick Mitchell Bradshaw. We had to fit you in somewhere.” Maverick couldn’t stop the tears from springing in his eyes as he tearfully embraced Bradley.

“I’m a dad!” Goose was whisper shouting through the phone to Pete, trying not to wake his sleeping wife. “Do you want to come meet him?” Maverick was there as soon as he could be, bring in flowers for Carole and patting Goose on the back. “Uncle Maverick, meet Bradley Bradshaw.” Goose was standing there, a shit-eating grin on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows and Maverick burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

Carole swatted at both their arms, telling them to keep it down for the baby. “Don’t make me regret his middle name.”

“His middle name?” Maverick had asked.

Her expression softened as she glanced over at the baby. “Bradley Pete Bradshaw.”

[emocheol]

seventeens pet name for you

seungcheol

baby

loves to be a caretaker so having you be his baby is natural.

he’s always holding you in his arms, almost like he’s trying to protect you from the world and keep you to himself.

when you’re tired you actually get into baby mode and he loves doting on you, knowing that you won’t fight him on it.

“baby, don’t worry i’ll do that for you”

“baby, come give me a kiss”

“baby, i missed you so much”

“baby, you know i’d do anything for you”

jeonghan

angel

sure, he’s the angel of seventeen but you’re his angel.

always says that you were sent from heaven just for him because of how perfect you are, hence an angel.

when he sees a new picture of you he’ll screenshot it and draw a halo over your head and send it back to you with a text that says ‘your halo is shining so bright, my angel’ (love makes him cheesy)

“angel, let’s stay in bed today”

“angel, can you do my hair?”

“angel, i hope you know im obsessed with you”

“angel, you’re the only one for me”

joshua

love

such a classic and gentle name, just like joshua.

he loves you so much the only word that he can think of when it comes to you is love.

if anyone calls him a simp he will gladly own that title because, duh, you’re his partner! of course he’s gonna simp over you!

will do whatever you want at the drop of a hat. he’ll even suggest cancelling his schedules if you want him to stay home, you decline but quite literally have to push him out the door to leave.

“love, come cuddle with me”

“love, i hate every second that i’m away from you”

“love, let’s get matching outfits”

“my love, you’re so perfect”

jun

sweetheart

actually spent a lot of time contemplating what your pet name should be. he didn’t want to get it wrong!

tested way too many names over multiple weeks, seeing if they rolled off the tongue, but none of them did.

finally lands on sweetheart, when he says it for the first time he knows he’s found the perfect name.

now he barely says your name, saying that sweetheart encapsulates your entire being.

“sweetheart, want me to do the dishes?”

“sweetheart, can you read me a story?”

“sweetheart, do you know how much i love you?”

“sweetheart, you’re my favorite person of all time”

soonyoung

honey

soonyoung thinks you’re sweet like honey, so he just has to call you that!

you have the same nickname for him which results in all your friends pretending to gag when you both start calling each other honey. they say it’s sickening, sickeningly sweet

likes to dote on you, would wait on hand and foot if you told him to.

“honey, do you need anything before i leave?”

“honey, i’m home!” (his favorite phrase)

“honey, let’s go on a date tonight”

“honey, you’re the sweetest person in the world”

wonwoo

babe

has always thought that pet names were cringe but when you started calling him every sweet name under the sun he knew he had to come up with one for you.

landed on the classic ‘babe’, he says it flows well, its natural when he’s talking to you now.

doesn’t want anyone else to hear him call you it, so he usually sticks to saying it at home or whispering it to you.

“babe, stay by my side, i don’t want anything happening to you”

“babe, don’t get up yet it’s too early”

“babe, you wanna see my new game?”

“babe, i adore you”

jihoon

baby

another natural caretaker, loves to be the big strong man in the relationship so naturally you’re his baby.

gets salty when you try to dote on him since he knows he should be doing it to you instead.

landed on it because you were pouting once and he said the resemblance to a baby was uncanny.

“baby, you don’t have to stay at the studio with me”

“baby, get some sleep”

“baby, let’s stay in tonight”

“baby, i know i don’t show it as much as i should, but i’m eternally grateful for you”

minghao

darling

claims that their song ‘darling’ is about you to try and make it special (it was just a coincidence but you’ll take it)

says you’re like a sparkling jewel, so perfect, so enchanting, and so darling

always talks to you in the most endearing tone, he can never be mad at you.

“darling, what do you want to have for dinner?”

“darling, let me take a picture of you”

“darling, don’t forget to call me on your break”

“darling, you’re so precious to me”

mingyu

sweetie

loves to bake you desserts and say something like ‘a sweet for my sweetie’.

thinks you’re so sweet and lovely that sweetie is a given name for you.

food is his love language so he’s always making you meals and sweet desserts.

“sweetie, try this new dish i made”

“sweetie, give me a kiss before you go”

“sweetie, give me a bite of that”

“sweetie, you’re it for me”

seokmin

love/lovie

this man is simply obsessed with, so so utterly in love, hence the name love.

everyone swears they can see hearts in his eyes when he looks at you or talks about you.

couldn’t think of a good name for you so he went to his friends being like ‘i’m so in love with them but i can’t think of a pet name! wait… love!’

“lovie, don’t forget about me :(” (you’re just going to work for the day)

“love, do you want to come to karaoke night?”

“lovie, i’m your favorite guy, right?”

“my love~, i wrote this song for you, wanna hear it?”

seungkwan

boo

yes, his nickname for you is his last name. no, it’s not weird! he’ll call you mrs./mr. boo because he can’t wait until you have his last name.

when some calls for ‘boo’ you both turn around, thinking it was for you. this just makes you both laugh and look at each other like you had a little inside secret that no one else understood.

he’ll always say it with literal hearts in his eyes.

“boo, have a good day at work”

“my boo~, i miss you”

“boo, do you want to go have a spa night?”

“my boo~, i love you to the ends of the earth”

vernon

babe

also thinks pet names are cringe so he settled on the most obvious and classic one.

but then actually he starts to like it (to his horror), and starts to call you it all the time.

only ever calls you babe now, and will be salty if you call him by his first or middle name.

“babe, get ready i’m taking you on a date”

“babe, i got you a present you’re gonna love it”

“babe, we should get a cat to be the ring bearer at our wedding”

“babe, you know i love you, right?”

chan

honey

you originally started calling chan ‘honey’ first.

he always got so giddy whenever you said it that he decided he was gonna start calling you that too, to make you feel as special as he did.

thinks it the most special name in the world and if anyone makes fun of it he’ll go to war over it.

“honey, let me show you the new dance i learned”

“honey, did you get a haircut? you look beautiful as ever”

“honey, let’s stay in bed today”

“honey, you’re my everything”

[waterlilychaser]

au where famous singer song writer james potter goes with his band mate sirius to see his brother dance in the new york city ballet. immediately entranced by his dancing, james begs his friend’s brother, one regulus black, to dance in their music video. although regulus haughtily informs him he is “classically trained in ballet technique, potter, not just any common commercial dancer” james is determined to get the boy to dance for him again. all while he’s trying to get regulus to be in the video, he works on writing the perfect song for him to dance to. spending time wearing regulus down, they start to really get to know one another, and the songs start to turn into more of a soundtrack for their budding friendship. they start to get deeper and more heartfelt as james tries to make music that encapsulates regulus as a person rather than just something he can dance to. they start to sound like love songs. when regulus finally gives in to james’s relentless requesting and agrees to dance in the video, james plays him the final song. regulus begins to improv just to see how the song feels to move to. as he absorbs the words and translates them into movement, he realizes every sound and feeling and gesture is saying the same thing. i love you. maybe james was the one who wrote it, but regulus is the one saying it with his whole body. and he realizes he means it. before the song has even ended, regulus stops dancing and walks over to james. sitting wide eyed watching. just as entranced as the first time. and when regulus takes his face in his hands and pulls him up to kiss him, he swears his whole world shakes. like the beat of music or move of a dancer. like the two of them were meant to be just like this.

[cece693]

It's All For You (Jay Gatsby x GN! Reader)

Fun fact, one of my favorite books is The Great Gatsby. However, to this day, no one (in my opinion) has managed to fully encase what Jay represents. Character-wise, he's still the Gatsby chasing the green light, but in terms of face claim, I left him ambiguous. I know this is a very out-there fandom, and I know it won't be very popular, but it makes me happy :)

Summary: You were helping Jay see your cousin Daisy, but, somewhere down the line, you managed to become his anchor to reality.

tags: can be read with Nick in mind, Jay is an infatuated boy, clueless reader, Jay finally sees Daisy for what she is, happy ending

Daisy was enchanting. Captivating. Alluring. But none of those words seemed to fully encapsulate the aura she exuded. There was a lightness to her that drew people in, a kind of graceful detachment as if she floated through life just out of reach. Yet for all her beauty and charm, there was something elusive about her, something that kept everyone at arm's length. It was easy to be enchanted by her, to fall for the sparkling facade she wore like a second skin. And Jay Gatsby was no different—at least, that’s what I thought.

Gatsby had built a life around the idea of Daisy, a world spun from dreams and memories of a love long lost. The parties, the lavish displays, the rumors—they all pointed back to her, to the one he had let slip away. When I came to West Egg, I found myself pulled into his grand scheme to win her back. Daisy had asked for my help; I was her cousin, after all, and who better to act as a go-between, arranging encounters, helping to stage those first delicate meetings under the guise of friendly visits?

At first, Gatsby's devotion to Daisy seemed unwavering, as though he was single-mindedly determined to recapture the past. He spoke of her with reverence, like a man describing a distant star, bright and unattainable. He watched for her at every gathering, always positioned just so, as though one look from her would make all the years melt away. I helped him prepare for these moments, choosing the flowers, setting the table for tea, ensuring everything was perfect. He wanted it all to be just right for Daisy.

But as time went on, I noticed something I couldn’t quite name. The way Gatsby's gaze would flicker toward me in moments of quiet, how he would seek my approval on even the smallest details. There was a certain light in his eyes when we would linger in conversation long after the parties had ended and the rest of the world had gone to sleep. I chalked it up to Gatsby’s natural charm, to the friendship that had grown between us amid all the scheming. After all, I was helping my cousin's lost love find his way back to her.

The first real crack in the illusion came one afternoon when Gatsby and I were alone in his library, discussing the next gathering. Daisy had mentioned that she missed simpler times, the quietness of tea on a summer's day. I suggested we hold a small, intimate tea party just for the three of us, something more personal than the grand festivities that had become Gatsby's signature.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Gatsby agreed, his voice softening as he looked at me, not in the direction of the distant green light that always seemed to capture his attention. “But it doesn’t feel right to ask so much of you, helping with all this.”

I waved off his concern. “Nonsense. I’m happy to help. If it makes Daisy smile, then it’s worth it.”

He gave a small, almost wistful smile. “I suppose it’s not just Daisy who I’m trying to make smile.”

I didn’t know what to make of that comment. I let it slide, laughing it off as a joke, but something about the way he said it stayed with me. There was a warmth in his tone that I couldn’t quite place, and in the days that followed, I began to see Gatsby in a different light.

The tea party came and went, with Daisy laughing and charming her way through the afternoon. Gatsby’s attention was on her, of course, but there was a shift, a subtle one, like a shadow moving across a wall. I found Gatsby watching me out of the corner of his eye, a lingering glance that held more than casual interest. It was as though he was trying to tell me something without words.

And then, one night, as the last strains of music from yet another party faded into the stillness, Gatsby approached me on the terrace. The moonlight cast long shadows across the lawn, and there was a hesitation in his steps that I hadn’t seen before.

“You know,” he began, leaning against the stone railing, “for the longest time, I thought everything I did was for Daisy. Every party, every bit of gold and glitter—it was all meant to bring her back to me.”

“Isn’t it still?” I asked, unsure of what he was getting at. “You’ve built all of this for her.”

“Yes,” he admitted, but there was a shift in his tone, a softness I hadn’t heard before. “But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about Daisy.”

The breath caught in my throat. “Then what was it about?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Gatsby turned to face me fully, his gaze searching mine. “It was about finding something real. I thought Daisy could give me that, but then I met you. You were there for every moment, every detail, pulling me back when I started drifting into dreams again. I started looking forward to your company, your words, your laughter.” He took a step closer, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. “It was you who brought me back to reality.”

I stood frozen. “Jay,” I began, struggling to find the right words. “I—”

"You don't have to tell me anything, Y/N." Gatsby smiled, a minuscule one that conveyed just how difficult this was for him too. "I just wanted to make my interest clear."

His words hung in the air, a fragile thread connecting us in that moonlit moment. The warmth of his gaze sent a thrill racing through me, igniting something deep inside—a longing I had tried to ignore while orchestrating his reunion with Daisy. The truth crashed over me like a wave, and I realized that somewhere along the way, Jay Gatsby had become someone truly important to me.

In that electric silence, I felt the boundaries between us dissolve. I could no longer hold back. My heart surged with emotion, and before I could think, I stepped forward and closed the distance between us.

Our lips met in a fervent kiss, an eruption of pent-up desire and vulnerability. It felt like a revelation, as if everything I had been holding back rushed forth in that single moment. Gatsby’s surprise melted into a warmth that enveloped me, his hands moving to cradle my face as he kissed me back with a fervor that took my breath away.

Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in each other, the world around us fading into the background. The soft rustle of the leaves and the distant hum of the night felt like a distant echo. All I could focus on was the taste of him, the way he held me as if I were a fragile dream he was afraid to lose.

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 9.

viktorxfemale!reader explict! (we got there)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 7,2K!

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: spoiler: In the timeline of my writing, this is the first sex scene I've ever written on my own. So, what can I say? This is an imperfect story about imperfect people, but I can assure you it has an eventual happy ending.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

The absolute chaos of Christmas looming spread across the campus like an infectious frenzy. The corridors were decked with the most absurd ornaments the students could scavenge—Santa Claus figurines strung up and dangling upside down from the ceiling of the canteen, Christmas trees adorned with laboratory glassware and angel hair, and a mockery of carols blaring on repeat from the school radio. It was a bizarre fusion of science and art, a perfect encapsulation of the university’s peculiar spirit.

Every student seemed to be racing against time, scrambling to finish their projects and papers before the holidays, determined to return prepared for the looming finals. The labs and library remained open around the clock for anyone desperate enough to study or practise at odd hours.

You and Sue spent every spare moment in the lab classroom, tinkering with projects that needed to be submitted by the semester’s end. Meanwhile, Jayce and Viktor made themselves available to assist and guide anyone who might need their expertise, and the group crossed paths periodically, exchanging polite gestures and jokes to keep up the holiday spirit. Viktor had made a few attempts to talk to you after his mortifying text message, but you did your best to ignore him.

Which made your current situation, to say the least, far from ideal. Sue was rushing you to jot down all the points before she had to dash off and tend to a project for another class. The two of you huffed at each other, frustration starting to take its toll, until you sighed and said, “Sue, how about I finish this, and you go do your thing? I really don’t mind.” You offered your friend a reassuring smile.

Sue hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sick of me or something?”

“I’m never sick of you,” you said, placing your hand on Sue’s knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I just think this needs a bit more work, and I can see you’re in a hurry. Honestly, I really don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Okay, I admit my mind is elsewhere. Fine,” Sue sighed in mock defeat. “I’ll do something for you in return, I promise.” She started packing up her things and leaned over to place a hand on your shoulder.

“Just get me a cookie or something,” you replied with a tired smile, gently brushing Sue’s hand away. You figured you’d probably finish the work faster on your own, and you were running out of time anyway. The lab was already emptying, darkness had fallen outside, your eyes burned from staring at the chemicals for so long, and you’d had more than enough for one day.

After Sue left, you resumed your work, determined to finish everything in one evening. The promise of rest and the satisfaction of completion fuelled you. You were so focused on jotting down your thoughts that you didn’t notice when Viktor sat beside you and leaned over your notes.

“Do you... need help?” His voice was unsure, as if he were asking about something else as well.

You hesitated. Help would certainly be welcome, but Viktor’s presence would also make it harder for you to focus. The final equation seemed to balance out the odds. You looked at him—he looked tired yet sharp. He wore the same green jumper he’d had on that night, with a crisp white shirt collar peeking out from underneath it. His scent was fresh and comforting, and his eyes, full of quiet anticipation, were fixed on you as you calculated your decision. You sighed. Yes, you needed help.

“Alright. Shoot me.”

For a split second, Viktor’s face lit up before he leaned in closer. “You’re pretty far along,” he said, his expression thoughtful, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You can dictate, and I’ll translate it into Heimerdinger’s language?”

“That would honestly be perfect,” you admitted, letting out a huff of relief as you turned your attention back to the chaotic scrawl of notes Sue had left behind. Terrible handwriting.

The two of you worked together in near silence, the hum of the lab equipment and the faint scratching of Viktor’s pen the only sounds between you. You found yourself occasionally distracted by the way Viktor’s long fingers moved as he pointed to your results, his low voice guiding you through adjustments. You tried to stay focused, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at him, his concentration a tether pulling your attention away from your notes.

Viktor, for his part, couldn’t help but steal glances at you. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the sterile air of the lab, and it made something in his chest feel warm, almost achingly so. He bit his lip nervously whenever he realised he’d been staring too long, forcing his attention back to writing.

It took the two of you longer than either of you had expected, but when you finally wrapped up, the lab was completely empty. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a soft groan of relief.

“That’s it, then,” you said, your voice tired but satisfied. “Thank you, Viktor. Honestly, I’d still be drowning in that mess if you hadn’t—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut you off gently, placing the pen down and leaning back slightly. He watched as you began gathering your things, clearly ready to leave. But before you could stand, he cleared his throat, his voice softer now. “Hey.”

You paused, looking at him.

“Did you…” He hesitated, the words suddenly harder to push out. He fidgeted with the edge of his notebook. “Did you get my text message?”

Of course, you did. You’d seen his stupid, childish message. The ‘I like you,’ had screamed at you from your phone screen for two weeks now, and you’d both loved it and hated it. Who writes ‘I like you’ like a five-year-old? And not only that, who needs to down an entire bottle of whisky to muster the courage to write ‘I like you’?

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You hadn’t expected this. You shifted awkwardly in your chair, avoiding his gaze. “I did,” you said finally, your voice measured, careful.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable, but his hands tightened around the notebook in front of him. “And?”

You let out a breath, your lips pressing into a thin line. “And… if I’m to rely on you saying or doing something from the heart only when you get yourself blind drunk, that wouldn’t be the best choice for your health, Viktor,” your voice was quiet, your eyes fixed on the workbench in front of you. “And I don’t want to be bad for your health.” You offered him a faint smile and looked down again. “If it was from the heart, in the first place.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, his gaze dropping to the table. “It was.” It was. And it shamed him deeply that, indeed, he’d needed liquid courage to admit it. Only now did it strike him how awful it must have made you feel. “But I have a… rabbit heart.”

“Am I so terrifying?” you felt mockery twisting itself inside you with anger. Why were you so angry, though? You also had a rabbit heart. You often caught yourself knowing exactly what Viktor was going to say because you used the same words in your history of backing out. Was this the universe having a go at you?

“Yes, you scare the living shit out of me,” he huffed out a shaky laugh, lowering his voice. It was probably the biggest truth he’d told you in all this time.

“Well, this can’t be good for your health either, then, no?” Deflect, deflect, deflect, hide yourself behind that joke. Very well done, you.

“I—” Viktor paused, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Look, I lied. I’m not good with any setup—casual or not. I—” He stopped himself, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before looking away again. He was torn, visibly at war with his own feelings.

You didn’t want to hear him stumble over words again. “Viktor, I get it. It’s fine. We can still be friends?” You tried to search your mind for what you’d want to hear all those times when you told someone politely the relationship wasn’t working for you.

You thought this was it—an offer of friendship. Most people got hurt or annoyed with you, and it made you feel guilty. So, you tried to say something that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. As soon as you said it, you realised that what you actually wanted was for someone not to let you retreat—but it was too late for that.

Viktor took in a shaky breath, his gaze returning to yours, but he still looked uncertain. “I can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “I can’t be just your friend.” His hands clenched into fists on the table. “I... I’ve tried to be fine with it, but I’m not. I can’t pretend.”

“But I don’t know how to be anything else,” he added after a beat, his mind flicking back to all the times he’d snuck out of someone’s bedroom or when he found himself alone in the morning, in his own cold, sweaty bed. After some time, it became a habit, a quiet indulgence that carried no consequences, and it aligned very well with his main goal: to make his life more than it was meant to be. No distractions, only his goal. Some distractions, but not too many. Only friendships, and here as well, only the stimulating ones. To keep his brain fed, so his soul could starve.

“I have worked… so hard,” he brushed his hand through his hair. “To get where I am. I was meant to fail, and I haven’t failed once. I haven’t failed a single time, aside from some tiny, insignificant stumbles that eventually lead me to answers anyway. So many times I haven’t failed that I don’t think I know how to,” his voice was quiet, as if admitting something shameful. He said it as though any slip-up could cost him everything he’s worked for.

“I… understand,” you said slowly, piecing together the crumbs of information. Viktor didn’t come from a place of love, like you did. He didn’t come from a place of opportunity. He probably had to claw his way through pompous academics who didn’t take him seriously. You understood that part. But what was your part in turning it all to dust—that eluded you. So you didn’t understand, not entirely.

“Do you?” he looked at you longingly, expectantly, and it made your heart ache. What was it that you were supposed to give him now? A promise you would never hurt him? That you would never distract him or drag his mind away from what’s important?

“Viktor, this shouldn’t be so hard, I’m not some mythical creature,” you said, trying to inject a touch of humour into your voice, but it came out thin, brittle.

Viktor’s gaze softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady. “No, you’re not,” he murmured, as if trying to reconcile something inside himself. “But you’re not like anyone else either.”

Your chest tightened at the words, but you quickly pushed it aside, unwilling to let yourself feel vulnerable. You folded your arms across your chest, as if protecting yourself from something you couldn’t name. “I don’t want to be a puzzle for you to solve, Viktor. I don’t want to be some challenge you feel like you need to conquer. That’s not what I’m here for.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. He wanted to argue, to convince you that it wasn’t about conquest, that it was about something deeper, but he could tell it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. “I don’t… I don’t think of you like that,” he said, his voice almost too soft, as if afraid to break the fragile moment between you. “I think of you as someone I want to understand, someone who...” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence, the words feeling too heavy in the air.

You shifted in your seat, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sincerity that you weren’t used to hearing. You almost wanted to reach out, to ease the tension that hung between you, but you held yourself back.

There was a long, aching pause between you before Viktor cleared his throat and leaned back, trying to break the silence. “So,” he said, the words coming out in a lighter tone, “how many do-overs do you think we can have?”

You rolled your eyes at him, a small, rueful smile tugging at your lips. “I find myself hoping that each one is the last one,” you replied dryly, though your heart wasn’t fully in the jest. “Thank you for all the help.”

Viktor smiled, a faint, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. “Oh, no worries. I’ll see you at the Christmas party?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You nodded, your expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” you said, your tone neutral, but not dismissive. “Take care, Viktor.”

With that, you parted ways, the lingering tension still hanging between you, neither fully satisfied with the conversation, but both with the understanding that you were somehow still connected—however uncertain that connection was.

You found an unbearable thought gnawing at you—that in this state, the only ‘do-over’ you could count on was friendship, and Viktor couldn’t afford that. Inevitably, it would end with nothing.

***

It wasn’t exactly a party, but the pub was completely packed with people—students, assistants, and random individuals who wandered around campus, their roles in it a complete mystery. Everything was bathed in the warm glow of Christmas decorations, making the space feel even more cramped.

You sat at a small round table with Sue, some familiar faces scattered around, including Jayce and Viktor, who had joined after their TA duties. Sue was mid-sentence when you leaned back in your chair, your eyes wandering. You weren’t in the mood for all the noise tonight. The words blurred around you as you half-listened, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of your glass—a quiet distraction. Viktor was talking to Jayce, his sharp voice cutting through the noise every now and then. His dry wit was always on full display, the kind that kept people around him in that odd mix of awe and wariness.

“You okay?” Sue’s voice brought you back. You blinked, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, just... tired, I guess,” you said, forcing a polite smile as you took a sip of your drink.

The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, the heat becoming unbearable. The whole scene was so unbearably sweet and cozy that it made you flinch. Your eyes kept glancing over to Viktor, who would immediately look away as soon as your gazes met. You kept thinking about what another do-over could look like and felt yourself growing more and more frustrated with the space between you, even though you were sitting so close to each other. You could feel Sue's eyes on you but couldn’t quite explain why you felt this way.

Sue raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, if you need to bail early, I totally get it.”

You hesitated, then gave a half shrug. “I think I’ll head out. Just... not feeling it, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sue replied, offering a quick nod. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” You stood, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. As you made your way through the maze of tables, you could hear Viktor's voice in the background—just enough to make you pause. You could feel his gaze on you, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the exit.

Viktor watched as you stood and walked away, a wave of frustration rising within him, forming itself into a long sigh. He had tried, hadn’t he? He had said things—things he never said to anyone—but now you were leaving, retreating like always. His jaw tightened, and he felt his fingers curl into fists on the table. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not after everything. He should’ve known better, but still, your departure stung.

He couldn’t place why, but it felt like you were slipping away just as he was beginning to reach out. You were both so fucking terrible at talking, at letting yourselves feel anything real. Why did it have to be so difficult?

The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for a moment, it felt like a relief. The street was quiet, the only sound the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You slid your headphones on and started walking toward the dorms, matching your steps to the rhythm of the song.

You awaited rest and home and being far away from here with utter impatience. Just one more evening of this. Just one more evening of thinking and biting at your own lips, glancing at your phone, and then it would only be your parents, and Hale, and the quiet evenings at Sheffield, for a week.

Against reason, Viktor followed you, his footsteps soft but steady as he stepped out of the pub moments later. His eyes caught sight of your retreating figure, and a small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips. He’d almost not been surprised—almost expected it.

He called out your name, his voice lost to the wind and muffled by the sounds of the night. But you didn’t hear him. Quickening his pace, his breath misted in the cold air. He called again, louder this time, but still, you didn’t turn.

A small part of him considered letting you go, letting you stew in your thoughts, just leaving it for after the break. But the rest of him felt pulled, like a dog on a leash in front of a vet’s door.

You were nearing the entrance to the dorms when you finally paused, taking a deep breath, and tugging your headphones off with a slight wince. The moment you heard your name, you froze, your heart skipping in your chest.

“Hey you!” Viktor’s voice was closer now, cutting through the night. When you turned, you saw him standing at the edge of the walkway, just outside the dorm. His breath came in visible puffs, his chest heaving as if he’d run after you.

“You walk... so fucking fast,” he said, still catching his breath. “I never figured you for the type to run off so bluntly. But I suppose that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Yes, just laugh it out. Viktor took a few steps forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Are you fucking drunk again?” you blinked, your mind racing. You had to admit to yourself that Viktor drunkenly following you from the bar was a coin toss you wouldn’t have bet on. Especially after your last talk. Funny.

“Are you not?” he countered, his words smoother than you expected.

“No. Go back to your pub, Viktor.” Your voice was flat now, each word carefully measured. You exhaled sharply, your shoulders sinking as if the weight of the evening had finally caught up with you. You were so tired of this.

Viktor tilted his head, his smile barely visible in the shadows as he took a step closer. “Eh, make me,” he said softly, though it wasn’t a challenge—not really.

Another step.

“I am so not in the mood for you now,” you muttered, your hands dropping limply by your sides as you turned away, dragging yourself down the corridor toward the elevators. Your voice lacked its usual bite, tinged instead with exhaustion.

“Alright, alright, I’m not drunk, just had one pint. Oh, come on,” Viktor mock-pleaded, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he quickened his pace to catch up with you. “You won’t see me the entire holiday break.”

“And I will savour every single day of this glorious relief from your constant nagging, poking, your sweet side and your dick side, and having fun at my expense,” you snapped, jabbing the elevator button with increasing impatience, your words punctuated by each press.

You were expecting another joke, but Viktor’s hands gripped your waist firmly, twisting you around. Your breath caught as he pulled you flush against him, the heat of his body sharp against the cold you’d carried in from outside.

“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice raw and ragged as his lips found yours. The kiss was unsteady, heated, and messy, tasting faintly of sweet beer and a frustration that mirrored your own. He panted into your mouth, his lips parting just enough to nip at yours.

“Just… shut up, for once,” he murmured, crowding you against the elevator door. It slid open behind you with a soft chime, and you stumbled inside, Viktor’s cane clattering to the floor as he steadied you against the wall. He pulled your turtleneck down to lick your neck greedily over the bite mark he had left there. His hands quickly found their way under your sweater, and he gasped, bemused by your lack of underwear. “No bra?” Again. A low chuckle rumbled against your skin. “Is that your idea of a Christmas present?”

“Fuck off,” you scoffed, your voice still sharp with lingering anger. Your hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but the lack of real force and your hands still gripping his coat tightly betrayed you.

“Are you sure?” Viktor smirked, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, pressing a lingering, deceptively sweet kiss to your lips. “This is your floor,” he said, his voice agonizingly calm as he stepped back, gesturing toward the elevator doors sliding open.

“Or…” His tone shifted, almost teasing, as he pressed the button to close the doors and send them up to his floor instead. “You could come with me. For real, this time.”

You pulled him wordlessly toward you, offering no resistance—nothing more, nothing less. Words had failed you, but your actions were clear. It was enough. Viktor wanted to say, That’s what I thought, the words teasing the edge of his tongue, but he held them back. Instead, he captured your lips again, kissing frantically. He explored your mouth, swallowing the small sounds you made, the elevator a blur as it carried you upward.

By the time you reached his room, Viktor managed to open the door without breaking the kiss, his cane hanging hooked over his arm. You stumbled inside together, the heat between you growing unbearable, and he pressed you firmly against the door, his hands bracing your hips as his lips moved over yours with unrelenting zeal. You pulled him closer, your breath catching as you managed to rasp, “Bed?”

Viktor chuckled softly against your lips; his tone laced with teasing. “Impatient, are we?” But there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he broke the kiss just long enough to guide you further into the room.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, your voice raw as your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him with you.

“Yes. Please, fuck me,” Viktor murmured, sweeping you into another fervent kiss as you stumbled toward the bed. “I’m so tired of you not fucking me.”

You scoffed into his mouth. And who is to blame for that? You sunk into the mattress, pulling Viktor with you by his belt, the cane poking your leg.

“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” he whined, his voice laced with frustration as his clumsy hands fumbled with your coat. His hasty movements betrayed him, and in the rush, his knee accidentally pressed against your arm.

“Ow!” you winced, your sharp tone softening as you glanced at his face. The irritation melted away when you saw the unabashed eagerness in his expression, the way his brow furrowed in determination despite his lack of grace. “Is this going to be painful?” you asked, your lips quirking in a faint, teasing smile, though your voice still held a trace of genuine concern.

Viktor froze, blinking down at you like a scolded child. “Only if you want it to be,” he muttered, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back to regroup. His fingers moved more carefully now, peeling the coat off from underneath you with exaggerated precision. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Viktor granted you a low chuckle, his lips quirking in that familiar, lopsided smirk. “Ridiculous, perhaps, but effective,” he murmured as he continued with his careful work, peeling away the layers of your clothing like unwrapping a particularly stubborn present.

His own clothes, however, didn’t receive the same treatment. He shed them with reckless abandon, tossing each piece into an ever-growing messy pile near the bed, his leg brace a crown on top of it. His cane clattered softly to the floor as he leaned back for balance, the faintest flush spreading across his cheeks.

Once you were both were bare, he ran his palms gently along your sides and pressed his face to your hip, your belly, your neck, inhaling your skin. “God, you are so infuriating,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your body.

He glued himself to you, his hands roaming wherever they could reach, as if this were the moment he’d been waiting to happen for the longest time. And it was, of course. The decision to toss everything aside and just jump in might have been reckless, but he had no capacity to decide otherwise.

“Infuriating?” you laughed, feigning offense. “Is that the way you treat all of your conquests? Make them follow you around by the nose for months, until your resolve finally breaks after one pint?”

“No, only you,” he replied smoothly, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He added with a sly smirk, “It’s my love language with you.”

“Love?” you repeated, voice laced with teasing incredulity, but the hesitation in your tone betrayed how the word caught you off guard.

“Shut up,” Viktor muttered, his hand gliding up your side as he kissed you, silencing your laughter before you could push further. “Attraction,” he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a lingering kiss there. “Want,” he added, his teeth grazing your breast, earning a sharp gasp from your mouth. “Admiration,” he said, coming back up to meet your eyes and give you a slow, steady kiss. He took your fingers into his mouth and watched your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting.

His voice dipped lower, teasing, and dangerous. “Anyway, is that not what we have been doing?” His hands explored the meat of your ass with a firm grip, his touch both intoxicating and commanding as he pressed himself flush against your core. He shifted against you with a kind of intimacy that had your breath hitching.

“Have you not been loving me all this time?” His words, soft and taunting, carried a heat that matched the tension thrumming between you. His hand moved down between your thighs to scoop your wetness and lick it off his fingers, as he made sure you were watching. “Ah, it seems,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “you’ve been loving me back all along.”

You trembled under him, your breath catching as your hands gripped his shoulders. A quiet plea escaped your lips, barely audible but filled with vulnerability. “Don’t be mean, Viktor.”

For a moment, he stilled, his expression softening as he pulled back to look at you. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a flicker of something warmer, deeper. “Mean?” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “No. Not with you.”

The teasing edge in his voice melted away as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, slow and deliberate, as though trying to convey what words couldn’t. He was so bad at talking if you thought he was being mean. His hands cradled your face, and his next words came as a low promise against your skin. “I could never be mean to you.”

You huffed softly, a half-laugh escaping you as memories of all the times he’d actually been mean flitted through your mind. “Liar,” you muttered against his lips, though there was no venom in your tone. Instead, you kissed him back longingly, your fingers threading into his hair as your thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer.

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath, his control fraying under your touch. “Perhaps,” he admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But you give as good as you get, don’t you?” he said playfully, reaching over to pull a condom out of his bedside drawer and put it on swiftly. Then, he grabbed a spare pillow to prop his leg. His belly was tied into a knot, teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure, as he placed one hand between where your bodies were going to meet to align himself at the entrance.

He studied your face, as if to check if there was any resistance left. But you only looked at him with wide eyes, your hands fisting the bed sheet. He swept through his body in a final calculation of what could go wrong—he wasn’t drunk, that was a good start. His leg, eh, not perfect, but he should be able to pull this off. Did he want to love you or tease you? He had forgotten which one it was. A shuddery breath escaped him when your bodies finally connected—he entered you slowly, holding back to lay on top of you.

The first thrust was so deliberate, so slow, so overwhelming that you both moaned into each other's mouths. Your brows tied themselves together, your palms stiff in hesitation over his shoulders, as the feeling of relief surged through you. A relief of finally not being empty.

The only movement Viktor allowed himself was the roll of his hips as he sunk inside you, beat after beat. His arms caged you in, one of his hands gripping your shoulder, the other cradling the base of your skull, as he kept your faces close so he could study you, watch you. He stared at you obscenely, taking in your expressions, disbelief wrenching breath out of his lungs. You really wanted him. You were holding him in a vacuous trap, making it hard to pull out and push back in.

And this wasn’t new. People wanted him, he knew that. They wanted him for this—for a fun fuck—and when they continued to want him afterward, it felt like a fluke. So he shut it down. And it made him feel powerful. No, it made him feel weak. It made his weakness powerful. It gave him the power to disappear from it, from himself, to not be present.

The fact that he was present now, attentive, was rather new for him. Not entirely—he’d had a glimpse of what it could be that night when you were high together, but he hadn’t dared breach the boundary of clothing then. This, though, was entirely different. He watched you so carefully, studying every reaction to his touch. He pushed where you gasped and retreated where you winced. Your kisses were as hungry as his, and it made him feel so full. The fuck was more than fun. It made him feel powerful in a way that didn’t make him feel weak.

He tightened his grip, his forehead resting on yours as he buried himself deep inside, thrust after thrust. His mouth open against you, breathing in every gasp, every whimper you were willing to give him. His pace was even, unwavering, as he murmured against your lips, “You’ve been giving me so much grief.”

He locked eyes with you, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze as he added, “But it really feels like you’ve been loving me back. Haven’t you?” His voice was soft, as though waiting for you to answer not just with words, but with the quiet truth in your eyes.

You slid your fingers into his hair, pulling him in for another desperate kiss, and Viktor caught a faint, barely audible ‘yes,’ offered to drown deep in his throat, traveling straight to his heart, as if you were offering him a secret you hadn’t meant to give away. The sound stirred something deep within him, and as you arched against him, your breath catching, he deepened the kiss and quickened his pace. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, murmuring quiet praises, each word filled with reverence as you moved together toward completion.

He slid one hand to the nape of your neck, another snaked itself between your bodies, his fingers parting you as he whispered softly, “Oh, my girl.” Your eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping around his shoulders and you muffled your own moan against his mouth, lips and noses brushing against each other. He rubbed lazy circles on your clit, a smile blooming on his face when he felt your back arching beneath him, hips pressing upward to meet his, your cunt clenching around his cock in a tight, needy hug.

He felt your thighs squeezing his hips, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper inside you, with you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, lips parted pressed against his, foreheads pressed together mingling droplets of sweat into one.

You felt a sudden urge to say, “Thank you,” distorted by a loud moan as you came on his cock, on his fingers, your body tensing up and bending to the sound of his name falling from her lips. It took a long time, and you thought it would never stop, your climax blinding, contorting your body around him with a force to bend and crush.

Viktor’s mind got invaded by a thought of how great it felt to make a girl such as yourself lose control over her own muscles. How it had made him grow taller and bigger, his heart swollen with your grace, his lips bruised from your teeth. Slowly, he worked you through each spasm, and when you were ready, he retreated his hand to wrap both arms around you and buried his face in your neck. His breathing jagged, teeth sinking into your shoulder to not say too much at the sudden tightness around his cock.

His rhythm began to stutter, movements growing urgent by the minute as he buried himself within you up to the hilt. His breath was uneven, his muscles flexing and twisting. He felt your core hugging his cock so tight, he couldn’t hold back his own panting, as if he were a teenager all over again. He moved his face to brush against yours, whispered your name again, voice trembling, and he came with one thick, everlasting pang, whimpering weakly into your mouth.

His body melted into yours with a long, contented sigh, his arms wrapped tightly around you, stomachs and chests pressed, rising and falling together. You stayed like that in silence for a few moments, not moving, just touching, just breathing, just being.

Finally, Viktor rolled you both to the side, his leg hooked over your hip, fingers threading through your hair, and gave you an almost solemn look.

“What is this face?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb across his lip.

He sucked on it slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I never thought you would be so…” His voice trailed off for a moment, and just as you braced yourself for another joke, he finished, “wonderful.”

You managed only to whisper a quiet “Viktor—,” your grip tightening around him as the weight of this little praise crushed you. As his eyes crushed you, his warmth crushed you, as you crushed yourself with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

Viktor pulled back just a few inches, his gaze searching yours. “Are you going away for Christmas tomorrow?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative. Normal.

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you answered, “Yeah.”

“Will you stay?” Please, stay. Please don’t have me wake up alone tomorrow. A weakness crept back in.

You nodded against his neck. A quiet breath escaped Viktor’s lips as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, pulling you back against him. He sighed softly, the sound almost like a weight lifting. He didn’t speak for a few moments, just holding you as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter now. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain my absence to Sue though.”

Viktor’s lips curled into a playful smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’ll just tell her you got really into the holiday spirit and had to spend the night with your favourite TA.”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a little. “I’m sure she’ll believe that,” you replied, though the words felt lighter now, softer.

Viktor’s expression shifted to one of mock seriousness as he pulled you a little closer. “But tomorrow, when the morning comes,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “I’ll have to call it in. You caught me drunk, used me for your advantage,” he paused, his eyes glinting with mischief, “and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

You let out a small laugh, your face flushing slightly at the absurdity of the situation. “Selling me out already, I see how this will go,” you said, teasing him back. “I’m sure you won’t mind telling them how you practically begged me to stay the night and cuddle you.”

Viktor smiled, but his eyes softened. “I won’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple again, holding you in the quiet aftermath. The moment felt almost unreal—so intimate, so fragile—and yet, there you were. He wouldn’t dare break it by asking for more. And even though Viktor’s chest was still swollen with fear, his mind drifted to sleep in your arms.

Your own mind, however, was restless. As the high of your connection faded, you woke up early, your thoughts gnawing at you. Viktor was fast asleep, his expression so peaceful that you couldn’t believe he had a bad bone in his body. Yet, you had been stabbed so many times. It wasn’t real, was it? It couldn’t be over, just like that. What if he was right, and you weren’t meant to share the awkwardness of the morning? What if he tried to shrug it off once he woke up? Would you survive if he did?

No. You wouldn’t.

Cursing yourself, you slid out of bed, put your clothes back on, and gave Viktor, who was sleeping soundly, one last glance that tore through your soul. And left.

***

The morning light crept through the gaps in the blinds, painting pale stripes across the sheets. Viktor stirred, his body heavy and warm, though there was an odd hollowness in the bed. He reached out instinctively, the fog of sleep not yet cleared, his fingers brushing against nothing but the cold fabric of the mattress. His eyes blinked open.

The room was silent.

He sat up slowly, scanning the space, the sense of emptiness clawing at him as the realisation began to take shape. You were gone.

The sheets beside him were rumpled, but the space was cold, long abandoned. For a moment, he stared at the spot you’d occupied, trying to convince himself you might still be here. Perhaps you were in the bathroom, or in his tiny kitchen searching for tea—but no sound of movement met his ears.

A chill crept through his chest, spreading outwards, a tight knot forming in his stomach. You left.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements clumsy, hurried, his leg straining without the brace. There had to be something—a note, a message, anything that might explain. The bedside table was empty. The dresser? Nothing. Viktor opened a drawer, then another, rifling through with increasing desperation, though he knew even as he searched how ridiculous it was. You wouldn’t leave a note in a drawer.

His gaze snapped to his phone. He lunged for it, unlocking the screen with trembling fingers. Nothing. No missed calls. No texts.

He stood there in the middle of the room, staring at the empty screen. His chest tightened, his breaths coming faster, each one shallower than the last. Of course.

What had he been thinking? That after all his fumbling, after all his glaring flaws, you would stay? That someone like you, bright and untamed, would want someone like him—a man who could barely navigate his own feelings without tripping over them?

Right. His fingers clenched around the phone, the pressure digging into his palm. How stupid. How painfully, pathetically stupid. How weak.

He sank back onto the bed, his head in his hands. The weight of the silence pressed down on him. Every echo in the room seemed to mock him. The bed felt too big now, the walls closing in too fast. His mind replayed your smile, your laugh, the warmth in your eyes last night, and it made his chest ache. How could you think you’d earned something like this?

And yet, beneath the sinking despair, anger simmered. At himself. At you. At the cruel absurdity of it all. You’d kissed him, held him, and for a brief moment, he’d thought you were standing on equal ground. But the truth was stark now, laid bare in her absence: you’d left. Or maybe that was an equal ground, after all. Now, you were truly even.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him from his spiralling thoughts. He didn’t answer immediately, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the knock came again, louder this time.

“Viktor?” Jayce’s familiar voice called from the other side. “You ready? We’ve got to leave in half an hour, mate.”

Viktor swallowed hard; his throat dry. His hands slowly dropped from his face as he stared at the door. Jayce’s voice was too cheerful, too ordinary, too far removed from the storm brewing inside him. He wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go away, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll be ready,” he croaked after a pause, his voice hoarse and thin.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment, then the sound of Jayce’s footsteps retreating down the hall. Viktor exhaled shakily, his gaze drifting back to the rumpled sheets beside him. Forcing himself to move, he stood and began to gather his things. Each motion felt mechanical, hollow. The knot in his chest didn’t loosen, but he pushed it down, swallowing it whole. It was almost Christmas. He had to pretend. At least for a little while longer.

[crustyfloor]

There's a uniqueness about the production of Heart, because it's intentionally carefully meant to sound impersonal (at least compared to Take My Hand), and more like delicate pop-y mainstream music. (Just like Sweet Dream in that sense.)

Because Sua is like a mass-produced porcelain doll, she conforms to these expectations, and everything she is to the media establishes her as a product for advertisement. So I can imagine it like this, she's drawn up by strings and she starts up like a wind-up doll sings for you in her beautiful dress behind the screen, stagnant, her ghostly image forever immortalized as that, a beautiful face with a beautiful voice. But behind the facade, her bleeding heart and her profound emotions are just under the surface. It's a perfect encapsulation of her as a character

The reality behind her and Mizi's inevitable tragedy is like that too, a show to the aliens, eventually the curtains were to close on them, and the (poison glass will be in my mouth) (possibly an allusion for blood) means she knows she will die, and their story would conclude on that dreadful note, and Sua knew this all along as they would grow up together. The bitter-sweetness of their memories, and Mizi's love, knowing time is limited and the cruel truth looming, but still choosing to love despite it, even though it's selfish to wish for a paradise at the expense of someone else, she wants to be saved from the fate of dying with hurt and loneliness and fear just like her sister thought she would've alongside all those other unfortunate children in Anakt, because she was just pitiful. But she wasn't, and she wanted live differently than that when she met Mizi who changed everything for her

It's pitiful that she practically criticizes herself in this song for trying to find even momentary hope in a hopeless situation, the guilt of knowing how selfish this is and then thinking of herself as a coward for being afraid and running away, she had to keep the facade of perfection, she couldn't tell Mizi about the true complexity of what feelings she had, and she died with most of this sealed away in her heart

These feelings of hers are knowingly cruel, that's why "hurt" and "heart" sometimes blend within the lyrics, rather than wandering life aimlessly, she wants to feel belonging, to belong to someone's heart and memory, she wants to feel, and she doesn't want to fear living. Her sister's words impacted her so much, and Heart here expands on those feelings. Sua wants to fit into the comfort of their little world, in Mizi's heart. She wants Mizi to remember her even in the hurt because that's where her heart lies. This cycle would continue, Sua would leave a traumatic, irreversible impact on Mizi, the same way her sister did on her

And so comes the person under the mask, the twisted and selfish and desperate person Sua is behind her warm smiles or her model face that she doesn't want the cameras to pry into her and see or for Mizi to find out, she doesn't wish for the delicate and kind Mizi to know how she truly is with her twisted nature, doesn't want Mizi to one day see the worst of her and leave her or ever change because Mizi thought the world of her, didn't suspect a thing, always admired Sua's clean and kind nature.

(Maybe on that stage, she didn't want Mizi to look into her eyes with such love before she was going to do something unforgivable and heartbreaking, even though she felt truly free in that moment, no fear, true elation at being able to live out their dream, but then the facade broke)

Sua genuinely believes her heart is twisted, and that her heart would be "The worst blessing in your life." Because she was desperate to obsessively find comfort in Mizi's naivety. And then she would leave Mizi in disarray when, eventually, she knew it would all be over- they were each other's blessings, but the trauma and hurt she would leave Mizi with in the end would be cursed poison .

[divine-crows]

🎨✨️Art Magic✨️🎨

Uses, Forms of it, and Why I Think Everyone Should Try it at Least Once.

Foreword

Right before the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I had been trying and failing to rekindle my flame for magic work. No matter what I tried to do I just couldn't get back into my studies and I was reaching a point where I was convinced I lost my spark and was doomed to live an empty life. Then it all changed when a YouTube Channel challenged how I thought about everything: Molly Roberts. That's when I was opened to the possibility of art magic, and I'll now share my love of it with anyone willing to read on.

What Is Art Magic?

A means to utilize art for spellwork, raising magical energy, or for exploring your magical subconscious. It encapsulates multiple different types of art and is generally not confined by conventional expectation (unless that's what you prefer).

You can utilize art magic by. . .

Using traditional art methods

Digital art methods

Collages

Music composition

Jewelry making

Embroidery

And much more!

How do I know if Art Magic is Suitable for Me?

There isn't a specific thing that'll indicate this form of magic is perfect for you, however I have some anecdotes from my personal experience as both a witch, and a regular artist that form a sort of idea on what could denote this being perfect for you!

First off, craving freedom from personal restraints was a big factor that pushed me towards blending my craft with my passion for art. If you want to run from the monotony of life, if you feel trapped by the social construction of boxes, or if you simply want to challenge your own mental restraints... then this idea might resonate with you.

Challenging yourself with a new form of magic, similarly, can also be a good enough reason to try. I'm the type of person who loves to constantly learn new things and I unfortunately get bored really quickly if I can't get new source materials. Using Art Magic has proven a fun challenge for me that allows me to explore a lot more topics you can't just open a book to find.

For those that may not be able to safely perform a lot of traditional style spells, this form of magic provides a discreet way to practice witchcraft. Most people wouldn't really question someone if they picked up the hobby of making art, and even if they did there's plenty of reasonable excuses out there.

How you prefer your spells to manifest themselves can also affect if this journey is a good idea or not. I find that Art Magic is really good when it comes to subtle spellwork that is more longform (though depending on how you construct them you can definitely create a spell that's the opposite).

Catalog aspects of your magical journey. Imagine a grimoire filled with pages of drawings, each one telling a story of something you experienced or learned as a witch. This especially may be more beneficial for visual learners.

You could use it as a means of meditation, sometimes art can be calming and it can open the door to your mind (so-to-speak). Especially if you're like me and struggle with staying completely still while trying to clear your mind, this may be helpful for you.

Trying to better understand archetypes, deities, types of entities, or even your own self can also be a big part of this. I've used art magic as a way to embody the "energy" of something before so I could better understand it. Especially when you're trying to seek knowledge that isn't often written on, it can provide a great way to explore more.

How Can I perform an Art Spell?

I have a step-by-step process that can give you some insight on how you may approach it:

1) Think of the intention you want. I like to close my eyes and meditate on it for about a minute then I write down if my mind wandered to any specific imagery or ideas.

2) Think of visual symbolism and colors that can help you capture the mood you want. Perhaps you need a warm color palette to invoke positive feelings, or maybe there are specific objects or animals you can include on the composition that represent something.

3) If you feel it fits your composition, you can include sigils, symbols of significance, and include shapes that have certain associations. It doesn't even have to be obvious either. You can use a circular composition to convey something endless for example, or a triangular composition to show priority over something.

4) In general follow what your heart tells you. This is a little cliche, but ultimately follow what seems best to you. Art isn't about boxing yourself in and my guidelines are just general ideas for anyone who's lost!

Why do I think that everyone should try it at least once?

From my experiences as a witch, I find that a lot of paths to be followed are quite rigid. By no means am I implying that a rigid structure is bad-- it creates a foundation from which we can work upon. I myself am exploring rigid, 'traditional' (for lack of a better term) ways of working magic. Art magic pushes you out of your comfort zone in a safe way. It makes you consider how you associate things. It makes you create new sigils and makes you research new symbols you previously wouldn't have used.

So next time you're lost on a spell, or you've lost your way in your Craft and you don't know what to do, think about maybe giving Art Magic a try. I hope my guide was a helpful starting point for anyone interested in the topic!