#i can see most in somewhat of a romantic light

[coverednstars]

Im curious if the least popular characters haven’t had there routes played a lot so

[14dayswithyou]

[REDACTED] NSFW Alphabet

🔞 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT! 🔞 Ren's version can be found here!!

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

[REDACTED] will usually part with a kiss before cleaning you up with a damp cloth or towel — or, if they were a bit rougher than usual, they'll draw you a bath with all your favourite scents instead.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

He will forever be a tummy and thigh guy until my dying breath. [REDACTED] loves the feeling of you in his arms, so they'll often find themselves absentmindedly running their fingers up and down your thighs or just pulling you closer by your stomach and giving a soft squeeze. [REDACTED] might also favour your hands too, since he's a really big hand-holder and palm kisser. I don't think he'd have a favourite body part on himself, though he does subconsciously enjoy it when you compliment his eyes. It boosts their self-esteem and makes them feel attractive for once. (In regards to their real self!!)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Similar to his Ren counterpart, [REDACTED]'s cum is very thick and tastes somewhat salty. They enjoy the thought of filling you up and watching it slowly ooze out, and if you can manage to pry it out of him, [REDACTED] might even tell you about how it's always been one of his fantasies to have his cum still inside you while you go about your day. They secretly enjoy knowing that a part of him still lingers on you — as nasty as it might sound.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I already mentioned it in Ren's NSFW alphabet, but he has an entire 4TB harddrive full of photos of you. Most are innocent and harmless, but others are... not so much. [REDACTED] often likes to look at them and fantasise about what it'd be like to help you through those lonely and intimate moments you spend between your sheets.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

[REDACTED] had zero experience prior to sleeping with you, though he does have some idea of what to do. [REDACTED] is much more forward and honest about what he wants (compared to his "Ren"/Haruko persona), so you can expect him to be less timid and shy when he ruts into you for the first time. "Never done this before... 'M glad I get to experience this with you. Can I... put it in now? Or d'you need more time?"

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything that involves facing you and entwining your hands. [REDACTED] is big on watching your reactions to see what you like and respond well to.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's definitely a lot more casual in bed, but I wouldn't call it goofy or anything. He'll go along with any jokes you make, and will even respond with his own if it fits the situation. But other than that, [REDACTED] tends to keep the moment tender and intimate.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His happy trail is very faint and matches the dark, black hair on his head. [REDACTED] also keeps himself moderately groomed, but if you want him to shave down there, they're happy to oblige.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Extremely intimate. They are always holding your hand, maintaining eye contact, and constantly praising you for how good you feel and how much he adores you. [REDACTED] might not light candles or set the mood with music, but he makes up for it by showering you with love and affection.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Likes to jack off whenever you do, just so he can time his strokes with your own hand. Otherwise, if the need ever arises, they'll simply seek you out and ask if you're in the mood to help him out.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

They have a maaaaassive praise kink (giving, but also... he subconsciously enjoys receiving it as well), biting/marking kink, and breeding kink. I wouldn't say [REDACTED] has an exhibitionism kink or anything — but he is down for anything if you initiate it in public.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The hood of Teo's car, Leon's bed, Jae's couch, Violet's gaming desk, Elanor's reception counter, Conan's favourite bookshelf, inside the changing rooms of Kiara's boutique, the staircase in Olivia's souvenir shop, during a phone call with Moth— oh, and on Angel's hardwood floor, I guess /silly

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

While they would never force themselves onto you, you could quite literally bat your eyelashes in [REDACTED]'s direction and he'll be rearing to go. Try pulling them in by their belt or sucking on their collarbone if you want to be (carefully) thrown on the nearest flat surface and be fucked within an inch of your life.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Threesomes (or more), cuckolding, or anything that physically involves others outside of [REDACTED] and you. Anything that has to do with DDLG/LB or ageplay is also a massive turn-off for them.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He's a biiiiiiig fat service top/pleasure dom at his core, so you know [REDACTED] is all about giving you pleasure. They're more than happy to spend the rest of their days between your thighs, and [REDACTED] could honestly cum hands-free purely from watching you unravel on his tongue. Your pleasure is his pleasure as well.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Typically, it starts out gentle and intimate — but the more [REDACTED] slowly unravels over time, the harder and rougher he'll get. Things like throwing your legs over his shoulder, gently biting your neck, gripping your hips and using you like a personal fleshlight, bucking into you with reckless abandon, etc. Obviously, nothing that would cause noticeable pain — but it's certainly different from how Ren would usually treat you in the bedroom. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

They don't mind quickies, but [REDACTED] will always prefer to take their time with you and shower you with all the love and affection they have. He doesn't want to rush your pleasure (and he likes to give you more than one orgasm per tryst), which can prove challenging to do if it's just a quickie. With that being said, they're all for being dragged away to a storage closet for some... fun before work!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Please ask him to go down on you while you're manning the front desk :( He lives for the thrill of it. [REDACTED] is down for almost anything — so long as it doesn't put you at risk.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

At the start of the relationship, they might only last one or two rounds due to their inexperience. But as time progresses, he'll slowly start to get better. But it's soooo hard for [REDACTED] to focus when you're right there in front of him; splayed out perfectly on his bed and letting him bury himself deep inside your warmth, all while you— Aaaaand... Yeah, he's already spent and snoozing.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Prior to sleeping with you for the first time, [REDACTED] owned a vibrator, butt plug and fleshlight, which he would use whenever you'd pleasure yourself on lonely nights. They'd prefer not to use any toys on you as it comes across like you're not satisfied with his own hands, fingers, mouth, and tongue — but you could honestly convince [REDACTED] otherwise if you play your cards right.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a complete tease compared to his "Ren"/Haruko counterpart. They will whisper absolute filth into your ear while slipping their hands between your bodies and playing with your sex — before pulling away and innocently asking what you need from him. "D'you want more? Y'gotta tell me, angel." / "That feel good? Tell me where." / "I don't think y'can take all of me, angel. You're practically stuffed full already." / "You're droolin'. Feels that good, huh? Right here?" / "If y'want me to go harder, y'gotta beg a little more. It's cute. You're s'fucking cute." / "Want my fingers too? Tell me where." / etc. you get the point lmao

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

[REDACTED] will babble incoherent words when they're lost in the sauce (lol), but other than that, you'll mainly get soft groans and harsh sighs most of the time. However, if [REDACTED] is bottoming/getting pegged; it turns into bratty moans instead. And if you squeeze his hand or bite his collarbones, you'll have them practically whining into your skin and begging you to do it again.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Started crying when you said you loved him in bed for the first time. And sure, maybe he was getting his tears all over your shoulder — but he also gave you at least seven orgasms that night and a reason to take a day off from work.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

Packing an ~8 inch dick (~6 inches when soft), with a cute pink head to contrast the scary vibe of his Jacob's ladder piercings. Girthy enough that you can just barely wrap a hand around it, as well as pale enough to match the rest of his skin tone. Leaks a lot of precum and curves slightly when erect.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

[REDACTED] has a high sex drive, but will only indulge in it when you want to. Sex is an afterthought to him, and he won't ever push you to do anything — plus, they're more than okay with rubbing one out in the bathroom to satisfy their urges. But if you're able (and willing) to match his sex drive, you can expect to do it at least two times a day.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

They will stay up and either play with your hair, trace their fingers across your skin, gently rub your back, or even indulge in pillow talk! It all depends on what you tend to do afterwards, which [REDACTED] will easily comply with. He might even stay up and just... lose himself in his thoughts because [REDACTED] finally has you in his arms, safe and sound — where you belong.

[daycourtofficial]

Now I’m in exile seeing you out

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 4k | warnings: none

Summary: a follow up to you’re losing me - You've reached your tipping point where you can't forgive Azriel's constant choice of work over you. Can he fix things? Or did things get wildly out of hand and it's too late?

Author’s note: you guys loved part one, hopefully this offers a satisfying conclusion 🥰

2k celebration masterlist

Your new apartment was quiet, not even your neighbors were making noise. You had grown accustomed to the silence the past few months - Azriel always being gone had left the house a certain way - too large, too quiet, too much without him. This silence felt different.

It wasn’t full of expectation - of wanting Azriel to come through the door or expecting him to treat you like he did in the before.

Now you’re in the after, your finger feeling light from the lack of the ring on it. Fae don’t usually wear rings - a human custom that Feyre had told you all about, one that Azriel found quite romantic.

“So that way when we are buried and our scents are gone, if anyone found our bodies, they would know what we were.”

His words were romantic, but now the tan line on your finger just made you feel hollow, as if this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Any sound you made just echoed through the too empty space - you had foolishly gotten rid of most of your previous furniture when you and Azriel bought a house - your new furniture not arriving for a few more days. Feyre had found you this apartment rather quickly when you showed up at the River House in the middle of the night, uncertain of where else to go. She and Rhysand had agreed to let you stay there until you found a place of your own and they also agreed to not tell Azriel where you were.

“We could start fresh,” you had said to him, mainly wanting a good enough reason to throw out the couch you’ve had for half a century. But now all the new furniture was left behind, in a house too big for one occupant, probably laughing at your past words.

A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look through the peephole to find Feyre standing outside with a large plant of some sort. You unlock the door, letting her in. She gives you a soft smile and hugs you, the absurdly large plant making it somewhat difficult to get your arms around her.

She chirps a greeting to you, rubbing your back gently as you pull back from her. She knew why you had done it - you spent several nights over the past year on her couch crying to her over Azriel and his lack of time for you.

Behind her came Rhys, carrying several buckets of paint, rollers, tins, tarps. Your eyebrows raised, “is this your new art studio, Feyre? Are you going to teach Rhys how to paint?”

She giggles and Rhys rolls his eyes at you, setting the things in his arms down before kissing you on the top of your head. You lean into his touch before he pulls away, softly telling you, “we’re helping you paint the place - white walls are boring.”

In the days to come over the next week, you had multiple visitors. They all made you feel better while they were here, but whenever they left you felt that Azriel shaped hole in your heart all over again. Cassian had been the first after Feyre to visit, barreling into your apartment, nearly squeezing the life out of you once he got in the door, upset he had to wait so long to see you.

“Cass, it’s been four days.”

“The house’s not the same without you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Cassian gave you a look that you didn’t like, and the two of you were teetering on the edge of the forbidden. You had asked Feyre to tell everyone they can come visit, but not to talk about Azriel in any way.

Unfortunately, much of Cassian’s life involves Azriel so he had a much harder time than everyone else. Any time he’d veer into Azriel territory, he’d quickly go, “oops” and cover his mouth very quickly, as if he had cursed in front of a child.

Elain had visited the next day, offering to help you prepare some potted window plants. The two of you walked through the Velaris markets, Elain prattling on about different kinds of plants. You knew she was trying to distract you, help you pick up the pieces of your broken life. So you picked out different plants for your windowsill, the weight of them in your arms much lighter than the weight of your emotions.

It was hard wandering the streets with Elain - this city felt so much like him, the streets littered with cafes the two of you frequented. Elain, whose presence you enjoyed greatly, felt like a stabbing reminder of what you lost.

You know Elain came in with you when you got back to your apartment, repotting the plants into the window planter she brought. Fresh dirt covered their roots, allowing them to grow in their new place. You can’t remember what Elain spoke about, just nodding along with her until you eventually found yourself alone again.

Each day brought a new member of Azriel’s family to visit, and you loved them, truly loved them, but it was hard to feel like they were coming for you as opposed to coming on behalf of him. You knew they loved you, despite whatever was happening between you and Azriel, but your interactions were always colored with him in the background.

You had been expecting Nesta to show up when you opened the door to find Azriel looking back at you.

You were a bit surprised at the restraint he maintained waiting so long, a whole week passing since you had left, but you said all you wanted to say in that note. You wanted him to feel awful, to finally see how you were feeling.

You just hated that it came to this to get him to see you.

He looked terrible. His shadows were pooled at his feet, darting towards you with affection, dancing around you. His wings were practically dragging on the floor, his shoulders sagged, his hair was a mess. His eyes looked lifeless, his jaw covered in stubble.

Good.

“Azriel,” you bit out, not an ounce of affection in your tone. “May I help you?”

“I want you to come home.” His words were clipped, agitation clear in his voice.

“This is my home, you may come in for a few minutes if you want to talk.”

You didn’t really want to invite him in, wanting him to stand outside your door, feeling as unwanted as you had for so many months. But you had new neighbors, and you weren’t sure you wanted to find out how nosy they were with this conversation.

The sight of him made you so angry, but a tiny part of you wanted to reach out to him, running your fingers through his hair, and coax him to come to bed so the two of you could actually sleep.

He shut the door behind him before turning back to you.

“Please, come back. I’ll be better.”

Your hands nestle onto your hips, your jaw rotating in annoyance. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He sighs, his feet moving of their own accord across your floor, pacing back and forth on the hardwood floor.

“Was I not enough for you?”

His words send you into a tailspin of rage, your vision going red. “Azriel,” you say, voice rising, “that’s a funny thing to ask, when you were never there! I gave you everything. Endless excuses, endless empathy. I spent so much time telling people that what you were doing was okay, that I forgot it wasn’t! You weren’t there!”

His hands run down his face, shaking his head in denial. His shadows swirled the room, and you could hear them whispering to him, but what they were saying you couldn’t make out.

“You’re the one who decided that everything I had wasn’t enough for you.”

Your words hit their mark, and the Illyrian before you halts and removes his hands from his face, looking nothing like the formidable soldier he was, but rather the boy he had been. You take a deep breath, opening your door once more behind him.

“I needed you to risk something, I needed you to choose me.”

You stop forward, pushing him through the threshold.

“Most of all, I needed you to choose yourself, too.”

You shut the door on him, leaning your forehead against the wood. The place was suffocating you with its silence. It was a new silence, compared to the one you’d wait in while Azriel was off.

This one felt full of hope and possibilities.

-

Three decades passed since that fateful night, but you could still see Azriel’s eyes in the shadows some nights. You hated burning candles - the way the shadows flickered and danced reminded you of the shadows that curled your fingers, the ones that kept you company whenever Azriel spent too long away.

You had dated here and there since Azriel - none of them lasting more than a few years. They were fine - all attractive, all nice, but they all ended for one reason or another. One moved to a different court, which you didn’t want to do. Another’s mother didn’t like you and it just didn’t work out after that. Several relationships fizzled out because there just wasn’t a spark between you two. You felt cursed, unlucky in love, destined to be alone.

Or perhaps destined to always be heartbroken.

It wasn’t all bad - you just weren’t lucky with romance. You had fallen back in love with Velaris a few years after leaving Azriel, the city lights coaxing you back. You had actually considered leaving entirely, the city feeling too much of him.

Until one day, about five years after you left, you had walked the Sidra one night, the reflections of the street lights giving the city and the river a new glow.

It enchanted you, waking you up from the stupor you had been in for so long.

After that, you spent a lot of your time around Velaris - running events for the city, making friends with several of the business owners. It felt good to find a new support system in the city - one not connected to your ex boyfriend.

You clutch your coat tighter around yourself as you weave through the streets of Velaris, heading back to your apartment. You walk by some apartments, a few men standing around outside, their boisterous laughs making you feel uneasy. One of them starts calling for you, but you ignore his words and walk faster.

You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned a corner hoping he’d stop following you.

“Leave her alone.”

You knew that voice - the deep timbre one you heard in occasional dreams, calling to you even after all these years. You stop your fast walking, turning just in time to make eye contact with those hazel eyes you’ve been dreaming of forever. You can’t run - he’s already stopped still at the sight of you, as if time was stopping for this unexpected reunion.

He stands behind the guy who was following you, his face peering over the male’s shoulder at you.

“She your bitch?”

Azriel’s growl shocks you, and the male turns, allowing his siphons to glow bright in the night. The male stops his chuckling, replaced with deep apologies, running off in the other direction as Azriel moves closer to you, and the two of you start walking in the direction towards your apartment.

The streets are quiet as Azriel follows your lead, his boots scuffing the cobblestone street. It felt strange to be next to him again, the wind rippling against the skin of his wings a sound you never thought you’d hear again.

He clears his throat, “sorry about them.” He gestures behind himself before adding, “I saw them yelling at some female and just wanted to keep anything from happening.”

You look up at him, drinking in his appearance. Thirty years had passed since he came to your apartment that day - since you yelled and screamed at him. You had wanted to yell more that day, but you were so drained from how things ended, you just wanted to move on. He looked much the same - his jawline sharp, his large nose littered with the freckles you loved so much. They were more prominent now, likely a result of the summer sun. His hair was a little lighter, cut a little shorter than you remembered it, the curls lightly dusting the top of his forehead.

You had hardly spoken to much of his family recently, your new job and not living in one of their properties making it quite difficult to schedule dinners and lunches. The last time you saw any of them was either when Elain visited you about six years ago or when you saw Cassian in a coffee shop, a tiny babe in his arms some odd years ago.

You had caught glimpses of the inner circle over the years - a wave to Feyre across a restaurant, the sight of Rhys’s smirk through a window, the bookshop clerk down the street mentioning Nesta. Glimpses of their lives, but you never allowed yourself to stop for too long to get caught back into their orbit.

You had once been so integrated into the family, but it was hard to continue when you pulled away from Azriel. They loved you, you knew that, but they were his family and it never felt quite right without him, every one of your conversations with them overshadowed by the lack of Azriel. So, you had pulled back. It’s not what they wanted, it’s not what you wanted, but it was what you needed.

So many things were the same, but he somehow looked lighter, as if the weight of the world weren’t on his shoulders anymore. It made him look so free and so beautiful.

Maybe he found someone who could finally help against his demons.

“It’s quite alright - I actually should thank you for that and for walking me home. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking home alone after that.”

You two continue on in silence, the only sound your shoes against the cobblestones and the fae moving about on the streets, heading off for their nights to start as yours ended on this strange note. The silence was lingering for too long, old emotions stirring beneath the surface. You had to break the tension.

“Is Cassian a dad now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened before throwing his head back laughing. You had almost forgotten just how beautiful that sound was. Almost. “Fuck no.”

His chuckles bounce off the streets of Velaris as he mutters, “but he and Nesta still fuck like they’re desperate for one.”

“But I swear I saw him out with a kid with wings a few years ago.”

Azriel stops to think for a moment before squinting his eyes a bit, “do you remember the issues we had with wing clipping?” You nod, remembering how just the details of some of the things Azriel’s seen at the hands of his people made you queasy. “We helped a few of the women escape the camps - we’ve been trying to make safe spaces for them to live in to prove to the males that they don’t need them. It’s slow, but we’ve got a few dozen living in and around Velaris.”

Wow, you thought. Your smile is genuine as you congratulate him, “that’s impressive, Az!” He shakes his head at your celebratory tone. “Really, I know progress is slow with them, but that’s great.” You beam up at him before scratching the back of your head, “but it still doesn’t explain the kid I saw.”

“A few of the females brought their kids with them, and Cassian likes to spend time with each of them one-on-one. He says it’s a good excuse to get ice cream, but I think he just likes seeing them have a present male in their lives.”

You two continue winding through the streets, a cool breeze lifting through your hair. It was so odd to be here with him, odder still for this to feel normal. Azriel clears his throat, his voice a bit uncertain, “I’ve been uh delegating more.”

You pause, feet stopping on the road. They’re just words, nothing more, but Azriel’s never delegated. A true perfectionist to his core, he never even considered delegating any task Rhys asks of him. You turn to look at him, his hazel eyes looking back to you full of regret and longing.

“I’ve been uh, using some of the spies under me more. I’ve been trusting them with more important work.”

The two of you reached your apartment door, the same one Feyre had painted silver all those years ago. You can hear his shaky breath as he continued. “I don’t deserve you. I never have. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t-“ he sighs. “I don’t deserve you, but I do deserve love.”

His voice breaks at that and some piece of you shatters all over again at how poorly he was treated to never feel like he deserved anything good or kind.

“This is coming out all wrong,” he huffs, tugging lightly at some of his hair, “but Madja’s been helping me for a long time. I- it’s so hard to let me be deserving of love. I always felt I had to earn it. I felt I had to do the impossible things asked of me and that would finally make me worthy.”

He sighs, a slight thump from the door as he leans his forehead against it.

“I am worthy of being loved. And so are you.”

His hands are shaking, but his shadows wrapped around them, forming something similar to tight fitting gloves, offering some kind of security to him to continue.

“If the damage is too much, I understand. You can tell me to fuck off at any point. But if… if you would let me, I’d like to.. I’d like to show you that I’m trying. That I’ve been working on myself.”

You continue to look up at him, gobsmacked at this confessional from him.

“It’s hard. I couldn’t make progress overnight, hence my long absence. But I have made progress. I’ve uh actually been taking days off. I started going on trips to Day and Summer a few years back. I read three books at the beach a few months ago, actually.”

He laughs at the absurdity of his trip - a vacation. Something he’s never done. To spend days on his own, nothing but a book to keep him company is all you’ve ever wanted from him.

A pause. A breath. But he keeps going, needing to get his jumbled thoughts out of his head and into yours.

“It’s been a long time, but I think about you every day. I’ve probably made a fool of myself out here, but if there is any way you aren’t seeing anyone and if any part of you misses me at all…” He trails off, his fist lightly hitting the door. “I just wanted you to know that I’m trying. I’m bettering myself. I am better. I know it’s late, but..”

He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Your silence was eerie, leading him to keep talking, his words unable to stop.

“I just- I never wanted things to get here. I was foolish, and I didn’t appreciate you. It took you leaving to realize I could not continue like I was… I can’t.. Let myself hurt the people I care about anymore.”

You stay rooted, pressed against the door, not moving.

They were just words, the same things that hurt you over the years of broken promises and missed dates. But they’re so thought out. He’s had thirty years to mull things over, and he feels so much lighter than before.

You’re conflicted, but the optimist in you wins out as your voice finally finds you.

“Show me.”

-

Every Sunday for several weeks at 8 AM Azriel would stand on your doorstep and knock gently. You would open the door and he would present you with a bouquet of flowers - varieties of colors and species made their home on your dining room table as the weeks go by.

The two of you stroll through the city. The city you loved so dearly and for so long, parts of it feeling impossible to look at without thinking of the male next to you.

He would usually open up with some story about Cassian or Rhysand to break the ice. Then he’d tell you about his week - where Rhysand had sent him off, what he did on his days off that weren’t Sunday, anything that stood out. The two of you wander the streets, only stopping for occasional treats to eat while continuing your walk.

As the weeks go by, he starts filling you in on the past thirty years. For a long time, he saw Madja almost daily. She began providing him with herbs that helped regulate his moods, helped him sleep better, and helped him feel better. She also began having him comb through the deepest parts of himself he tried to forget, the memories of that little boy abandoned in that dungeon. He’d also tell you about how the rest of the Inner Circle was doing - Feyre and Rhys were trying for a baby, Elain was traveling a lot, Nesta and Cassian were… Nesta and Cassian.

Now he only sees Madja every other week, and she seems quite impressed by his progress. She should be, you think, he’s a far cry from the male you kicked out of your apartment all those decades ago.

After a few weeks, you began opening up to him as well. How hard it was to leave, your relationships in your time apart, how empty everything had felt without him, how you’d developed some strong friendships in the years apart.

“I had to pick up the pieces of myself too, Az.”

His heart pangs with guilt, but you reach out for his elbow, eyes bright with beginnings.

“I always wondered what I’d do if you came back to me, but I never thought you’d be how you are now. You seem so… light?” Your voice comes out more like a question, and you chuckle. “You just seem so different, but in a good way.”

“I feel different. I feel like I’m not… like I’m not that little boy anymore. Like I don’t have to prove myself to be loved. If not by you, by someone.”

His words linger in the air and you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest at his words.

“I do want it to be you, though. If you’d have me, that is.”

Your heart wanted you to lean forward, wanted nothing more than for you to wrap yourself in his embrace. But before either of you could move forward, you had to know, one way or another.

“Why did you keep pushing the wedding back?”

Your voice was soft and shaky, but the question had been lingering on your mind for so long, it was on the tip of your tongue every time the two of you met up.

“I couldn’t tell you before because you would have been so nice about it, but I- I thought I was ruining you. I didn’t want you, so kind, so wonderful, to be tethered to me for all eternity. But I was too selfish to let you go. I still am, I suppose.”

He shrugs, his shoulders folding inward toward you, his wings drooping a bit. “I know now how ridiculous that sounds, but I.. wanted you but I also wanted better for you.”

He turned toward you, his skin shining like gold in the sun. He was radiant - a word hardly ever used for him before. He looked as Helion does, as if the sun was redirecting its rays through him.

“So I became better for you, for myself, for my family.”

And that was what you needed to hear. It was never about you (in many ways it was), but at the end of the day, you always wanted what was best for the both of you.

And he became that.

On a beautiful summer day, you stood on your tiptoes, your hands reaching upwards to pull his face into yours.

And by gods even his kisses felt lighter.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen

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Thanks for reading 💕

[dilfartist]

Just obsessed or love obsessed?

Tw; Kidnapping, sensitive topics, Yandere behavior, Obsessive behavior, marriage mentions, abuse, physical abuse, mentions of Suicide on Yoosung’s part, mentions of death, NSFW on the end of Asmodeus’s part,

Which yanderes are actually in love with their darlings? Which yanderes simply obsess over their darlings?

Fandoms: Naruto, JJK, Demon Slayer, Death Note, JJBA, Chainsaw Man, Baruto, Obey Me, and Mystic Messenger.

Characters; Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, Mahito, Toji, Geto, Sukuna, Douma, Tengen, Mitsuri, Akaza, Gyutaro, Muzan, Light Yagami, Chilchuck, Laios, Ascended Astarion, Dio, Kira Yoshikage, Jotaro, Josuke, Yoosung, Mammon, Asmodeus, and Denji.

Notes: {Most of these are just ramblings, sorry if they mirror each other in similarity. Not all characters from each show/movie will be on this list, just a few that came to mind.}

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!

Somewhat proofread

Reader's description; Female/GN

Obsessed

These yanderes have no love for their obsession. Although they want you for romantic purposes, they could never love you. Most of these yanderes treat you like a pet rather than an actual lover.

Mahito

Mahito sees humans as toys. Humans are there for his entertainment. Their tears, their fear, their panic, and their crys are all for his pleasure. Mahito has only managed to love the suffering of human beings.

Mahito harbors no love for his darling. Sure, Mahito favors you compared to other humans and he doesn't outright kill you or torture you, but your relationship is more like a farmer favoring one of the farm animals he’s leading to the slaughter, so he allows it to live a little longer than the others.

If you were to ask him if he loved you since he’s gone out of his way to keep you to himself and demands romantic actions out of you; he’ll respond with a laugh, finding it laughable you’d assume so.

“Love you?” Mahito giggles, “You know, I was manifested by the strong emotions of humans, but love isn’t one of them. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, you're my favorite human!”

Sukuna

Sukuna was born evil, not giving two shits about the human race he once belonged to. Love, in the eyes of Sukuna, is a feeble emotion that only exists to continue giving humans a reason for their pitiful existence and to keep their kin cared for. Those who sing songs of romance irk Sukuna. As if the human race couldn't get more irritating. Though he will admit he enjoys a good lovers quarrel. The negative emotions that cause the birth of curses and the scenes of women and men plucking out the eyeballs of their lover's hidden sweetheart in an act of rage; never fails to give him a wicked laugh.

Lust. Lust is what Sukuna feels for you. Love is nowhere in sight. Any act of love you find yourself partaking in with Sukuna isn't because Sukuna desires loving contact, but because you loathe the thought of acting this way with him. He relishes in the resentment you feel towards him. Kisses, hugs, cute nicknames, and lingering touches in favor of disturbing you. Sukuna is obsessed with you due to your enjoyable reactions. Such a scared little thing, he thinks. In a world of humans Sukuna views as insects, you are Sukuna's shivering prized chihuahua.

If you were convinced Sukuna was in love with you and asked about it, he'd laugh in your face.

"Maggots, such as the human race, invented love to maintain relevancy and keep their young alive. What else are they good for if they can only birth a few babes before their bodies break. They might as well drop dead once production is no longer available. Unfortunately for all living creatures, they continue their life spans." Sukana speaks with distaste. He leans his cheek against his fist, gazing down at you from his throne. "I find the emotion despicable. Although.." Sukana begins, lips curling into a cruel smirk, "I could think differently if it came to you, my dear pet." You don't miss the flash of amusement in his ruby eyes at the sight of your grimace.

Douma

Douma will never love anyone. Douma is stated to have no emotions but that isn’t necessarily true. Douma can feel emotions for himself, it’s others he cannot feel emotions for. Douma may have claimed to feel love towards Shinobu but Douma wanted to feel something, or at least convince himself he felt something before the end of his life. Truly Douma could never love his darling even if he tried.

Contrary to popular belief Douma does treat his darling like he loves them...50% of the time. The other half of the time he acts on his sadistic nature.

He is one of the yanderes that will kill his darling with no hesitation if he needs to. Douma will hesitate if his obsession is strong enough to dissuade him. If his darling ever dies or somehow escapes then he’ll forget about them. In his eyes, you’re replaceable since you never were loved in the first place.

“You know, (Name), I think I’m actually in love with you!” Douma would smile down at you as you sat in his lap. “Can’t you hear it! My heart flutters at the sight of you!” he’d pushed your head to his chest, “Such an exquisite feeling.” he cooed at you, hugging you closer. You scowl knowing every word from his lips is a lie. You wonder which one of you he’s trying to convince.

Ascended Astarion

Astarion before the ascension would genuinely love his Darling. And if he didn’t he wouldn’t even be with his Darling. However, if his darling allowed him to go through his accession, all his love would vanish from his body. Once a vampire spawn becomes a true vampire, they become a shell of the person they used to be.

Astarion is no longer the person you once knew. In fact, he resembles his former master in ways. His spawns, his mean attitude, his view of other people as less. It’s a sicking sight, truly. He no longer treats you as an equal. You’re a pet to him, even if he says you are his consort.

You both know Astarion doesn’t love you anymore. Yet neither of you have said a thing about it. Astarion finds it rather amusing you think he could love someone as pathic as you. His old weaker self did and he won’t repeat any actions from the past. And still, he refuses to allow you to leave his side. His darling will be reassured but they know the love of their life is no longer around.

“I love you, my dear pet. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” he’d chuckle darkly at you, his tone full of mockery. You wish his words were the truth, but they’re not.

Dio Brando

Even in normal circumstances, Dio wouldn’t be able to love. During his normal life, Dio only loved the pleasure he sought in hurting others. He forced himself to act like he loved Jonathan and George Joestar, but in reality, he was only using them for his advantage. Once he turned into a creature of the night, the was no way he’d be able to love. All of his humanity, including his human emotions had been erased.

Dio’s darling is merely for his entertainment; he does not yearn for a real connection. You’re simply a pet. He’ll care for your health so you won’t die, he’ll feed you well so you won’t starve, and he’ll even buy you nice things to keep you in line. Other than those few things, he could care less about you. He enjoys keeping you around because of your reactions. You’re just so human! It disgusts him and excites him at the same time.

“Poor dear,” Dio sang cruelly as he held you in his lap. “Shivering in my lap like a lamb awaiting for the slaughter.” he’d chuckle darkly after.

Kira Yoshikage

Yoshikage never loves any of his darlings. He takes without a second thought, caring not for the person that fuels his obsession. Yoshikage may take the time to learn about his victim but after some time your fate will be the same as any other darling. Depending on which stage of Yoshikage you get that is.

You could encounter a quick death if you met Yoshikage at the start of Dimond is unbreakable. He’d be interested then when he finds the right time to kill his darling and take their hand. If you come across Kira in the middle of Dimond is unbreakable then your death will come after a while. It depends if he likes your personality since during this stage he begins to prefer knowing a woman’s personality when taking their hand. If he meets you by the end of Dimond is unbreakable then you have the most probability of living. He’d be so concerned about keeping his identity a secret he might keep you around longer and settle with befriending you instead of outright killing you.

Kira really has no love for his darling. The only care he has for his darling is keeping their hands beautiful to fuel his obsession. Kira is less obsessed with his darling and more obsessed with their hands.

“Darling you must keep yourself clean,” he’d chid, pulling out a pack of wipes to desperately clean the dirt from underneath your beautiful fingernails.

Love-Obsessed

Both their feelings and obsession grow together as they come to know you. They love and are obsessed with you. These yanderes see their darling as actual partners and do love them, unlike the obsessed yanderes.

Naruto Uzumaki

Naruto loves you with all of his being. Growing up as a boy with no family and for a short while in his childhood no friends, he yearns for a real connection. He wants to love and be loved. So when you come into the picture, he swears no harm will come to you. Even if the leaf village is at stake.

Naruto does everything he can to please you because he believes you deserve everything good that comes to you. His generosity isn’t meant to be taken as a way to manipulate you, unlike some characters. Naruto strives to keep you happy. He’ll do everything he thinks will do right by you.

Naruto sees his darling as his partner in crime. His one and only. He refuses to look at anyone else. He’ll keep you safe even if it means keeping you locked away.

“I love you more than anything, you know,” Naruto whispers to you as he snuggles up to you. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, believe it.”

Denji

Denji’s been through a lot. No one has been there to love Denji for who he really is. Everyone loves Chainsaw Man...then there's him. All of a sudden you come into his life. Dissimilar Makima or any woman in his life, you care for him. You’re genuinely kind without expecting him to do something for you. His feelings grow for you due to your kind nature.

Being Chainsaw man comes with its cons. He’s always in danger and his loved ones are always in harm's way because of him. He grows paranoid. What would become of you once it was revealed he cares for you?! He manages to pull some strings and finds a place for the both of you to live together. Sure you can’t leave but at least your are safe! Plus, Denji is a great guy who gives you everything you want.

Denji doesn’t force you to care or love him, he implies wanting your tenderness but never forces you. He loves you. He goes as far as fighting every demon in your name.

“I like you...like a lot.” Denji starts off slowly. He’s at your side, crouching to your level. His eyes show vulnerability, “...you don’t have to like me back but I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. I wish things could be different...I really do.”

Yoosung Kim

Yoosung falls in love with his darling very quickly. Originally, Yoosung fell in love with the Mc in eleven days. Instead of his obsession and love growing together, Yoosung falls in love first then his obsession begins to grow. Though Yoosung is in love with his darling he still compares them to Rika despite his darling and Rika not sharing many qualities. He loves his darling for their kindness but also because they share the comfort Rika gave him.

Yoosung doesn't care if he puts his darling in harm's way despite claiming the opposite. Yoosung loves his darling enough to be in harms way along with him. In a way it’s like a romantic double suicide

“You’ll only talk to me, right?” he’d ask. Despite this question being sent through text you could hear the question asked in Yoosung’s voice. “I love you so much, do you really think some guy like Zen could compare?”

Mitsuri kanroji

Mitsuri is heavily encouraged by love in her daily life, so of course she’d be in love with her darling. Her darling completely takes over her mind, invading every thought she has. She doesn’t see her behavior as weird or obsessive. After all, isn’t it ideal for a lover to be utterly in love and devoted to their special someone?

Her obsession and love for you grow at the same pace. She’s so in love with her darling, every action she takes is in the name of her darling. She constantly reminds her darling of her love and devotion, not caring if her darling doesn’t reciprocate.

Her obsession is fueled by the constant rejection she’s faced in her life. She’s clingy, clingy to the point you feel suffocated. She needs her darling's reassurance and will be unsettled by her darling giving anyone else praise she deems too much.

“You’re so amazing!” she’d coo at you, latched onto your right arm, batting her lashes. “I’m so glad you’re mine, (Name).” she’d hum, pushing her face into your sleeve.

Sakura Haruno

She is a very dedicated person. Despite the lack of love she received from Sasuke, she stood by his side the entire time no matter what. When she loves, she loves hard. This also applies when she begins to obsess over her darling. Even if you don’t share her feelings she will never move on. Sakura is a very persistent person, and if she truly desires something then she’ll achieve it.

Her obsessiveness comes later on when she really gets to know you. Once the obsession starts, there’s no way of getting rid of her. Her love overpowers her obsession, which is worse.

If you thought Sakura being at your hip most of the time was annoying, then your hell is with Yandere Sakura. Sakura will never leave you alone. However, you have a savor named Tsunade. Sakura listens to Tsunade with out a doubt. However, Tsunade doesn’t really care for your situation. Sakura can be annoying but she doesn’t bring harm to you. So...not her circus, not her monkeys.

“Gosh,” she’d sigh dreamily as she lay against your chest, “I’m the luckiest girl in the village, aren’t I?”

Josuke Higashikata

The king of romance himself! Josuke loves his darling dearly. Even going as far as to think twice before hurting his darling if they dare insult his hairstyle. Unlike all the others on this list, Josuke would be in love with you first before the obsession would even begin.

Josuke never lets his darling forget his love and dedication towards them. He reminds them he loves them every chance he gets.

Josuke is more normal thanks to his genuine love for his darling. However, that won’t stop him from acting on his obsession. If his darling ever found out about his obsession and attempted to leave, he’d hesitate to

“Oh, these?” Josuke would look down at the bouquet in his hands. He’d rub the back of his neck with a grin, “Just wanted to get something for the lovely girl I call my girlfriend!”

Laois Touden

You are as important as Falin is to him. His mind is full of thoughts of you. Although Laois is obsessed with you, he treats you right. He never oversteps boundaries, always makes sure not to hurt or overwhelm you, and always listens to you and your needs. If it weren’t for his unhealthy obsession, Laios would be the best boyfriend.

Laios obsesses over his darling the same way he obsesses over monsters. Laios carries a notebook full of facts about you. What monster food do you prefer? Easy! You love boiled mimics! After all, Laious put it down in his note book and Laious is dedicated to being correct about his darling.

His love goes as far as locking away his darling; If necessary that is. He’d rather explore the word with his darling. He won’t repeat allowing someone so dear to him to be hurt again. Laios nearly lost his sister and he’ll be damned if you were ever harmed.

“I don’t think I say it enough,” Laios comments completely out of the blue. You and him sit at the breakfast table, still in your midnight clothes. Laios looks at you sweetly, his chin against his palm. “I love you.”

Obsessed to Love- obsessed

These yanderes start just obsessed with their darlings with either no feelings or ignoring their growing feelings. As time goes on, they begin to fall in love with their darling.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji finds it hard to love after his late wife’s passing. So when you come into his life he’s as distant as he can be. Toji’s rude and nasty to you. Not because he dislikes you- well, not fully anyway- but because Toji can sense his attraction towards you. It scares him; it Angers him even. Toji’s had his fair share of one-night stands, feeling nothing after them besides passing sentiments of guilt because of his late wife. However, you’re different. For some reason, the fuzzy feelings he felt with his late wife have come back when he’s around you. He loathes these feelings. In a way, Toji finds this as a betrayal, and he blames you.

However, as time progresses, Toji learns to allow you in. He can’t obsess over his late wife forever. At first, he’s simply obsessed with you. Always around you, you’re constantly on his mind, keeping a tracking device on you, the usual. Then it happens. You show him genuine kindness and show you care for his well-being and it’s like a switch flipped. Toji realizes he’s in love. And instead of getting angry or distancing himself, he accepts it. Unfortunately for you, Toji’s left broken by his ex-wife’s death and you’re the new love of his life.

You’re immediately kidnapped and taken away to live with him. The one person he loved died, he will not have that happen again. Toji knows he needs a stable life to keep you around and he refuses to use another woman for her money since he finds it disrespectful to you. Toji’s gambling habits cease nearly quickly. He works for the both of you to have a stable life because he love you enough to try. Toji never outright tells you he loves you, but you can tell in the ways he acts around you.

“I’ve gotta say, you’re the biggest pain in my ass.” Toji would grumble. You both lay on the couch together, him on the bottom while you lay ontop of him with a blanket wrapped around you. His hands fiddled with your hair, one of his quiet ways to show his love.

Akaza

At first, he felt like he was betraying his first love, Koyuki. Akaza distances himself because of the guilt that consumes him. He feels so weak, which pisses him off. And he can’t help but find himself getting angry at his darling as well since you caused this weak feeling to initiate. If it weren’t for his guilt at the onset Akaza would be categorized in the love-obsessed category. Once he learns to move on and realize his feelings will not be leaving any time, then he’d be loving towards his darling.

Immediately, His darling is kidnapped. Akaza has learned from his past to always be near his loved ones; his darling wouldn’t suffer the same fate because of his carelessness. He’d keep them in a nice house deep in the forest. Akaza remembers every part of the forest just in case you attempted to run away. The house would be nice and furnished and his darling could request items to be placed into the house. It’s more of a house for his darling than a shared house.

Very loving towards his darling. If it weren’t for the circumstances, Akaza and his darling's relationship would be seen as the ideal romantic relationship. Akaza didn’t want his darling to be taken away, he’d much rather have his darling willingly. However, his trauma and immortality dissuade him.

“You’re so beautiful...” Akaza would murmur to you. You watched in the mirror as the demon brought your hairbrush back to your hair, gently going through the strands. “So beautiful, my love.” he’d press a small kiss on your shoulder blade.

Jotaro Kujo

Jotaro already has too many problems to worry about romance. Jotaro’s obsession disturbed him. He has other priorities such as saving the world from enemy stand users, yet he often finds himself thinking about you rather than the problem at hand. It becomes a problem for him. There’s even a point where he becomes annoyed by your name alone. However, as time goes on he learns to accept his feelings of obsession. Then he’ll have to accept the romantic feelings that soon follow after he accepts his obsession.

A while back, I wrote Jotaro as a yandere that would hold you captive and overall be very intimidating towards his darling. Now that I look at his character, he’s more likely to act regularly with his darling. Jotaro will come off the same as any man who has a healthy relationship with their significant other. The only reason he’d become intimidating towards his darling is because they’re trying to leave him. No matter how obsessed jotaro finds himself, he ultimately won’t force his darling by his side. Jotaro recognizes the danger he puts his darling in when they date, he realizes how selfish he is just being near you. Jotaro genuinely loves his darling, so although he does try to intimidate his darling into staying with him, he would allow you to leave if that’s what you truly wanted.

Jotaro is the type of Yandere to allow you to leave but have you on his mind ever since. There are memorabilia of yours around his house. Pictures hang upon his walls that he hasn’t bothered to take down. There’s even a framed picture of you right next to his bed.

Tengen Uzui + Wives

The Uzuis would be off put by their darling at first. Despite it traditionally being on the man’s part to decide if he wants to marry another wife, Tengen puts his wife's decisions above his. Tengen isn’t the type to simply marry someone because of a little crush or obsession. One, he needs to feel strong feelings towards someone before he considers putting a ring on it. Two, Tengen respects his wives too much to decide marriage on his own. Tengen would introduce the topic and his darling to his wives slowly, giving them a little time to decide whether to feed his obsession or not. Ultimately, Tengen gets their blessings.

Their obsessions don’t blossom until marriage. Ideally, their darling is not as strong as them. They become very protective of them, especially Tengen if this is after he retires. Time passes and they all grow to love their darling, they’re obsession turns into a love obsession. Each one of them won’t keep their hands off their darling. They are in general very touchy with each other, but with their darling, it’s times 100.

At least one of them has to accompany you. Not only to keep you safe but to make sure you never think of leaving them. They don’t mind kidnapping their darling if they need to.

“Don’t splash around so much,” Tengen complained to his other wives. They all sat in the bathtub, cleaning each other. You sat firmly in Tengen’s lap. “Stop hogging cleaning them, Suma!” Makio barks at Suma. “I am not! Lord Tengen! Makio is trying to say I’m hogging the sponge, but I’m not!” Suma whines. They were taking turns washing your body, whilst Hinatsuru washed your hair. Tengen presses a small kiss on the back of your head.

Asmodeus

When Asmodeus first met his darling he only saw them as someone he could seduce for a moment of pleasure. It isn’t until he makes a pact with his darling that his obsession begins. Sure, Solomon also has a pact with Asmodeus and he’s not obsessed with him. You’re different. You help him with problems and spend time with him. And such a cutie you are you do it no questions asked. The obsession sets in when he manages to sleep with you. It was like your body was crafted for him. It’s addicting really. Your taste, your touch, your sweet voice! He’s even considered never touching another again.

He’ll stick around you more which leads to a connection between you...or maybe just in Asmodeus’s eyes. Love, an emotion he’s only been able to share with his brothers, will develop in the time shared with you. You’ve surprised him again! Asmodueus will grow into a possessive person. Not even his brothers will have the fortune of spending time with you. Asmodeus becomes harsh with his brothers, like a cat hissing at other cats for being too close to their owner. Lucifer has to step in ever so often because Asmodeus is close to ripping out one of another demon’s eyes with his claws because they got too friendly with you.

Don’t think you can just leave him either; That isn’t an option whether it be due to your exchange coming to an end or you not wanting a relationship anymore. It just won’t happen. If you have to go back to the human world, that just won’t slide with Asmodeus. He’ll find a way to be with you. If Lucifer doesn't appeal to any of Asmodeus’s requests to keep you in Devil Dom, then he has no problem going with you. Nor does he have a problem possessing random people to see you every day. Now, ending the relationship with Asmodeus will lead to a moment of pain. A moment of pain because there is no way you’d be apart for more than a couple of months. His brothers won’t force you to be in Asmodeus’s arms nor will they stop talking to you until you give in to dating Amsodeus again, they care for you as much as they care for their brother. Nonetheless, you will have earfuls of them trying to convince you to be with Asmodeus again. Not to mention every demon in Devil Dom has been in your DMs on Devilgram. All of his adoring fans call you every name under the sun. No matter how tough your skin is their words will get to you. They even began to spread hate against humans which got the attention of both Lucifer and Diavalo. Now you’re having a conference with them, where you simply decide to go back to him. It’s better for everyone.

“Don’t you feel so much better~” Asmodeus coos to you, his fingers deep inside your cunt. “No one can make you feel as good as I can!” Asmodeus presses a trail of kisses down your neck, “No one could love you as much as i do.”

Mammon

When you first met, Mammon only saw you as an annoying human. Another task on his list that his brother put on him. Then he began to get to know you and that view quickly faded. Unlike other yanderes, Mammon fell in love quickly compared to the others. Suddenly, Mammon was proud to be your first man. So proud in fact that many reconsider his sin being greed.

Though greed is definitely his sin. He’s so greedy he won’t allow his family to take your time away from him. Mammon nearly snarls like a rabid dog at the thought of anyone stealing you away from him. If it’s his brothers then he won't have as much of a problem, he’ll complain but won’t harm them. Let another demon try the same and he won’t care if he breaks a few bones. Not even caring for Lucifer’s chiding.

His love is apparent. It’s overwhelmingly sweet, overshadowing his tough-guy act. You won’t even mind his obsession because his love delays any concerns that arise because of his actions.

“I’m your first man, so I should be your most important priority,” Mammon huffs clinging to your waist tightly. You scheduled a lunch with his brothers due to Mammon taking up your time, now you think you should cancel it. Mammon shows no sign of letting go any time soon and it’s getting harder to breath.

Chilchuck Tims

There would be no way in hell Chilchuck would allow himself to fall in love or even think of any romantic thoughts of his darling, at first. After his wife left him and took away his children, leaving him alone, he couldn’t bear the thought of another romantic relationship. His obsession starts slowly because he distances himself since he can tell he feels attracted to you.

He hates the fact he often has dreams of you or the fact he remembers your favorite foods. He especially hates it when he gets a foreign fuzzy feeling in his chest when it comes to you. He’s often rude and closed off to his darling. He comes off meaner to his darling than anyone else. It has gotten to the point the others often call him out on his behavior to which he scoffs and turns away.

It isn’t till he learns that not everyone will leave him and he can learn to be a better partner Chilchuck opens himself to being romantic with his darling. He grows to love his darling so dearly. He writes to his daughters about his darling. Even goes as far as mentioning them every chance he has to his companions.

And although he’s finally going through the process of learning to forgive himself for his divorce, he’s still paranoid. If you show any signs of leaving him, he won’t immediately lock you away but he’ll become uncharacteristically clingy. Every hour he’s snuggling closer to you, asking about your day. He even begins to stop complaining about small things you do that annoy him at times. If you are attempting to leave him, good luck. That isn’t happening. Besides Chilchuck’s small size, he’s incredibly smart when it comes to dire situations. Such as you leaving.

“I...I love you.” Chilchuck admits, his face has an expression of the first taste of sour candy. It’s almost as if the words stung the tip of his tongue each time he spoke.

Gyutaro

You’re interesting to him. Whether you’re ugly or pretty, Gyutaro envies you. Those who are attractive get to live happily without the misery of being ugly. It makes him sick. You are treated better than he was that’s for sure. But as he comes to know how kind you are to others, especially the less fortunate, he begins to obsess over you. You’re so beautiful, much more attractive than him anyway. How could he not think of you.

Gyutaro learns more about you by stalking you. He’s always around, going as far as to hide in the dark of your room in the mornings just to get more of you. Gyutaro never thought about marriage as a mortal, he was too caught up in caring for his sister and many girls never even glanced his way when it came to romance. You change his mind. He can imagine you in a beautiful wedding dress as you profess your love to him not even cringing at his ugliness.

He genuinely loves his darling. Gyutaro wishes he could have met his darling when he was a mortal, his life wouldn’t have been so depressing, and he could have even tried to find a better occupation and live a normal life with you. He’s selfish, after all, he’s faced so many hardships, why can’t he take the few things that bring him joy? No one else deserves you. Once you’ve lost your beauty, you’re better off dead than in the hands of others.

“So beautiful...gahahaha!” Gyutaro laughed manically to himself. He sat in the corner watching you closely, his hand covering his wide smile. “No one else could compare!”

Possibly love-obsessed (unsure)

These yanderes could either love their darling and never admit it or not love them at all. It depends on the situation or stage of the relationship.

Suguru Geto

(Only Non-Sorcerer Darling)

Geto believes that he could never love a Non-Sorcerer yet has an obsession with his darling. Geto felt the need to dehumanize the Human race since his change in ideology to cease any doubts he may have about his decisions. There may be a part of him deep down that isn’t fond of the idea of hurting Non-sorcerers but is too far gone to even think about ending what he started. Geto strives to protect the weak. When he was in high school he believed that the weak were Non-Sorcerers until his perspective changed to Sorcerers being the weak ones due to the Non-Sorcerers being in charge and harming the ones keeping them safe from curses. He found the acts of Non-Sorcerers to be unforgivable which is why he went to the extreme of choosing to start a genocide.

There is a part of him that despises his darling. How could some random monkey make him feel this way? It’s perplexing. Sometimes he wants to gouge out your throat and watch as the light fades from your eyes to give him the pleasure of his original ideology: All Non-Sorcerers should be terminated. Yet he cannot bring himself to put the plan into action. Especially when you’ve been such a good pet and listen to his every command. He won’t admit that he craves to be around you. He loves holding you tight as you both drift to sleep, he loves the sweet kisses that he forces out of you, and he loves the way you moan out his name. A filthy monkey shouldn’t have the pleasures of indulging in his greatness, yet he refuses to kill his darling.

Even Geto doesn’t know if he loves his darling. He’s adamant he only sees his darling as his pet, but deep down he might love his darling. Though that would never come to light.

“You’re a good pet. Always listening and obeying my commands.” Geto comments as he reads his daily newspapers. You brush his hair quietly, focusing on the raven strands gently pulled by the bristles of the brush. “Good. Just as all monkeys should.”

Sasuke Uchiha

It isn’t that Sasuke is incapable of loving because he definitely loves the people in his life. However, he is too emotionally immature to truly love his darling. He yearns for their touch and love but he can’t for the life of him reciprocate the affection.

Sasuke has forgotten the feeling of love since It had been ripped away from him at such a young age. He assumes his love for things in his life is just extreme liking them. Sasuke extremely likes tomatoes and Sasuke extremely likes talking walks but the word love never seems to come to mind. If anything he just won't admit it to himself. He can love.

It won’t be until when Baruto begins that Sasuke is finally classified as Love-obsessed. He’s more truthful to others and himself. He can finally admit he’s in love with his darling...to himself. In Baruto, Sasuke is more open to being vulnerable around his loved ones and even tries his best to repair relationships with advice from Kakashi.

“I care about you...” Sasuke would say, not daring to look you in the eyes. “...a lot,” he adds in awkwardly.

Light yagami

Many believe Light to have no love for anyone, for whatever reason. However, this is not the case. Light's love for his family is one of the main reasons he decides to become Kira. Or what he believes to be justice. Light started out wanting to be a cop because his father was a cop and Light wanted to bring justice to the world. Light wants the world filled with good and his family surrounded by good instead of unjustified evil. The reason he’s so cruel to Misa and even uses her to his advantage is that he never shared these feelings in the first place. Misa forced him into a relationship with her and didn’t seem to mind him not wanting it. He’s very different with his darling.

I put him on this list because there are two ways Kira could feel about his darling. One, he’d be obsessed with them but wouldn’t love them. This would happen if they were involved in the Kira case and Light would obsess over them because of it. Two, his darling is a random citizen who shares his feelings and judgment, and Light loves his darling dearly.

Even if Light truly cares for you, he won't admit it because of his focus on the Kira case.

Muzan kibutsuji

For Muzan to care about his Darling, they would have to have certain qualifications. One, they knew of Muzan before he transitioned into the first demon. Two they either could relate to Muzan’s past as a human or they didn’t have any judgment towards Muzan because of his sickly appearance. These are a few situations that would lead to Muzan's obsession. Once Muzan turned he had past wives who killed themselves because of his cruelness. Muzan had no feelings toward them which is why Muzan would be more likely to love or care about his darling if he had known them before his change.

If Muzan’s darling had none of these traits then Muzan would be purely obsessed with his darling. Muzan would need a connection with his darling. There is a slim chance his darling could win over his true affection, but the chance of it happening is nearly impossible.

[kirain]

I don't get people who say Gale just whines about Mystra all the time. Like do they not realize WHY? Do they not realize there's a perfectly understandable reason for it!?!

Yeah, I don't get it either. Every character "whines" about someone. Astarion whines about Cazador, especially during the second and third act. Lae'zel whines about pleasing Vlaakith, especially during the Crèche mission. Hell, she'll even betray you if you fail her persuasion checks. Shadowheart whines about Shar and snaps at you if you criticize her goddesses of darkness. Then, if you prove she's being used, she falls into a deep depression and still whines about Shar. Wyll whines about Mizora and she's a constant presence in his life, to the point that she'll park her abusive ass directly in your camp just to torment him. If you romance him, she sees everything. She watches you 👀. He has no privacy. I think Karlach might be the only companion who doesn't constantly whine about someone, but she does complain about her engine a lot.

But these aren't criticisms. They're absolutely, 100% justified. Astarion has every right to whine. Lae'zel has every right to whine. They all have every right to whine. I just want to emphasise the hypocrisy when it comes to how players judge Gale. Every character has a dark past looming over them, our chatty wizard included. If you get mad at him, it's only fair to keep the same energy for all the other companions, because they're in the exact same situation. They're trapped. They're victims. They're suffering. Of course it's going to be a major talking point, especially when there's a person/goddesses/devil responsible for that pain.

Honestly, I think the only people who get annoyed when Gale talks about Mystra are would-be romancers who get turned off when he doesn't immediately throw himself at their Tav's feet. Have you seen the somewhat viral video where a streamer drools over him, but goes full jealous mode when she sees him conjuring the image of Mystra in his palm? It's funny, but she acted like they were already a couple ... but at that point in the game Gale didn't even know she was interested! I'm certainly no expert, but isn't that how relationships work? It's pretty hard to find someone who doesn't have an ex, and he only talks about Mystra in a positive light before you express interest. He's insecure and he feels lost without her, but if you romance him it makes him realise how messed up their "relationship" was in the first place. It's a healing process, not a competition. He never compares you to Mystra in any way other than to say that you're better, and that's only if you ask.

Gale is also arguably the most romantic character out of the bunch, so I don't know why people get so upset. Mystra, much like Shar, Cazador, Mizora, etc., is a constant negative in Gale's life and the reason he's dying. She could remove the orb with ease but she won't, so of course he's going to "whine" about her. He feels guilty at first, then he feels used and angry, and by the end you can either convince him to become her Chosen again (which is entirely on you, though you remain his priority) or you can convince him to reject Mystra and leave the crown in the sea. The orb remains lodged in his chest, because Mystra's too petty to remove it, but it becomes completely inert. Either way, he's happy and he devotes himself entirely to you, not Mystra.

[ma1dita]

it will pass

part two can be found here -> without a doubt

words: little under 2k

summary: Without a doubt, James Potter loves you. But he’s not in love with you.

warnings: none! fem!reader; i would die for best friend!james, did not demonize lily; angst, unrequited love, lil childhood speech impediment, cheesy nicknames, sharing clothes, will they wont they (they wont im sorry)

a/n: guess who just rewatched fleabag szn 2! i chose pain today sorry— god i missed writing. i am a words of affirmation gorl pls affirm me

(posted 9/8/23)

—

There isn’t a single doubt that James Potter loves you.

You’ve been attached at the hip since training broomsticks and pinky swears in Godric’s Hollow. You accidentally call a boy ‘Jam’ once because of your childhood speech apraxia, and he swears you’re meant to be his best friend.

“Don’t worry, I can be loud enough for the both of us, peanut!”

Like peanut butter and jelly, you two were a perfect match– and even better partners in crime. When James puts his mind to something, he sees it through. So even if you were honestly unable to string the words together, who were you to say no?

Technically it’s somewhat official too, by whatever imaginary power was bestowed upon the Potter’s house elf for your very elaborate backyard fantasy wedding the two of you had when you were seven. All of your parents were in attendance, along with your cat and you all had blueberry cupcakes after your first and only kiss.

“Miss Mippy pronounces you huzbind and wife!”

Giggles are heard all around as the tiny elf tripped on her way off the stool, knocking both your heads together. James lost a front tooth that day, but he grinned for the pictures your mothers took anyway. Without a doubt, he loves you.

—

There wasn’t anyone at Hogwarts who would expect one of you to be present without the other following behind. You never had to hold back your smart mouth because James was always willing to finish your fights. The both of you were a package deal, with your number of protectors growing once Remus, Sirius, and Peter came along. It was not a routine you both consciously established, but rather second nature to be in each other’s lives. Like how you always made sure his glasses were clean before quidditch matches and he’d chuck his extra jersey at your face for you to wear.

“Stay warm during the game okay? I’ll see you later, love you!”

He skated around your waist, blowing a raspberry onto your cheek as he grabbed his glasses from your fingers.

“Don’t fall off your broom. Love you too, loser.” You’re already tugging his jersey over your head, inhaling his signature scent of broom polish, cinnamon, and Sleakeasy’s hair potion.

James smiled at you softly, before running to meet up with his team. After Gryffindor won again, he threw you over his shoulder and you laughed and yelled that he smelled like sweat. He always tucked you in his bed after parties, wrapping you in his arms once the lights go out. Without a doubt, he loves you.

—

Your friendship is stronger than most romantic relationships, and as your teenage years fly by, both of you realize how rare that is. He often took you to the kitchens to eat vanilla sundaes after boys broke your heart (and they got black eyes to match, courtesy of him and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team) and you would listen to him, building him up and calming him down through years of pining over a certain Lily Evans. You were there for each other through everything, silly crushes, secret trysts, boring detentions, and highly esteemed accolades. If there ever were such a thing as soulmates, you knew it had to be him, even if it was platonic. Just being around someone as vibrant as James made you consider yourself lucky.

You once saw your best friend with his head in his hands on your way to a date—he was moping after a nasty prank on Snape went wrong; it ended in Lily crying and after defending her albeit quite boisterously in true James fashion, he still didn’t get the girl.

He gets up to see you walking down the corridor to meet him halfway, and before you even speak he rubs his eyes, posture shrinking as his towering frame melts into your embrace.

“Don’t know why I thought it’d be different this time,” he mumbles, and you gladly carry the weight of his heart.

“Let’s go swimming in the Black Lake, ” you say suddenly, rubbing his broad back in small circles.

“But peanut, you have a date in an hour! You’re all dolled up and pretty...”

“I’ll have more dates. You need me right now, jelly. I’ve got you.” His nickname makes you blush a little more than you should sometimes, so you only ever pull it out as a trick up your sleeve to make him feel better.

“Love you,” you whisper, brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He breathes easily for the first time in hours, mouth curling up from its frown when he sees you walk straight into the lake water with your nicest clothes on, not even hesitating for a moment. Without a doubt, he loves you.

—

When James puts his mind to something, he sees it through. So years later, when your best friend asks you if you could go wedding ring shopping with him to propose to the love of his life, who were you to decline? I mean, who else would go with him?

“Come on, (Y/N). I need my best girl with me to make the biggest decision of my life.” he’s practically moaning, the man ever so dramatic as he’s sprawled across your couch.

“And why aren’t you dragging Sirius with you again?”

Your eyebrow is raised as you stand at his feet, lifting his burly legs for you to place yourself under and get comfortable.

“What does Sirius know about women? He’d tell me to get the shiniest one and leave!” James’ yells into your throw pillow, anguished at the thought. You pull it off his face, before he quietly admits, “I just want to get it right.”

“When are we going?” you answer, without missing a beat.

Later that week, the saleslady recommends a wide array of glimmering engagement bands, none of which are for you. But you let yourself fall into the fantasy of the what-ifs, flashing back to your flower crown and candy ring wedding, wondering if it could’ve been you getting proposed to by him in another life.

“Would you like to try a few on?” the saleslady asks, assuming you two are together.

“Show me and my girl your best. No price limit.” he grins.

And how dare she assume that, as he puts his head on your shoulder, whisking you around the store to look at stunning rings, fingers brushing, and the both of you being able to communicate clearly with no words spoken. James plays along with the saleslady, finally choosing a whimsical-looking diamond setting placed upon your left ring finger. You remind yourself it’s not yours. Your heart comes to a screeching halt and you can’t help but feel all of a sudden like he’s being mean.

After all, he’s not yours, not really.

There is a little bit of doubt now and a weird tightness in your chest that makes you think of the possibility that you’re in love with James Potter.

—

Like a good best friend, you help him plan his proposal. James’ love is loud, pulling all the stops, and preferring the grandest of gestures.

“James, you are not proposing to Lily with a flash mob.”

“But it would be so cool! After all, my heart dances every time I see her face.” he wiggles his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his butterbeer.

“Your heart might, but you, unfortunately, are the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.” You laugh, reaching over to tug the quill out of his hand, crossing it off his list. He pulls you into a headlock, kissing the side of your face teasingly.

“What would I ever do without you, peanut?”

You wipe James’ spit off your cheek, pushing his face away, blushing from his attention.

“Combust, probably.”

Your heart is dancing now too, and you realize that there isn’t a single doubt that you’re in love with your best friend.

—

You keep yourself busy in the month before his proposal. It hurt learning too many details, such as what flowers he wanted to order to bring out her eyes (pink and yellow tulips), and scouting out the perfect location on the beach he picked (next to the lighthouse you and him visited as kids), even down to how he’d convince Lily to wear white without being suspicious (honestly he just expected you to do him a favor for this one). But after seeing each other almost every day for more than half your life, he knew something was off when you became distant.

James shows up at your apartment, his key in hand, but he decides to knock anyway. The sound of the TV is muffled, lowering in volume until he hears your footsteps pad over to the door and it swings open. You’re in one of his old Quidditch sweaters and fluffy blue socks.

“Hey. Wasn’t expecting you to come by.” You smile timidly, as he leans against the doorframe peering down at you.

“Never used to have to tell you.”

“James...” you stutter, before awkwardly opening the door completely. He shuffles towards the couch, keeping his shoes on as he sits at the end, and there’s a certain tension in the air that frightens you. You’re not sure if you’ll come out of this one unscathed.

“Talk to me (Y/N). What’s been going on with you? You don’t answer my calls, you don’t write back, hell, I haven’t seen you in a month because you started deadbolting your door. Did I do something?”

Yes, James Potter. Ever so blunt and to the point, your favorite person in the world is sitting on your couch uncomfortable with the fact that you’re not comfortable around him anymore.

You fight back against your instincts to tell him what’s wrong, but the three words escape your mouth before you can even take a breath.

“I love you.”

It’s silent. The floor creaks as you shift your weight onto your other leg. You lock eyes with him for the first time that night, and so many things are going through your head that you hope he’s able to pick up on how you’ve been physically aching, carrying the weight of his love for Lily for years.

James looks like he’s about to shake his head, and you beat him to it. You don’t want pity, and he knows that, but he mutters a consolation into the air.

“It’ll pass.”

No, it won’t. Not this.

You think he knows that too. He smiles sadly, watching you turn shrinking into yourself. You never were good at thinking before you spoke. A tear drips down your cheek as you look at your socks again. Your love for him is too big and too loud for your chest cavity to handle. This love feels like dramatic choral music clashing and banging around in your ribs.

“I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. This one’s on me,” you say, stopping him before he finishes speaking.

Without a doubt, James Potter loves you. But he’s not in love with you.

“What I was going to say...is that I’m going to have to ask you not to show up to the engagement party. It’ll be better for the both of us. We can start again from there if you want... Peanut...”

The term of endearment hangs in the air. Your dancing heart was a ticking time bomb after all. The fragments hit your insides, tearing you apart as it combusts, and you realize that nothing will be the same after this.

James stands abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hesitates before he kisses your temple, and for some reason, this feels like a goodbye. After all, when James sets his mind on something, he sees it through. He’s been set on Lily for years.

You’re his best friend, he swears. And there are no words you can think of to deny that.

—

The End

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “I know what

we are— and I know what we’re not.”

Lang Leav

[skzdarlings]

verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)

-

You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again. 

Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years.  You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face.   His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things. 

His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior.  He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light.  He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner. 

Then he turns his head and sees you.  You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind.  You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him. 

He smiles.  Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well.  Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection.  If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter. 

You clear your throat and march ahead.  He saunters up the path to you.  You meet halfway. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is the only person allowed to call you that. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.  You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return.  You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him.  “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.” 

He laughs.  When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.    

“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks.  “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”

You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow. 

“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too.  “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not.  Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.” 

Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it.  You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin.  You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before.  You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week. 

It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.  

He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets. 

“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks. 

Another ringlet whips across your face. 

“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside.  “Of course not!  How could anyone ever get sick of you?”  What a preposterous thought.  Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself.  People adore him.  He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent.   You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers.  As if you could ever grow tired of him.   “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity. 

He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him.  The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him. 

“Are you sure?  I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.

You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth.  You push it away. 

“Yes, well,” you say.  “That much is true too.”  

He looks at you for a moment.  You can’t imagine why.  The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp.  Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape. 

Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you.  It is very unexpected.  You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion.  His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl.  He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear.  A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers. 

Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket. 

“Sweet?” he asks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket. 

“Oh.”  You look at the bag.  “Um.  No.”

“Are you sure?”  He shakes the bag.  “It’s your favourite.” 

“Oh.”  Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy.  “Okay. Thank you.”  You take a few and pop them in your mouth. 

He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar.  You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue.  Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin.  You try to ignore the heat down there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away.  The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly. 

You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up. 

-

You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition.  You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length.  Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much.   He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand.  Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter. 

You return to his home and separate for the evening.  You to your studies, him to his evening work-out. 

You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym.  He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail.  There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom.  It should be gross.  You pride yourself on cleanliness. 

But good grief.  He is gorgeous. 

You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.  You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you.  He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed.  When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile. 

You duck behind your book again.  It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway. 

“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  You can hear his slow approach.  The towel is tossed somewhere. 

“A book,” you say. 

“Funny,” he says.  He is in front of you now.  You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head. 

“Hyunjin!”  You muster all the indignant attitude you can.  “That’s not funny.  We’re not children anymore.  Return my book at once.”

“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout. 

“Out of the question.”  You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel.  “You’re disgusting.  Look at the state of you.”

“Please?”  He blinks his long lashes at you.

You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips.  His smile does not diminish.  He waves the book in the air. 

You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly.  He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug.  He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex.  This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble.  You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor.  Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch. 

His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands.  He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice. 

“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head.  The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern. 

“No,” you say, petulantly.  “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.” 

He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything. 

“Poor baby,” he says.   “That sounds so disgusting.  Will a hug help…?”

“Don’t you dare—hmmf!”  He lowers himself and squishes you.  You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious.   “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”  

He giggles with boyish mirth.  It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes.  You look back at him, at a loss for words.  Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.  

Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll. 

“All right,” you say.  “That’s quite enough now.  There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later.  Go on, get.” 

He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead.  It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should. 

He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch.  Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite.  You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here.  Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out.  She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.

He did apologize for that.  He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately.   Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up. 

You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one.  You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle.  You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact.  Hyunjin really does get away with everything. 

Your nethers are getting ideas again.  The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin.  More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition. 

You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom. 

Oh dear.  You are very wound up.  Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight. 

You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out.  Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them.  Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.  

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest.  His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot.   He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows. 

He looks sinfully good.  You hope you look casual.  Innocently awaiting a quiet evening. 

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll.  Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie.  Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.

Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way.  You feel pretty and ready and wound up.  When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.

The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal.   Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded. 

Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you.  You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless.  It will always be Hyunjin.  Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes.  Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism.  Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him. 

Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything. 

You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you.  You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection.  With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy.  You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax. 

You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed.  You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video.   You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again.  You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts.  Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you. 

When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness.  You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far.  Nothing would have happened.  Nothing has ever happened.  

Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity.  He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.  

It makes you smile.  It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest. 

You text back a heart.  He replies, you never told me what you were reading.   He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question.   He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.

You fall asleep after that.  You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him.  This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way.  You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice. 

You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications.  You open your photo album and find your video from last night.  You click on it just as a message alert swings down.  You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger.  You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere. 

After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message.  The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it.  Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else.  He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you. 

But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply. 

Oh no.

You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash.  You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll. 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  For a long moment, all you can do is stare.  Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery.  Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet. 

You look in the mirror.  You look like someone electrocuted you.  Fitting, because that’s what you feel like. 

Your phone buzzes.  In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket.  You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.  

You pick up the phone.  This is probably what execution feels like. 

Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:

?!     

You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child.  The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply. 

That was an accident, you write.  Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop.  You continue:

Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin, I am so sorry.  I cannot apologize to you enough. 

I assure you that was a complete accident.

I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.

An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply.  It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself.  You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode.  But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom.  Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall. 

Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…

I assure you I am not, you reply.  I keep these videos to myself.  I would never intentionally spring them on you.

There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again.  Maybe you should just explode after all.

I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply.  I cannot apologize enough.  If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately.  You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes.  You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever.  Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin.  He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.

His replies come flying in, one after the other:

Whoa whoa

it’s okay

calm down

pretty girl hey hey hey

I don’t want you going anywhere

You take a breath and calm yourself.  You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident.  You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality. 

I should be apologizing to you, he says.  He continues swiftly: 

I kinda clicked on it…? 

I didn’t know what it was.  But I stopped once I did

I feel really bad

See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3     

You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous.  You smile fondly at your phone.  The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause.  A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously.  Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint.   Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”. 

It made him feel bad.  Goodness.  Talk about an ego blow. 

The least you can do is soothe his conscience.  You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation.   You write, I don’t mind you watching it.  I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place.  I really am sorry.

The ellipses appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears. 

You start to wonder if you should check on him.  He is just one room over, after all.   But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now. 

The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec.  Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room.  Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle.  All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over. 

It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery.  You leave him to his devices.  In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion.  You get up to dress yourself for the day.  Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.  

Everything will be fine.

-

Everything is fine until it is not.   Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity.  Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference. 

Verisimilitude, you tell yourself.   Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine. 

You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern.  Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore.  Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.   

After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away.  You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion.   By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.    

You throw yourself into your academic distraction.   A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found.  No resolutions, no conclusions. 

Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated.  Even your dreams suffer.  You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress.  Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself. 

You wake from yet another nightmare.  Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers.  You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression.  You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens.  You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now. 

You sigh and leave bed.  It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you. 

It seems your friend had the same idea.  Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.   

“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain. 

“Hello,” you duly reply.

You are definitely awake now.  Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt.  His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming.  He is so effortlessly beautiful.  You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane. 

You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips.  He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

It is a thoughtless query, no doubt.  The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter.  Are you okay.  Yes, how are you. 

But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days. 

You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years.  It is not something that comes easily to you.  You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct.  But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough.  You sniff and shake your head. 

“No,” you say.  “I’m not okay.”  

A single tear falls.  From you, that is practically a waterfall. 

Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled.  You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms.  Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady.  You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says.  “What’s this?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically.  You hate being a burden.  Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.  

But it is too late to spare your dignity.  Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours.  You heave a sigh. 

“A lot of things,” you admit.  “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.  It’s just stress.  My research.  You know how it is.” 

He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face.  He swipes his thumb across your cheek again.  Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers.  You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people.  You fall into his arms and all but collapse there. 

Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest.   He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls.  Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.        

“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids. 

You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly.   He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand.  To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom.  The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room.  It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes. 

While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space.  His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers.  The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers.  They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.

That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art.  It must be.  The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable.  But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance.  This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile.  Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you. 

“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me.  It would be embarrassing if he denied it.  It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it. 

“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser.  He is arranging pillows for you.  By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed.  He beckons you over.  “Come on,” he says.  “Like the old days.  It’ll make everything better.  I promise.” 

Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding.  You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized.   Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing?  It should be a compliment.  Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.  

You are not good with attention.  You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood.  Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse.  Attention meant derision.  If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them. 

When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door.  Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized.  At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.  

An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window.  You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog.  Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch. 

You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours.  You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.  

A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed.  A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet.  You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy. 

“Meet me downstairs,” he said.  He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.

You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself. 

The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there.  He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything.  You did not speak for a whole ten minutes. 

“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life.  “What’s yours?” 

You told him.  You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture.  He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.  

Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child.  It never occurred to him that someone might not like him.  He made friends so effortlessly.  His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age. 

His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm.  He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines.  You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.   

Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability.  When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised.  The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that.  It just meant you got good at sneaking around. 

You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this.  You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window. 

There are no interruptions now.  You lay down beside him.  You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him.  You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver.  He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.  

“Your research will be fine,” he says.  “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are.  You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”

You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver.  It really is quite unfair.  How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?

The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect.  “I’m not that smart,” you say.  “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.” 

You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance.  You burrow yourself deeper at his side.

“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him.  He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you.  “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug.  “You know what happens when people do that.” 

You find yourself smiling despite yourself.  Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you.  One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends.  You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands.  You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys.  The boy stumbled then swung back.  Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other. 

When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed.  You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin. 

“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound.  “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him.  “I hope you learned your lesson.  There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”

“There is,” he said, pouting. 

“No.”  You pinched his arm and he yelped.  “There isn’t.” 

“This time there was,” he said.  Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.” 

There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek.  He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes. 

“What was me?” you asked after a beat. 

“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said.  “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t.  So I made him stop.” 

It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you.  You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice.   You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession.  Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod. 

“Well,” you said.  “I am strange.  If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.” 

He smiled.  You smiled back.

You are quite certain you fell in love that day.  Curling up in his arms felt different after that.  You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well.   You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants.  Cliché indeed.  That story never ended well.  You could not abide by it.  It was better to repress and deny those feelings. 

You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest.  You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it.  Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed.  Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other.  He continues stroking your back. 

“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet. 

“Sorry,” you grumble. 

“So many people admire you,” he continues.  “I… I do.  I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best.  You know that, right?” 

“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again.  You sniff.  “And you’re not a dumbass.  Your opinion means a lot.” 

His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck.  You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer.  Your palm is over his heart.  You feel the racing thrum. 

“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well. 

“Yes,” you admit.  “The usual stress dreams.”   

“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck.  “I wish there was something I could do.” 

Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth.  That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances.  You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders.  You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you. 

Your hand leaves his chest.  Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you. 

All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck.  It is barely a caress. 

Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction.  Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you.  Your leg is still thrown over his middle.  You can feel how fast he gets hard.

Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch.  You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck. 

No.  It must be something else. 

Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect.  You force a smile and a weak laugh. 

“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say.  “I am going to look awful.  My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions.  You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight.  Do you promise?” 

He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner. 

He kisses you. 

His hand still cups your nape.  He pulls you close.  His lips are so full and his mouth so warm.  You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open.  It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you.  Unless he is in immediate need of CPR.  Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded. 

That is ridiculous.  It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark.  He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours. 

For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding.  He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth.  He swallows down your gasp. 

It feels like his hands are everywhere.  In your hair one moment then around your waist the next.  You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows.  When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up. 

A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short.   Is this real?  This cannot be real.  Can it? 

That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you.  You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone. 

Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours.  He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips.  Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed.  Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you.  It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties. 

Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you.  You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together.  You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you.  A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity.  It is a lot.  It is so much.  Too much?    

“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking.  “Wait.” 

He stops immediately, holding himself above you. 

He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours.  His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy.  There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline.  His heart is thundering where you touch his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control.  “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”   

It all happened so fast.  One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity.  He would never use and discard someone.  He would certainly never use you.  But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over.  You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on.  You do not work like that. 

You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together.  You cannot find two words to put together right now.  Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him.  Why is it so hard to say?  Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours?  It is always so hard to tell. 

You close your eyes and catch your breath.  He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath.  He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

You look at each other at the same time. 

“I still want to sleep here,” you say.  You hope the words are enough.  You are not upset.  You still want his company. 

He nods.  “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before.  It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs.  You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard.   He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself.  You think he might be counting. 

You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling.  You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind.   You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred. 

You are asleep before fifty.

-

You wake to a predictable mess of hair.  You yawn and stretch and scratch your head. 

Then you remember why your hair is a mess.  Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room.  That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—

You look at his side of the bed.  The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm.  He must have just left.  Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest.  It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day. 

You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified.  How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person?  How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve?  How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands? 

At least the video you sent was an honest accident.  Verisimilitude will do you no good here.  There will be no pretending it did not transpire. 

You should have just exploded when you had the chance. 

You slide out of bed and cross the room.  You poke your head out the door.  The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running.  You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it. 

You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor.  Then you huff and stand.   

Something will need to be done.  Conversations will need to be had.  That is simply the rub of it.  If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue.   If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –

It doesn’t matter.  That will not happen.  You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day.  You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination.  He is very compliant.  If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do. 

You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time.  Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back.  You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt.  You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room.  You hope Hyunjin is still home.  You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed. 

But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day.  He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace.  His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful.  It leaves you slack-jawed.  He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up. 

You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”

A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp

“I’m taking some photos today.”  His gaze is very intense.  Or maybe it is the make-up.  It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you.  You look lovely, pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly.  “I look no different than usual.”

“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation. 

“Be quiet,” you reply.  He is already preposterously off-script. 

It makes him laugh again.  He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee.   He offers you some but you decline.  You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all. 

Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup. 

This should be easy.  You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.

“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it. 

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door.  Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it.  Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you.   He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys. 

“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say.  “Lots of research.  Reading.  You know how it is.  I might lose track of time.  We’ll talk later, yes?  Yes.  Okay.  Goodbye.” 

He reaches you when you open the door.  You can see he wants to talk.  You know you should talk.  No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable.  But you suddenly cannot face him. 

You know you are being cowardly.  You know it is unkind because he might want answers too.  But you are not good and open like him.   You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors. 

You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you.  Your heart is still pounding.  You take a deep breath then turn to leave.  You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag.  Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools. 

You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest.  If only you were as cold-hearted as people said.  But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders. 

You pace in the hallway for a few minutes.  It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag.  You don’t even have your parking pass or library card.  With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment. 

Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in. 

You hurry to your room.  If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all. 

Unfortunately, you are a disaster. 

You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation.  Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying.  In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor.  It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time.  Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again. 

You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver.  You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—

You hear a creak.  You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers.  You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch.  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone. 

You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him.  He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous.  A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes. 

He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered. 

You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him.  He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more.  You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself. 

Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.

He touches his fingers to his chin.  Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation.  He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown.  His contemplation looks almost painful. 

You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something.  But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.

He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands.  He shakes his head.  He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say.  You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again.  He stares down at the screen. 

You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script. 

Then he turns up the volume.  

You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself.  Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it.  Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else.  So that was impossible. 

So why is he watching it now?

Because he is.  Unmistakably.  You know the sound of your own voice.  You know the sounds in that video.  You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him. 

He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside.  You can only blink, stupefied.  This does not feel real, just like that kiss.  Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs.  He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated. 

He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside. 

You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality.  Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.

He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door.   You make eye contact very briefly. 

Then you slam the door shut. 

-

You do the only logical thing.

You do not go to the library.  Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write.  You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship.  You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams.  You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets.  Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.   

The facts fall thusly:

You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself. 

You granted him permission to watch it.

He watched it. 

You caught him in a compromising position with it.

You made a spreadsheet. 

Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial.  But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented.  Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution. 

Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature.  You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin.   That courtship was an amicable affair and little more.  The break-up was cordial and tearless.  You shook hands then walked in opposite directions. 

A memory comes to mind. 

You and Hyunjin.  Starting university together.  Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.

One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away.  He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied.  It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.   

He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair.  It took some cajoling to get the story out of him.  His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase.  Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students.  You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not. 

“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said.   “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks.  That’s the only thing I have.  No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.” 

“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said.  “Plenty of people like you just fine.  They adore you, in fact.  And you are very talented.  It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”

“It’s not just one person,” he said.  He sat up to wipe his tears.    

You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss.  You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it. 

You put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly. 

“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up.  “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.” 

It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment.  Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds.  But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people.   He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces.  It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended.  You wished you knew how to express that. 

“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked.  “I care for you very dearly.”   

“You do?” he asked.  Even his voice sounded wet.  You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him. 

“Of course I do,” you said.  “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable.  You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that.  I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status.  Such is the nature of affection.  Why are you still crying?”

You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.  

Hyunjin has many layers.  You have always known this.  You told him as much.  You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you.  He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths. 

It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive.   It seems conclusive, though.  There is no shortage of sexual content in the world.  He could have watched anything.   So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction.  Possibly. 

You sit on your bed, staring at your phone.  You jump when it buzzes with a text alert.  You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin. 

I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.  

I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay..  Please just tell me

i deleted the video now.  and the message where you sent it.  I should have done that right away

I know you said you didn’t mind but still.  I should have just

just done it all differently

The messages come flying in one right after the other.  You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone.  Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it.  A shaky breath on his lips.

You look up, picturing him across from you.  You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand.  You never want to let go. 

Your phone buzzes again.  You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire.  Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.    

you mean everything to me.

He is still typing.  The ellipses in the corner flashes.  You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon. 

You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone.  You take a breath.  The decent and logical approach would be patience.  To study everything you have compiled.  To see if he concurs.  To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen. 

You are not someone who intentionally takes risks.  You are not wild and spontaneous.  You are not brash or confident.  You are not sexy.

Verisimilitude, you remember.  Act like it is true, maybe it will be. 

You type.  

Hello, Hyunjin.

His ellipses disappears.

It is true.  I sent that video by accident.  But I did grant you permission to watch it.

You open your photo album.  There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen.  It is not your most extravagant nor the longest.  You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything.  You could film it better if you did it again.  But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing. 

Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on.  You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting.  You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself.  He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment. 

You click on the video.  You send it with your next message.

This is for you.

You can keep it.

Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.

There is a long moment with no reply.  Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath.  You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.   

fuck.

are you trying to kill me

You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art.  A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now.  You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.

No, you write.  You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity.  You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations.  To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it.  It is only fair.  I was thinking of you while I made it. 

You wonder if he is still at the photography studio.  You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted. 

so you are trying to kill me, he writes.

and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....

You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones.  You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice.  The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through. 

I’m just teasing you baby. 

He knows you so well.  Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you.  You were so foolish to ever think otherwise.   Of course he can picture you like you can picture him.  You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body.  You feel safest curled against him and you always have.  The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.     

I see, you write.  Well.

Technically that was not wholly unprovoked.  It was very much within the context of our discussion. 

This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.

You send another video.  This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse.  You are wearing a sweater he bought you.  The gift was touching because there was no occasion.  He saw it and thought of you so he got it.  And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style.  He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.    

This video is not modest.  You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else.  You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath.  You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm. 

You send the video and wait.  His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:

fuck.

You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other. 

god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?

jesus we did all this backwards.  i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.

fuck I’m about to have my photo taken

hiding in the bathroom because christ

what are you doing to me

where are you right now??

After all that, you simply answer, In bed.  You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it.  Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation.  You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now.  This is new territory.  It is exhilarating.  You do not remember feeling this way with your ex.  He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you. 

Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory.  You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings.  Maybe he likes your hidden depths.  Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him.  He is romantic that way.  So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions.  Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him. 

Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment. 

Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart.  It melts at his next words. 

Please.   

Show me you want me.  want this.  want us.

Pretty girl.

My girl. 

Please.

Okay, you type.  You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant.  Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do.  This you want to do.  There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap.  You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself. 

Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.

You get an idea.  While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room.  He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does.  You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most.  It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product.  If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning.  You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room. 

You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant. 

You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket.  You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can.  You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality.  You pretend this is a video like any other. 

Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you.  He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably. 

You open your phone to a new message, a video from him.  The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red.  It makes it all the more erotic. 

You have never unwittingly clenched.  You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own.  But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video.  His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly.  He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper. 

Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them.  You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out. 

You turn up the volume to hear his breathing.  You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter. 

Oh Hyunjin, you write.  Your vocabulary otherwise fails.  There is no other word. 

Yes please, he writes.

My pretty girl.   

Say my name. 

Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural.  You are a little glad you were not filming yet. 

You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you.   You start recording.  With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket.  You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera.  The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains.  You skim down your body.  You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise.  Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself. 

It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this.  You have never been so wet in your life.  You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you.  Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this.  It feels so good to say it out loud.

You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends.  You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm.  You need it.  You need him. 

Your phone buzzes and you turn your head.  You open the message.  You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words. 

God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself

baby you are everything

I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things

god..

pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me?  will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.

You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close. 

It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again.  You frame your face and hit record.  You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel.  It is so much yet not enough.  You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue.  You want to taste him.  You want to choke on him.  You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away.  You don’t need to be anyone else.  You don’t want anyone else. 

You say his name again.  Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it.  You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath. 

As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets.  Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however.  As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again.  You need a proper conversation.  You need spreadsheets.  You need to do it his way and your way too. 

But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies.  Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful. 

Nonsense, you finally write. 

I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation. 

Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.

Then you’re all mine. 

You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket.  You take in a breath, the scent of him.  You type. 

I’ve been yours for a long time.  I can wait two more hours. 

Then… can we talk?

Yes, he answers quickly.  Absolutely.  I have so much I want to say to you.

Me too, Hyunjin.  

He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up.  He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again.  You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out.  You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind. 

When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder. 

You have two hours.  That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.

-

You tell yourself you will be resilient.  You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times.  Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem.  You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there. 

Except Hyunjin changed clothes.  It is not anything extravagant by any means.  He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp.  It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.

You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over.  He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back.  He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits.  He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is so atrocious at keeping to your script.  Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. 

You sit there for a long time.  It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station. 

Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance.  He looks so rebellious and you look so meek.  He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt.  Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned.  The wind has never been your friend. 

You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all.  His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up.  You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats.  Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear.  You remember him doing that at the art gallery.  He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now.  You realize you have been such a fool. 

You lean in at the same time.  This kiss does not even pretend at patience.  It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest.  You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.  He makes a noise too, something low and needy.  He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss. 

You remember yourself, vaguely.  You break the kiss with a gasp.  Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair.  Your foreheads touch.  The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing. 

“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected.  “Um.  We should.  Go.” 

He nods.  But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat.  He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver.  He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse.  Then he finally lets go and leans back. 

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home.”

Home.  You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival. 

Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table.  You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss. 

He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet. 

“Is this laminated?” he asks.  “You brought a laminator with you?”

“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly.  “What kind of question is that?”

He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on.  He listens diligently to your proposed contingency.  You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray.  You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance. 

You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult.  You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants.  You might as well have stripped down naked. 

You suppose you already have, halfway.  You swallow hard. 

“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly.  “The bottom line is this.  I desire you greatly.  I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard.  But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable.  I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic.  You are very important to me, Hyunjin.  I want us to succeed.  I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse.  That means no sharing a bed too.  When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us.  What are your thoughts?” 

“When will your place be ready again?” he asks.  He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful.  You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise. 

You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you.  You have known him for years.  You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish.  Present research dictates no. 

“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.   

He smiles.  It soothes your heart.  You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes.   You blink up at him. 

“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says.  “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work.  I’ve waited years for you, baby.  Six weeks is nothing.”

Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man?  He really is the universal exception to every rule.  You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it. 

“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin.  Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them.  Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile.  “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise.  But we will wait for the rest.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while.  You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush. 

-

It occurs to you in bed. 

You have long since said good night and retired for the evening.  You pick up your phone and sigh.  You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist.  The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest. 

And you are wet.  So, so wet, and so, so needy.  Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman.  Then he kissed you like a scoundrel.  He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face.  He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night.  Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him.  If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later. 

But in the moment, it felt so right.  You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one.  He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath.  Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood.  He fiddled with that one undone top button.  You would not have resisted him tearing them all open. 

He did not.  He kissed you slowly.  He kissed you sweetly.  With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl.  Sleep well.” 

You could not find your voice.  You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically.  He smiled.  You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion. 

Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner.  You debate texting him.  It will open a floodgate.  You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.

Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?

Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow.  Why do you ask…?

I was just wondering…

If when I saw you was your first time watching it. 

The ellipses is there for a while.  Your heart is pounding in your chest.  You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days.  Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.

You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through. 

Honestly… I watched it more than once.  I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds.  then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.

You cannot help but laugh a little.  You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more.  Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat. 

I tried to answer.  I tried to flirt with you.  I tried to be funny.  It all sounded stupid.  Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god. 

god..

Baby what was I supposed to do?  if I resisted that they would have made me a saint. 

You laugh again.  You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time. 

Did you masturbate to it?  you ask.  It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query. 

You really don’t pull your punches, he says.  You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.

yeah baby, he writes. I did.  More than once. 

I see, you reply.  Okay, thank you, I was just wondering.  Good night.

The ellipses flickers again.  You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.

This is going to be a long six weeks. 

-

He is not wrong.  It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling. 

You spend the first week stealing kisses.  He is good to you, respecting your boundaries.  He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires.  He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you. 

This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor. 

You are watching a movie one night.  He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand.  You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace.  You are not watching the film, all your focus on him.  He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music.  Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either. 

Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly.  They flutter free with an exhale.  You touch his cheek and turn his face.  He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word. 

His foot thumps onto the ground.  You find yourself in his lap.  You do not know how you lose your head around him.  One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating.  Someone should study this phenomenon.  You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic. 

You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck.  He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow.  It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching. 

It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze.  It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease. 

You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze.  He cups your head with both hands.  He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them.  When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word. 

He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat.  It makes you melt against him.  Your body really has a mind of its own these days.  You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch. 

He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped.  You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free. 

He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you. 

It makes you dizzy.  Your mouth opens and your eyes close.  You slowly rock back.  You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him.  But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice.  The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again. 

“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh.  Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart.  You realize are going to come like this.  “Oh.  Ohh.”

“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms. 

You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder.  You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain.  You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did. 

Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms.  You somehow push yourself upright.  You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites. 

He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it.  Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so.  You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest. 

His heart races under your palm. 

You think you need to see him come too. 

You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour.  You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands.  Literally.  You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced.  It is another reason you cannot rush into things. 

He does not rush you.  You arrive at the moment in your own time.  And in this moment, it stops mattering.  His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter.  You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you. 

You trail your hand down his chest to his belt.  His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face.  His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow.  You nod and he lets you go. 

You get his belt open with a little struggle.  You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.   

He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile.  You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him.  It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours.  He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand. 

The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after. 

-

The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines.  You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done.  You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project.  Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships. 

You go to your favourite café.  You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner. 

Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public.  Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad.  Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend. 

But he is still your Hyunjin. 

He just puts his tongue in your mouth now. 

The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery.  It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement.  It really is for the best.  For now.  You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready. 

Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling. 

You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you.  It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down.  It feels like a lifetime since then.  You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real. 

But it is real.  You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks.  You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply.  His jeans are blue today.  You are in a long skirt.  It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you. 

You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh.  When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back.  A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.

He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh.  “What do you want, baby?” he asks. 

“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame.  His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts.   You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.

He clearly likes what he sees.  He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost.  His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch.  He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his. 

“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing. 

“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder.  “For what?” 

“Just… so… ready…” 

It sounds ridiculous to say out loud.  He must agree because he laughs incredulously.  But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him.  Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin. 

“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady.  “What should we do about that?” 

You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers.  It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once. 

Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out.  He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe.  He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt.  You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you. 

You come so hard your knees buckle.  Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you.  He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms. 

You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied.  He puts you down gently.  And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard. 

“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt.  You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all. 

You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral.  You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair.  You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions.  He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously. 

He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you. 

And that is just week two.

-

By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule.  You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely.  When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day. 

To be fair, sometimes you do just talk. 

Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy.  He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare.  You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back. 

Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it.  You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt. 

“So,” he says.  “About the townhouse?” 

-

When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess.  You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating. 

Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags.  He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion.   He gets you some water and makes you drink.   It helps, marginally. 

“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement. 

You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again.  You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt. 

Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected.  They are the first thing to get a good dusting. 

It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out.  Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside. 

You wake with a start in the middle of the night.  You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves.   It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar.  You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment.  When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are. 

Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap.  Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed.  The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight.  You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company. 

You search around for your phone.  He left it on your bedside table for you.  It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early.  You text him an apology.  You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep. 

You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space.  You miss the comfort of another person just one room over.   No, not just another person, but Hyunjin. 

hey it’s okay, he texts back.  you were tired.  you should go back to sleep it’s late

I am unfortunately wide awake now.

Yeah me too. 

Why are you so awake?

Thinking about you. 

If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way.  You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now.  You type a reply. 

Oh?  What about me? 

You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not.  You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text.   You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious. 

That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep. 

Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous

About sleeping with you

You expect any number of answers, but not that one.  You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind.  When he starts typing again, you decide to wait. 

I know it sounds stupid. 

We spent all this time waiting

And god I want to.  my girl

I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down. 

Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral.  You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary.  Do you not think I would do the same for you? 

The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this.  His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.

Of course I am, you reply.  I always am. 

You hear a laugh.  It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor.  You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room. 

Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.

This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.

You frightened me half to death.  I thought you left. 

Ah sorry baby..

Do you… want me to come upstairs?

That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own.  You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin.  You want him with you, and beside you, now and always. 

Yes please, you write, then wait. 

His footsteps creak on the stairs.  The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal. 

You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light.  It is facing upward, illuminating him.  Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features. 

You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together.  You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things.  You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on.  You think you will do that one day.  You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first.  Maybe you will send him a video. 

You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it.  He gazes back at you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts. 

His face is bare.  Your hair is loose.  There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment.   You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime. 

He tips his head as he looks you.  You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life. 

He turns off his light.  The room is plunged into darkness.  That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly.  You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder.  Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you.  Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you. 

“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says.  “If we were.  Strangers.  If I was seeing you now for the first time.”  He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair.   “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways.  I think I will again.” 

“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves.  “So I will have to speak plainly with you.   I love you too, Hyunjin.  I always have.  If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”

He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing.  You need no other light.  You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip.  You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.   

“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says.  “Because I’d really rather make love to you.”  He swoops down and kisses your forehead.  “My friend.”  He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly.  “Baby.”  Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.” 

“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do. 

And of course he kisses you.

He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down.  You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely.  You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him. 

You gasp when he tugs your hair.  He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name. 

“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist.  “Show me what you want, baby.” 

You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans.  Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body.  He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself.  You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything.  It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head. 

For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves.  You and him, old friends turning into lovers.  You and him, established lovers, finally coming together.  Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again. 

“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body.  He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you.  It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth.   “Say it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head. 

He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you.  You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries.  When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting.  He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt. 

He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees.  You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock.  You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you.  You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back. 

When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.  He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine.  He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him. 

He does know you well.  The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up.  You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly.  He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you.  Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust.  He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control.  It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all.  You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you.  “That good, baby?”

You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there.  He laughs, eventually lifting your head.  Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine. 

He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours.  A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better.  It feels good, it feels free.  You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. 

“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another.  Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.”  And thrusts again.  “Mine.”  And again.  “Always.”  Again. 

You seek his hand blindly.  He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you.  When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once.  You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better.  You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy. 

When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control.  He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck.  He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy. 

You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed.  You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking.   You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you.  You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you.  You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck.  He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that. 

“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words. 

“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy.  “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs.  “Can decide in the morning.”

“Okay,” you say.  And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”

He smiles.   You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all.  Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart.  You are actually excited to learn. 

You give him one more sleepy kiss.  It is early morning now.

You fall asleep together at the start of a new day. 

[candycandy00]

Finding Love in a Zombie Apocalypse - A JJK Interactive Romance Fanfic Round 1

Read the details about this event here!

During a zombie apocalypse, you meet a group of seven handsome men. Which one will you choose to be your survival/romantic partner?

Vote for the man you want to be eliminated! The man with the most votes will not be killed off in the story, but he will be removed from all future polls and his branching story will be closed off!

Reminder: Vote for the man you DO NOT want to survive with! You are voting someone OUT!

For the first two rounds, I’m not naming the men. You can probably figure out who is who, but that’s part of the fun! I’m doing it this way to encourage readers to vote based on the scenario rather than just automatically voting out their least fave character.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

The dead walk! The world has been plunged into a zombie apocalypse, and you’re barely able to flee your home in the city before the place gets completely overrun. You try to survive alone for a couple of weeks, but you realize you can’t make it on your own. You need to find a group, or at least a partner to help you keep watch at night. Because as the panic and chaos set in, humans become as dangerous as the living dead. 

With this in mind, you wander into a tiny abandoned town twenty miles outside the city. You’re hoping to find some supplies to last you until you can find help, so you cautiously walk down the street, a crowbar gripped tightly in your hand. 

You hear them before you see them. A cacophony of groans and growls coming from a nearby alley. You freeze, trying to decide whether to run back the way you came or try to hide in a building. When the first few zombies shamble out of the alley, you no longer have a choice. They’ve seen you, and they’ll pursue you relentlessly. You run to the nearest shop, a boutique with expensive looking dresses on mannequins in the window, and try the door. Locked!

You run to the next building, which seems to be a small post office, but it’s locked too! Panicking, you begin trying every door you come across, but all of them are either locked, or completely shattered to the point that entering would offer no protection at all. 

“Hey! This way!” you hear a voice shout. 

You look up to see a grocery store at the end of the street. You can see a man’s silhouette against the warm light of the store. He’s waving you over, so you make a mad dash for him, the herd of zombies hot on your trail. 

When you’re just a few feet from the door, from safety, you feel a dead, clammy hand on your arm, pulling you back. You scream, trying to jerk free, but a second hand grips your other arm. 

You’re close enough to see the man, see his worried expression. He starts toward you to help, but another, bigger man suddenly runs out of the store. With nothing but his bare hands, he rips the zombies away from you, allowing you to sprint into the store. The two men come in after you and pull the door to the grocery store shut, locking it up tight. 

Once inside, you scan the store. There are five more men here, all incredibly attractive. What did you just wander into?

The men explain that they’re traveling together and decided to stop at this store for a while to rest and stock up on supplies. One of them has worked here before and has a key to the stock room. Some of them seem to know each other better than others, but they all get along well enough from what you can tell. 

They invite you to stay, and you agree, so you go around the store to properly meet each of them.

Man #1: 

The first man you approach is the one who had called out to you and waved you over. He’s sitting on a turned over crate, and beside him is a box holding useful items like flashlights and batteries. He looks up at you when you get close enough. 

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me,” you tell him. 

He gives you a somewhat awkward smile. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough to help you when you were grabbed.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. You were going to help. That’s enough for me. So how long do you guys plan to stay here?”

He glances toward the others. “Hopefully not long. I need to get to the next town quickly. Someone is waiting for me.”

You’re tempted to ask about that, but you don’t want to pry. Still, you can’t help wondering who is waiting for him. Family? A lover? 

“I hope you find them,” you say, and he smiles again. This time it’s a more natural, comfortable smile, and it somehow puts you at ease. 

“If you need anything, feel free to take it. There’s plenty of supplies here.”

You return his genuine smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

He gives a friendly wave as you walk away. Before you get too far, he adds, “Let me know if you need help with anything!”

Man #2: 

The next man you approach is the one who ran out and tore the zombies off you. He’s lounging in a plastic pool chair, and you have no idea how it hasn’t already collapsed beneath him. He’s tall, and clearly strong. To be honest, he’s a little intimidating, but you gather your courage and walk over to him. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you say. 

He glances up at you, a small grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I was getting bored in here anyway.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. You look down and see a crate full of food on the floor beside him. They’re all non-perishables, smart choices to take. 

“How long have you guys been here?” you ask, trying to make conversation. 

He leans back in the chair, his arms behind his head. “Since yesterday. We’ve been here too long if you ask me.”

“In a hurry to get somewhere?” 

He shrugs. “I just don’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Aren’t you scared to go back out there? The zombies seem to be growing in numbers,” you say. It’s true that you’ve been seeing more and more lately. 

The man laughs. “I’m not worried about zombies. They go down too easily.”

You give a nervous laugh. He certainly seems capable of fighting off zombies, and his confidence is reassuring. But there’s a certain excitement in his eyes that makes you anxious. So you smile and nod then move on to the next man.

Man #3: 

The third man you approach is speaking to a couple of the others, so you wait patiently for them to finish. The other two walk away to continue whatever they were doing, and you take this chance to say hello. 

His smile is quite charming as he turns to face you. “Hello there. Are you alright? That must have been frightening.”

For a moment, you don’t know what he’s talking about. He’s so good looking that your mind nearly went blank. Then you remember that you were attacked by zombies just a few minutes ago. “Oh, yeah, that was pretty scary. I’ve been in similar situations before though.”

“Really? Well I’m glad you’re safe now,” he says. 

“Thanks,” you tell him. “You guys were lucky to find this place. It’s still well stocked.”

He nods. “As soon as I heard about it, I knew we needed to come here to gather supplies. We’ll have more options later if we have plenty of necessities.”

He seems like a man who likes to plan things out in advance. Definitely a good thing in a world that’s turned to chaos. “Smart move,” you say. 

He smiles again, and for the first time you notice that his smile doesn’t feel totally genuine. “Smart moves are the only way to survive now.”

“You’re right about that,” you say as you wave politely and walk away.

Man #4: 

The next man you decide to speak to is currently standing near the front door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

“Are you on watch duty?” you ask him as you step closer to him. 

He looks down at you, because he’s unusually tall. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta do it. Been my turn for the past hour.”

It doesn’t escape your notice that if he’s been on watch for an hour, he probably saw you running toward the store, being chased by zombies. If that’s the case, why wasn’t he the one who called out to you? 

Deciding not to mention that, you decide to try being friendly. “I wouldn’t want to be the zombie trying break into this place, with you standing guard.”

He gives you a hint of a grin, then asks, “Did you come from the city?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. 

He hesitates, as if deciding whether to ask his next question or not. Then, in a more quiet voice, asks, “How bad was it?”

Something about his tone feels… sad? You decide to be honest, but gentle. “My little part of the city was overrun. But a lot of people made it out. And there were a lot of places digging in and setting up fortified shelters.”

“I see,” he says, glancing out the glass door. “Guess I’ll check those when I get there.”

“You’re going to the city?” 

“Yep. There’s something I gotta do there.”

You give him what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I hope it works out for you.”

He looks at you again. “Thanks.”

Man #5: 

You find the next man in the hardware aisle. There’s not much left, but he’s got an armload of gray duck tape. 

“Hi there,” you say, smiling when he looks up at you.

He doesn’t return the smile, but he nods to you in acknowledgement. 

You eye the tape. “Something broken?”

“The tape makes for great armor,” he says. “Wrap it around your arms and ankles, zombie teeth have a hard time penetrating it.”

“That’s a good idea,” you tell him, genuinely impressed. Why haven’t you thought of something like that before? 

He hands you a couple of his rolls. “Wrap up before we leave. It might save your life.”

You take them gratefully, deciding he’s a pretty nice guy despite your initial impression. “Thanks. I really appreciate you guys letting me in.”

He finally shows you a subtle smile. “It wouldn’t be right to just leave you out there. If someone has the means to help another person, they should do it.”

“I agree,” you say. “I’m glad there are still other people who feel that way.”

He looks down. “We’re probably in the minority though.”

“I hope not,” you reply, then wave to him as you walk away.

Man #6:

The next man nearly bumps into you as he walks out of the stock room. There’s a shopping basket full of food on his arm. “Oh, sorry,” he says, stopping and looking down at you. 

You dismiss his apology with a smile and a wave of your hand. “Is it alright if I go in?” you ask him. You’ve already been told by someone else to take whatever you want, but you feel the need to ask again now that you’re face to face with someone else as you walk in. 

He smiles in a friendly, easy going way. “Sure. It’s not like we own the store, so take whatever you like!”

“Thanks.”

“Need any help?” he asks, stepping aside to give you room. “Some of the best stuff is on the top shelves.”

You notice that he’s already got quite the load. “That’s okay. I’m sure I can manage. Thanks for offering.”

He smiles again. Somehow it seems to brighten the whole store. “You don’t have to be so polite. We’re just a bunch of random guys.”

“How did you guys meet?” you ask. You’ve been curious about their relationships since you first got here. 

“Some of us have known each other for a long time, but most of us met up at a shelter about thirty miles back.”

You think for a moment about his answer, then ask, “Why leave the shelter?” You had been to one yourself, but you were alone and you got a bad vibe from the men running it so you left after two days. 

His smile falters. “Someone was hiding a bite. They turned, attacked more people who turned and attacked more. The whole place broke down in less than an hour.”

That sounded horrifying. “I’m sorry,” you say, not sure how else to respond to that. 

“Don’t be,” he says, smile back on his face. “We got out, so I’m guessing other people did too. Just have to hold onto hope, you know?”

You return his infectious smile. “Yeah, I know,” you tell him before walking into the stock room.

Man #7:

You find the last man in the stock room, standing in the middle of it, looking over the shelves. There’s a clipboard in his hand with papers attached to it. When he notices you entering the room, he turns to face you. 

“Oh, hello. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, I’m just looking around,” you say. Then your eyes drop to the clipboard. “Taking stock of what’s left?”

“I found this inventory list in here when we first arrived. I was looking it over to make sure we didn’t miss anything useful,” he tells you. 

“Find anything?”

He points to a large, open cardboard box on a shelf. “I didn’t realize a small grocery store would have so many first aid products, so that was a nice surprise.”

“I bet,” you say, scanning the shelves. 

He holds the clipboard out to you. “Would you like to take a look?”

You take it from him. “Thanks,” you say, your eyes moving over the list. As you read over it, you make conversation. “Any idea where you guys are heading?”

“From what I understand, we’re going somewhere more rural, less populated. The plan is to look for somewhere to set up a permanent base.”

You look up. The word “permanent” caught your attention. It’s a word that feels nebulous and unattainable right now. “That sounds nice,” you say. 

He gives you a warm look. “You’re welcome to come with us for as long as you like.”

Something about him makes you feel secure. Maybe it’s because he seems so calm and composed. “I think I’ll tag along for a while,” you tell him. 

He nods. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

Tag List:

@tadabzzzbee

[youronlydarlin]

Hi dolly!:) silly idea, have you ever tried writing for the hybrid cod guys? Ie: dragon hybrid price or werewolf hybrid soap, not a Request, I just think their neat. Also, probably good for Halloween as it's nearly October!

warning: none. Crack and fluff kinda, hybrid tf141

Ah of course, writing for hybrid cod is tradition at this point

Romantic bits aside. I like to think that each of them are annoying in their own special way. Intentional or not.

For starters, DragonHybrid! Price just reeks off burning wood. No matter how many times he's taken a shower, –no matter how long too!– he always ends up smelling the same. Like a fuckin' pizza oven.

Must be because he's half dragon– you'd think, so you can't really hold it against him. But out comes the second problem, which what seems to be his unhealthy relationship with cigars. What good does he have for temporary, man-made, chemical smoke, when he can produce his own. More natural, more efficient, and quicker too. But alas. It's just one of those cases where you try one thing once, then you find yourself doing it all the time, over and over.

You love the guy, really, you do. But getting any closer than 5 feet would set fire to your lungs, a guaranteed visit to the nurse's office. Doesn't help that kissing him feels like swallowing a dozen lit matches.

While Price's stench is still somewhat tolerable. WerewolfHybrid! Soap's constant howling at the moon might just make you consider transferring to another task force. Unfortunately for you, you also love his stupid face too much to do that. Sigh, the things you do for love. He just can't seem to get enough of that stupid fucking rock floating in the ink of night. Like he was some desperate firefly, who can't reach the light of a bulb. Well, at least he'd be a very handsome firefly.

But oh he cries for it, howls for it, and makes everyone suffer because of it. Heartless monter. A part of you thinks that he's just feeding into the cliché –that his kind is unable to resist that shiny ball of white floating about the dark sky– and the other wonders if he just Palov'ed himself into doing that by accident, and now can't quit.

Next up is your dear HarpyHybrid! Gaz, darling boy he is. He's not much of a nuisance save for the occasional stray feathers you'd find scattered all over the damned base. He has no control over it.

Besides, it's not too much of a problem on most days, but if you're unlucky enough to catch him on a bad mood you'll be left with more feathers than the ones you ordered to clean. And if you happen to hit a very specific nerve he might just ask a favor from his bird friends to shit on your car. Or your head. Whatever quells his thirst chaos at the moment. Is that a new suit? Well it's definitely not gonna smell like one anymore, baby!!

Very petty, and pretty would be the top description for your love.

Lastly we have WraithHybrid! Ghost. Who definitely lives up to his call sign. Never brings shame to it. He haunts the halls like he gets paid to do it, said he'd love for that to be the case. But no. The prick just can't be bothered to alert anyone of his presence.

You'd feel him before you see him. Unexpected taps to the shoulder has you jumping out of skin, and bumping to an invisible body never fails to bring a chill up your spine.

But when you do see him? On the dead of night? Out to get a snack? Ohh, lucky you, if you're a horror fanatic because the worn out material of his mask. That soulless skull. It's enough to give the boogeyman nightmares. Scare the monsters out from under your bed. You'd be glad that it was just skeletons in your closet, and not his dark, grim, saturnine, figure.

The last thing you needed from that was the introduction of the bane of your very tired existence, or as others would call it, "the swear jar". Price was just looking to take advantage of your very consistent "Oh fuck!'s towards Ghost.

a/n: I forgot how much I loved writing. I missed all of you so much.

yours, truly

–Dolly

[ineffable-suffering]

The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

[truelove-cafe]

STALKING 101: yanblr edition

our topic today is being an anon. before you're an anon, there should be a bit of thought — "am i going to stay long term or short term? will i hide my identity or not?" and in each of these situations there's a different outcome

we lead with short term anonymity. when you're short term, you might not care to hide your identity (in my personal experience). you likely aren't looking to pursue the person romantically, rather it's stalking born out of curiosity or boredom. or perhaps you'd like to reveal yourself as soon as possible in the case of pursuit. you could have been lurking for months at this point, and now you're experiencing a desire to get closer to the object of your affections as soon as possible. in the case of love, especially in this community, you might hate to wait. that leads to impulsive decision making. that isn't at all bad, so don't worry

now we move to long term anonymity. whether that looks like two weeks to several months (the latter being less common, from my understanding), you'd like to stick around. this usually comes from a romantic interest, but it doesn't have to all the time. maybe you're curious, maybe you think you'd be good friends. a lot of times this leads to a lot of "getting to know each other" questions, and long asks each time. a lot of back and forth. depending on your motive, you could feel more compelled towards true anonymity, and pulling all the stops. theres a fair amount of yans who enjoy being stalked, as well as stalking others. there can be a thrill of "who is this person? how much do they know?" if you're on the receiving side, while the other is feeling somewhat elated — and perhaps relieved to express these tendencies safely — to be mysterious

my tips:

- when it comes to being forward, not hiding your identity, there's not much to say. be truthful, don't lead anybody on because it won't be hard to find out who you are. ive seen it happen a multitude of times, and i dont want anybody else hurt because of it

- to hide from your object of affections is something of a game. id suggest changing up your typing, your persona, your alias. the typing is a big part of it, as ive discovered many different people just by how they speak, sometimes even by a specific way they spell a word or two

- if you want to, make a sideblog specifically for them to find. let them come to you. it does vary with what they want, but oftentimes they'll enjoy having somebody to discover, someone who will leave little clues, but will ultimately have the upper hand. just remember not to interact with their blog, or make a little white lie about whether you follow them or not! it wont hurt them to not know such a miniscule detail

- for endgame, there are two ways to go about this in my experience. one, you slowly integrate you into your persona. you dont let them know its happening, so soon enough you and who you made yourself look like are now one. they wont know the difference, and even if they did i bet they wont comment on it

- the second option is to reveal who you were this whole time in one fell swoop. if theyre hooked (or even if not), it could be shocking to discover. perhaps even a bit thrilling to the both of you, knowing that they're now seeing everything in a new light as they sift through your blog, your previous asks, everything. make it surprising

we need more anons out there, so if you're compelled to, but shy or worried you wont be liked, take a tentative step! we all love to receive anonymous stalkers, especially those who've been the anon a time or two!

remember to make sure its what they want, as well. consent is key in all things. its easy to check; look through their intros or their reblogs — most likely they'll have good information just in those places

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Can I requests a Felix Catton imagine where the reader is staying in saltburn for the summer and one night it starts raining with thunder and she wakes up in the middle of the night scared and goes to his bedroom and asks him if she could sleep with him, also at that they could be seeing each other romantically but without labeling what they have

AN: yes! absolutely! Hope u enjoy.

WC: 850 words

Warnings: none

———————————

Saltburn was one of the most picturesque places you had ever been to or — dare you say — had ever seen. At nights, however, it could turn into a somewhat frightening semblance as the high ceilings or the sinister lighting provoked a feeling of too much scrutiny for your liking; it felt as though the watchful eyes of the abiding ancestors followed your every move, every breath, and you simply couldn’t shake off of that premonition. Quite obviously, the thunderstorm would only add up to the ambience of terror in your head, hence one night when you were spending your time in Saltburn, it just so happened that the thunderbolt awoke you with its jarring noise.

And you were seriously freaking out.

Freaking out to the point where you laid there wide awake in the middle of the night in your separate allocated room, tightly wrapped up in duvet, praying and being a prey to stormy conditions playing out outside. You couldn’t even glance in the direction of the displayed maelstrom outside, too blood-curdling of an image it was, but your audial senses didn’t fail to make you painstakingly alert — the branches were clearly knocking on the surface of the window glass, the hefty rain threatening to trespass the safety of your room at any given moment, and the gale blowing as though purposefully trying to snatch your peacefulness away from you.

Your mind began to wander places: the ancestors’ inquiring eyes, the lurking dangers of darkness, the harsh whistles of wind, the persistent knocking on the window, the creaking door…

Your lungs all of the sudden forgot how to take up the much needed air, your limbs itching with anxiety, eyes filming over, and the rush of adrenaline teeing off. Your head, totally out of nowhere, began flitting through one hundred different sceneries of how barbarically this night could possibly end; you clutched the duvet closer to your chest, trying to suppress the sudden urge to just die right now and here but to no avail.

Just breathe, breathe…

No . It’s too much, too much…

As your thoughts drifted, so did your feet and you eventually found yourself standing before the heavy oak doors of the room abutting your room and you pushed them before even registering what you were doing.

“Fel?”

“Huh?” A sleepy voice drew from the bed. Had you more self-awareness or social decency, you would have probably left him there and then, sleeping soundly; but you were already so jittery, up to the point of obscene ludicrousness, that you clearly weren’t going to give up now.

“Fel.” This time it was more drawn and louder.

“Lovie.” It seemed to have woken him up a tad as his head slightly lifted from the pillow and his languid eyes quirked up in your direction. God, he was so cute with those tousled hair right now… Would it be barmy to stare at him ‘till the end of the thunderstorm? “Is everything alright?”

“I’m scared.”

That was all you needed to say; Felix knew you well enough and long enough to know instinctually what you meant by those words. “C’mere.”

He scooted over to make more room for you, and then patted the side of the bed as a double emphasis for you to come over. Obligingly, you did, quickly trotting with your bare feet over the cold floor panels of the room, the striking sounds of thunder from the outside still being registered in the back of your head. Once you settled in the appointed place, partially heated with Felix’s body, Felix draped his arm over your figure, positioning you in the small spoon position, and hauled you closer to him in a protective manner. His breath was tickling the back of your neck and the faint signs of stubble were scraping against your arm.

“Better?”

You deliberated for a moment. “Better.”

He then planted a soft kiss behind your ear which made you almost whimper. He was intoxicating, really, with that sandalwood scent lingering on him and those protective arms enveloping your frame; apparently, an exceptional distraction from your frayed nerves, for you felt your breath coming back to its normal rate and the constriction within your chest loosening gradually.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you muttered, wondering if he was still awake or had already fallen back to the previously interrupted slumber. “I didn’t want to burden you but… you know, I just hate thunderstorms, I couldn’t…”

Your voice trailed off, tears welling up. Your felt utterly stupid for getting emotional over something so trifling. Felix swept his thumb over your cheek in a soothing motion.

So he was very much not asleep as he stayed here, striving to calm you down.

“You’re with me now. And you will always safe with me, okay?” was all he said, voice laced with assuredness.

You believed him, of course you did.

A small sniffle was followed by a small smile.“Okay.”

In a trice, thunderstorm actually turned out to be a background noise. And you were very much safe. With Felix.

[leonw4nter]

Hi🌸

I saw that you were accepting requests so I have one for you. How about bringing husband Leon to the reader's high school reunion? The reader is kind of happy to bring Leon to his old classmates but Leon is so handsome and all that your old acquaintances are wondering why your marriage happened in the first place.

I was thinking about Leon re4r or id, but you can choose anyone!🌸

A Playlist for My Dream High School Romance

Husband!ID!Leon x GN!Reader

Plain Jane: this is what you were in high school, though you didn’t really mind since there was more to being the most beautiful or the most outgoing in school. You always thought you dressed well; not the most fashionable but enough to look decent for school. You also looked fine, not too ugly or too beautiful with the round red framed glasses on your face. The lack of romantic experiences in high school sometimes bothered you but you didn’t mind it overall; you’ve seen the drama of high school romance in your classmates and ultimately decided that staying single is the best option for now… though sometimes you envied it when girls received flowers from their boyfriends or when you saw couples fill out the dance floor and slow danced during the prom. As a dramatic teen, you wailed to your pillow about how you’d never find the love of your life because you were too boring and how you’d always be the third wheel for every couple you’ll meet– hell, you were even confessed to because the boy was double-dog-dared to! You swore that you were destined to only daydream about falling in love with the man of your dreams, dancing under the rain or receiving carnival prices only scenarios that unfolded while you’re fast asleep.

Little did they know, they’d have the maker of their dreams to wake up to in the future; scenes ripped out of a romance novel were no longer bound within the confines of dreams. Leon was more than you’d asked for in the best way possible; he is more than just the beautiful combination of blond and blue, no. The first time you saw him, you thought he looked perfect, the epitome of beauty and charm. As you two got closer and he let you into his life and laid bare his scars for you, you saw that he is not a perfect man– far from it actually– yet you still loved him, maybe even more and much fiercely. You understood and listened to all his stories, accepted him for how he is, the same way he did with you.

Leon’s wedding ring momentarily flashed a bright gold as sunlight reflected from the band, his hands on the wheel as he drove you to your high school. A little nervous was an understatement for how antsy you’re feeling, though you found it stupid to feel this way since these people somewhat remember you and you’re just visiting the school– you literally went to this school for four years and managed to survive each time. Leon stopped the car at a red light, upbeat pop music playing faintly on the radio. He turned to look at you and saw you bouncing your leg, eyes focused and brows furrowed as you stared out on the road. You snapped out of the negative flurry of thoughts troubling you, jerking slightly as you felt Leon’s large hand on your shoulder.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Leon says as he sees you mentally pop back into the car with him. “You okay?”

You nod, giving him a half-smile as you place a hand on top of his that was perched on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just a little nervous,” you say. Just before you could let Leon say another word, you decide to speak up about whatever was bugging you.

“It’s a little stupid, I know. I mean– I went to school with most of these people for about 4 years and managed to do just fine. God, it’s silly of me to be nervous–���

“Hey,” Leon softly interrupts. “It’s only natural for you to be nervous about this. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen them and you’re expecting change in how they act and look and you’re not sure in what way they’ve changed.”

“Yeah that too but… you know, what if I’m like– too boring again?”

“Too boring?” Leon says in a confused yet gentle tone. “Honey, you’re not ‘too boring’ and if they think so then they can buzz off.”

Leon’s words caused some confidence to stir within you, feeling a little better about yourself. This isn’t like high school anymore. You got this! You got this!

Since the red light switched to green, Leon had to withdraw his hand from your shoulder and put it on the brake handle for the car to start moving again.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. If someone’s bothering you, just yelp and I’ll beat them up.” Leon joked.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After a few minutes of Leon driving and hyping yourself up some more, he finally arrives at the school and pulls up into the parking lot. After a few moments of choosing the perfect spot to park, he gets out of the car first in order to open the door for you, which you thanked him for.

You two walked into the entrance and you looked around. Not a lot has changed, not even the color of the paint on the walls though you realized that they probably gave it a fresh coat since it looked much more vibrant than what your memory told you to expect. The lockers were still where they were when you still went to this school but they no longer had the scratched paint and rusting locks, along with the residue of glue from stickers that had been forcefully peeled off.

“Silverlake High School’s Silver Archers,” Leon quietly mutters to himself. “Your school’s mascot is an archer?”

“Yeah. Though we didn’t have an archery club, which I found kinda silly,” you respond.

Leon hums and continues to look at the trophy case, occasionally reading some things out loud.

“Honey look,” Leon says. “I found you!”

He points to a small picture in the case; it was you with your ratty old glasses and a silver medal around your neck, a small trophy on your hands along with some flowers. You lit up as you looked at that image, the memory clear as day; you had won second place in the inter-school extemporaneous speech competition with other neighboring high schools. You shared this fact with Leon, whose eyebrows flew to his hairline as he looked at you and then the case and back to you again, thoroughly impressed.

“I wifed up a genius,” Leon exclaims. “So you managed to win a competition where they asked the world’s most pressing questions and only gave you a minute to compose your answer in front of everybody? And you had to make sure that your answer would fit in 6 minutes? God you’re so cool.”

You giggled a little bit at that, suddenly feeling like the coolest person in this entire Earth. You thought that this win is truly a feat but these facts coming from Leon’s mouth? Your husband saying it? It was as if you were doing his job, saving the world and fighting off the stuff of nightmares with a pistol; it sounded even more impressive coming from him. Now, he was taking his phone out to take pictures of the other awards you’ve won that were displayed on the case.

“Leon, we gotta hurry. The reunion might’ve started already!”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Luckily, you two made it on time. Like magic, you were less anxious compared to earlier and managed to find the courage to even greet some of your classmates. Leon was proud that you were breaking out of your shell to greet them, really feeling it with each laugh and conversation shared with some old acquaintances.

“Oh? Who’s that? He’s hot,” your classmate asks. “Never seen him around before. I wonder if he’s single.”

You turn around to where she’s pointing, only to see that she was pointing at Leon. Your husband. Oh he sure as hell isn’t single.

“Oh him? He’s Leon. My husband,” you say. You weren’t one to get jealous but to hear your classmate call Leon ‘hot’ and wonder if he’s single triggered a reaction out of you.

She looked surprised, looking back at you and then him and back at you again like a deer in headlights.

“Wait… really? Like you’re really married?” she asked and it didn’t sound like she was ready to ask how you two met; she sounded like she wanted to know how someone like him could marry someone like you.

“Yeah, I can make a quick run to the court right now for a copy of our marriage certificate,” you half-joke in order to hide the growing feeling of hurt.

“Uh, haha…,” she mumbles. “He’s everything actually- like he’s really good eye-candy. You’re lucky he chose you, you know.”

“I’m lucky he chose me? What do you mean by that.” you say.

“What do you mean?” She asks, oblivious to the fact on how mean that sounded. Or maybe she was just playing oblivious.

“Nevermind.”

You retreat from the group walking up to Leon and watch people socialize. Before he can even ask, the emcee for the reunion calls everyone’s attention and says some words but even the volume of that loud-ass mic was not enough to drown out the doubt swirling on your mind. You’re only pulled out of your thoughts when you hear her voice again, this time talking to other people about how shocked she is that you’re married to him, out of all people. The plain Jane married to the absolute 10 she’s ever seen and how it’s a little comical to look at when there could’ve been much hotter women. You also hate how she keeps glancing back at him and giggling, not even sparing a glance at you.

“That woman cannot stop looking at me,” Leon whispers to you as he subtly motions to her.

“Her? Yeah, she called you ‘hot’ and ‘eye-candy’. She’s a little surprised to find out that you’re married to me,” you moodily mumble.

“Why is she surprised?,” he asks.

“Well, look at me and then look at you. You’re good-looking. Really good looking and I’m just here. To them, it would be more believable if you married some model or something. It’s like an ‘oh my god how did this marriage even happen’ moment.”

Leon looks at them, trained eyes staring them down for a solid few moments before turning his gaze back to you. “Well I kind of looked at me and then now I’m looking at you and I think you’re good-looking. Like really good-looking. I have a strong, intelligent, and independent person in front of me and I don’t think they need me but they still let me into their life. Yeah, I’m also having a ‘how did this marriage even happen’ moment’ because how did I get so lucky that out of all the people in this world, you fell in love with me and trusted the rest of your life and the lives after this to be spent with someone like me?”, he finishes. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in this world; he probably doesn’t need to look at the night sky in order to admire the stars when you have them in your eyes. The world just melted away into background noise, witness to the genuine love and loyalty Leon yields for you.

NOTE - Finally got to finish another request, a few more to go so just wait for that :)) I love being on break, can't wait for the summer break so I get to write some more (currently on a week-long break after exams, hopefully i passed with high scores on all exams!!). ALSO IT'S RE4R'S 1ST YEAR ANNIVERSARY WHERE I'M FROM LETS GOOOOO RAAAHHHHH 💪💪🔥🔥 I also got resident evil and dmc shirts I begged my mom for (she had no choice but to say yes /hj). Also I'm starting an AO3 account for devil may cry fics, if anyone's interested ;) That's all and thank you for reading my fics, esp to the anon who requested this- I hope you I lived up to your expectations <33 I <33333 UUUUUUUU

The dividers are from @plutism , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[colourstreakgryffin]

Charlie Morningstar × Wednesday Addams, please🙏

We all love the cheery colorful sunshine babe x the goth dark mean babe trope. Don’t we! But hey, this’ll be quite interesting, let’s try it out! I don’t know if you want it to be romantic but anyhow

Charlotte Morningstar- Colour Allergy

“Honey!”

Charlotte or usually nickname ‘Charlie’, your beloved cheerful smiley long-term girlfriend, coos out lovingly and happy as yourself is examining her brand newly modelled Hotel curiously from afar with your infamous dead silent endless scowl, since the vibrant colours make you feel ill. Besides that, the building’s decent. Despite how goth and blunt and dark you are, you deeply care for Charlie and seeing her happy is…

It feels weird but it feels good as well so you continue to make her happy via whatever you can do for her. Your black heels click with lifeless eyes dropping from the multitude of paintings and regal red silky curtains and mahogany red walls to locate the voice of your beloved

Properly facing her with your scowl somewhat dropping, softening in equal happiness. Your elegant yet almost ghostly movements making your pretty long black noose-tied-ending braids sway slightly

Charlie already takes your gorgeous braids in her hands briefly to move ‘em off your shoulders to study your beautiful monochrome-makeupped face enamoured before she gives you a BIG loving embrace

You’re getting use to this type of affection… but you did choose to date Charlie so you reciprocate the best you can, despite that positive feelings are icky to you. Your hands lay over her back and your head is nuzzles against her neck, breathing in her scent and close enough to bite it since biting is your version of affection

Charlie merely giggles the sharp but also comforting contact off inbetween a surprised little moan at the small shock of pleasure that shoots through her, still happily hugging you since she is the type who adores all types of affection, especially from her cute but gaunt monochromatic girlfriend! Her hands tracing up and down your back, on your pretty old-timey also somewhat ‘creepy’-styled black and white dress

“Do you like the Hotel?”

Biting and knawing without going too far is how you show your love for Charlie so you’re nomming on her neck as she lovingly asks for your opinion on her project coming to life. Liking the feeling of her long light blonde dual-banded ponytail slightly brushing against your own pitch black braids with your every little weave in to better embrace her

She’s use to this style of affection from you, so she tries to swallow down any little cute noises she may let out, mainly of surprise and delight, upon being nommed on. It’s so nice, she loves knowing you love her as much as she loves you and that you support her dream

Thankfully, her ladies’suit’s collar will hide the evidence of love you’ve left branded on her. Not that she’d be ashamed of it but she does need to be professional incase any guests come in! She doesn’t plan to hide that you’re her partner though and she loves the feeling of your bite marks on her neck

As she likes it when you mark her~

Charlie gives you a soft kiss on your forehead when slightly leaning down since she is a much taller woman than most ladies, even in this fiery torturous realm. Her smile basically painted on her pretty snowy white delicate face, making you want to mimic that smile despite how much of a brooding elegant lady of the darkness you are

Charlie has such an infectious personality, something of the many things you love this Princess for. She can even the biggest irredeemable prick smile and be loveable as a person. She pulls away softly, her black lipstick-tinted lips leaving her own tinge of love on your soft pale skin. Her slightly bigger clawed hands on your shoulders as she speaks up

Her gorgeous blood red eyes tracing over your beautiful soft face like her own and over how her lipstick has marked you like the red fang markings on her neck has marked her. It’s mutual, it’s equal and it shows that you both love each other so damn much, despite how opposing your personality is to Charlie’s

“I do”

Charlie smiles pleased when you answer with your monotone yet calm voice, after those few moments of silence and her eyes locked with your dark ones, overflowing with so much love and joy and adoration for you, holding your hands in hers gladly as whilst you seem so bored and unhappy with her, you’re not. You just aren’t the best with experiencing emotions and expressing yourself but you’re trying your best for her

It doesn’t mean you won’t stop being a Addams because you are one to your core. You’re just comprising for her sake since you love this Morningstar

Charlie legit smoothly spins with you, just to redirect you towards the pretty clean wooden receptionist desk with her hands laced through tightly in yours as she is so excited and gleeful that you like her Hotel and that you’re supporting her, despite how much of a irritable sharp introvert you are. You’re doing this for her and she couldn’t love you even more for it!

Bringing both you and her to the polished flat wooden surface with rhythmic steps, so you two can begin with the duties of starting up the Hotel before any of Charlie’s staff or her single actual client together as you always do. You do everything with Charlotte and you like it that way, even if you don’t word it

Charlie meets your eyes once more when you both stop in place in sync, glowing with her hyperactive cheery energy and it’s so beautiful to you. Even if you remain stoic and express no real response, she knows you care for her and you’re fully listening to her. She likes to talk to you and likes the way you quietly listen to her

She feels heard and that sugary high is addictive!

“Really?! Awww! Thank you, sweetie! I worked so hard on this for you and for us! At this rate, everybody will be smiling and happy in Heaven!”

[stonedcoldfoxtarot]

Your Next Sexual Encounter (18+)

Pile 1 -> Pile 2

Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Deck Used: Erotic Tarot

Pile 1

WoF, 7oC, AoF, 4oF (rev), 3oS, KnoR, Empress, KoC, 10oF, 4oS, 10oC, 5oS, Hanged Man, QoS, 3oC, KnoF

Pile 1, you might come across someone randomly or unexpectedly, or you could go on a few casual dates through a dating app. Your social life may be buzzing with many choices, but you won't settle for just anyone. It takes more than sweet talk to get you into bed.

You'll be enjoying the dating scene and going out with multiple people, maybe even someone who is grounded and another who is passionate. You'll feel attracted to both of them, but you're holding back until you figure out who you want to commit to exclusively. Both individuals will desire both romantic and physical intimacy with you, and since the empress card appears between these options, I sense that starting a family or the desire for it could play a significant role in your decision-making process in the future.

Once you do make your choice, I feel the sexual encounter between you and your person will be very healing and therapeutic. You will both be recovering from past betrayal or heartbreak that left you feeling closed off to new love. However, once the two of you come together, you will each be able to lay all your cards on the table and ask for what you want both in sex and in love. Because of this, sex between you two will be intensely gratifying and fulfilling. You may decide to try some light kinks such as bondage, handcuffs or unusual positions, but you will both mainly focus on making the other person feel desired and at ease. One or both of you might love to talk dirty and this will drive the other person mad - making it hard for them to go slow or hold back. But in-between those moments, you will talk about the future of your connection and how much you are both ready to take the next step and see how things go. This will be a start to a beautiful long-term relationship.

Channelled Song: Hrs & Hrs by Muni Long

Pile 2

5oF, 6oS, Devil, Justice, 10oC, 3oF, 2oR, Empress, 6oC, Temperance, 4oS, AoF, Star, 6oF, 2oC

Pile 2, if this is someone you had a falling out with or recently split up with, they're coming back to show you how much you mean to them. They want to make things right and see if you guys can still patch things up in the bedroom like before. Despite the way things ended, they still feel that the spark and sexual chemistry between you is incredible. They truly feel that whatever caused the rift in the past will soon be a distant memory once you reignite things in the bedroom.

If either of you has felt ignored or left to deal with a broken heart, this person will go the extra mile to make things right. They will show you through their actions and how they care for your heart that they are ready to reconcile and be the person you need them to be. Once you are aware of their desires, it will make your climax together seem like the start of something new and beautiful.

Afterwards, they will express how much they regret taking you for granted or walking away in the past and will open up about their doubts from before. They see you as the most important person in their life and want it known that when it comes down to choosing between you and anyone else, there is absolutely no competition. After you guys hook up, they want to be with you forever.

Channelled Song: Thinking out Loud by Ed Sheeran

Pile 3

KnoR, WoF, 9oC, KnoF, Hanged Man, PoR, KoR, 2oC, 3oS (rev), 7oC, Death (rev), World

I sense that one of you is slow and methodical while the other is more wild and spontaneous, so there may be somewhat of a challenge to find a pace that works for both of you. However, despite your differences, you both will bond over your mutual desire to explore each other’s deepest sexual desires and naughty kinks.

Here, I see lots of foreplay, dirty talk, sex toys, bondage, mutual masterbation and roleplay. One person may enjoy sitting back and watching the other person dance or your partner might want you to dress up in lingerie and give them a lap dance until they c*m. Once you’re in the bedroom, you will both take turns being in control and bringing the other one to orgasm over and over again, no matter how long it takes.

Pile 3, feel free to express yourselves here without any need for impressing or proving anything to anyone. You will both come to each other as you are, ready to indulge in unbridled pleasure and release. With others, one or both of you may have felt they had to hold back in fear of being judged or laughed at, but with this person, you will be able to explore every fantasy in the comfort of each other’s arms. You will not only feel liberated and unrestricted, but also receive support and care on every level. Some of you may feel hesitant about exploring this connection at first, but there's no need to fear anything other than fear itself. Don't miss out on a wonderful experience that could come your way.

Channelled Song: Sex with Me by Rihanna

Pile 4

Empress (rev), KnoS (rev), 8oS, Lovers, QoS, 3oR, 4oS, 5oR, 6oC,7oF, 4oF, WoF, HM, Justice (rev), AoS, AoF

Pile 4, your next sexual encounter will most likely be with someone from the past. It's possible that you'll reconnect with someone you once deeply loved but had to walk away from because they couldn't commit. You got tired of being the only one putting effort into the relationship, so you withdrew your energy. Now, this person is feeling left out in the cold by you. They used to enjoy all the attention and affection you gave them, but now they realize that their player tactics and tired lies no longer work on you like before. They're finally seeing that you've caught onto their game.

Anyway, this person might suggest going on a vacation or a quick escape together, using the opportunity to mend things between you two. They'll want to share their feelings and set the mood with passionate sex, but you won't be as interested as they are. You'll still have a good time and enjoy yourself sexually, but if they bring up getting back together or taking things further, you will reject them and make it clear that you don't see a future with them anymore. You'll treat them like they deserve to be treated and then move on to the next person who catches your eye. You’ll feel like it’s what they deserve for how they treated you in the past and you won’t gaf how they feel about it now.

Channelled Song: I Hate U by SZA

Thanks for reading🔮✨

© 2023 stonedcoldfoxtarot. All rights reserved. Please do not copy, translate, edit or redistribute.

[papaziggy-devblog]

I'm going to need you to give us that Anteo alphabet Mama

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you

(I'm doing this in the scenario where you've actually managed to get him into at least somewhat of a relationship or even a FWB thing, otherwise it would just be a hit it and quit it)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Clingy... man has his arms around you like a vice as he's passing out, won't let you go for a good while while he's sleeping

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He likes your ass, likes to smack it and grab it when you least expect it

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Very thick and salty, and there's a lot of it... Like... A LOT... You're gonna be dripping for a hot minute

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He's always been curious about being pegged but won't allow it... he ALWAYS has to be on top

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Yes .w.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Doggy, against the wall (Both with you facing the wall and him holding you against the wall), Mating press

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Not very goofy.. gets very into it, very dominant most the time

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Clean shaven all over

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Its rare you'd get him to be romantic but when you do he's pretty good at it.. He likes to make you tremble by whispering sweet things into your ear

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) At least 3 times a day

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Breeding, dirty talk, knife play, bondage, voyeurisms, exhibitionisms, biting, rough sex, teasing, orgasm denial

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Anywhere and everywhere

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Dirty talk, teasing

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) The usual's, even he's not that nasty

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Never gives, only receives

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He prefers rough.. but it won't exactly be fast... Man has stamina for days

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Thinks they're convenient and doesn't mind them

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Loves risk... he's the kinda guy who will have you blowing him under his desk while he makes calls at work

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Yes. .w.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He has so fucking many... Only one who has more is probably Sophie

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Fucking LOVES to tease... He loves to see you writhe and squirm, especially on his cock... He'll drag it out until your crying if he can

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Loud.. very vocal... lots of grunts and moans and groans too

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He'll get really REALLY into the knife play if you let him... have bandages and antiseptic ready .w.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 8.5 inches and THICK

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Yes .w.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Once he's spent he's out like a light