That place was seriously weird. The wallpaper was peeling, and the air conditioner was obnoxiously loud, but honestly, you couldn't care less. The Cortez Hotel was the cheapest place you could find to stay for the next few days—and you had nowhere else to go. Not after what happened.

You kept spinning the ring from your broken engagement around your finger. You still wore it, even after everything. After seeing Carter—your ex-husband—walking out of your apartment with another woman, someone who looked much younger and prettier than you, your world just... collapsed. When you asked for help, your mom said she had warned you. Your dad told you, “You deserved it—I told you that man wasn’t for you.” And neither of them let you come back home.

So here you were, lying on a hotel bed that looked like it belonged on a vintage movie set, dried tears on your cheeks and messy hair. You felt wrecked. But you figured lying there thinking about it would only make your headache worse, so you decided to leave the room.

The hallways were kind of creepy, like a maze, but since you had nowhere to be, you didn’t really care. You walked aimlessly, miserably, like a ghost looking for someone to haunt. Then you heard footsteps behind you—followed by a voice.

“You look like hell,” a woman said from behind. When you turned, there she was—blonde hair, heavy makeup smudged all over her face. Honestly, she looked worse than you. “Want some?” she asked, holding out a small packet. You knew what it was immediately. You were never into that kind of thing—mostly because you worried about what people would think. But now? That didn’t matter anymore. You just nodded.

The next few hours were a blur. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that good. The world moved slowly, the walls seemed to close in, and the bitter taste lingered in your mouth, but somehow… you felt happy. Even if it was fake. Eventually, you said goodbye to the woman—she’d introduced herself as Sally—because you knew if you didn’t lie down, you’d probably pass out.

You stumbled through the hotel, but couldn’t remember how to get back to your room. The lights in the hallway felt like they were exploding in your eyes, and you were sure you were about to throw up. Your legs gave out, and you let yourself sink, but just before you hit the floor, a pair of arms caught you by the waist.

“Well, look who it is,” a man said behind you. “Small world, huh?”

That voice made your stomach turn. You knew it—it was your ex’s best friend. The worst possible person to run into in that state. Actually, the worst person to run into in any state.

He started kissing your neck, your face—you could smell the alcohol on him. Your first instinct was to run, but your legs were still jelly from the drugs.

“Heard you’ve hit rock bottom, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear as you squirmed in his arms, trying to break free. “I can help you with that…”

He kept groping you, pushing you into some random room. You kept whispering for him to stop, but your voice was so faint, it barely came out. There was no one around. No one to see. No one to help. This was it. You were going to die—and no one would even notice. Not that you cared about being alive, but… you didn’t want it to end like this.

He threw you on the bed and climbed on top of you, taking off his shirt—and you felt your stomach churn.

“Please… just leave me alone…” you tried one last time, but your voice was so weak, you doubted he even heard. Not that he would’ve cared.

He slid his hand down to your jeans, trying to yank them off—but with some kind of strength you didn’t know you had, you managed to kick him back. It wasn’t enough to stop him—he came back at you, more aggressive than before.

“Stop being such a dramatic bitch! You want this just as much as I do!”

But before anything else could happen, a loud sound filled the room—and the man collapsed beside you. His blood spilled across the white sheets.

You turned your head and saw a man—impeccably dressed, elegant, composed. He placed the gun gently on a small table and walked toward you slowly, carefully, as if not to scare you.

“Apologies for the mess and the blood, darling,” his voice was smooth and polite. “But that man was ruining your night. I simply couldn’t allow that.”

You were trembling, wide-eyed, but you couldn’t look away from him. He was handsome in a terrifying kind of way. His brown eyes glinted under the dim lights. He noticed your fear and held out his hand, inviting you to stand up.

“Come now. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, my dear.”

You hesitated—but took his hand. After all, he’d just saved you. His smile widened as he led you out of the room. His fingers were cold, but his touch was gentle. He guided you through the halls until you reached a door—not yours, as far as you could remember—but you didn’t care. You just wanted this night to end. He walked you to the bed like a gentleman and helped you lie down.

“Let me assist you,” he said, moving to the end of the bed and carefully removing your tight sneakers.

“Who… who are you?” you managed to ask, your voice raspy. He smiled, tilting his head as he came to your side, pulling the blanket over you.

“Ah, where are my manners? James Patrick March,” he said with pride. “Owner and architect of this fine establishment.”

You blinked. That couldn’t be right. The hotel looked ancient, but James didn’t seem old at all. He seemed to catch your confusion and offered a faint smile.

“Rest now, darling. You’re exhausted. Let those thoughts wait till morning,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

James walked to the door, paused, and looked at you one last time.

“Sleep well, my dear,” he said, switching off the light. “Welcome to the Hotel Cortez.”

When you woke up, the room was still dim. The heavy curtains blocked any sign of daylight—you couldn’t tell if it was morning or night. But then you smelled something good. Looking over, you saw a tray on the table—toast, strawberries, and a full cup of tea. You got up and walked over. Next to the food was a handwritten note, in an old-fashioned but beautiful script:

“I hope your night of rest was restorative. Forgive my absence—urgent matters required my attention. However, I look forward to seeing you again soon. —JPM.”

You closed your eyes as last night came rushing back. It felt like a nightmare. So many questions filled your head, but for now, you just sat and enjoyed the breakfast slowly.

You walked down to the bar to return the tray—assuming that’s where the kitchen was, too. When you arrived, you saw the woman who’d checked you in. You vaguely remembered her name—Liz. As you approached, she looked you up and down, making you feel awkward. You weren’t planning to start a conversation, but before you could leave, she called out.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You turned—and the judgment in her eyes had melted into something softer. Almost kind. “I know what happened to you last night. The whole hotel does, actually. These walls have ears,” she chuckled. “You okay?”

“It was a… hectic night,” you admitted, looking down, trying to block out the memories. “But James showed up just in time. So, it turned out okay.”

“Of course he did…” she said with a faint, ironic smile. There was a pause, then she looked at you again—more serious now. “I’m glad he helped. But can I give you a piece of advice? No one here is what they seem. If I were you, I’d be careful. You seem like a good person.”

You smiled politely, unsure of what to say. But you could see it in her eyes—what she felt wasn’t just kindness. It was something heavier. Pity.

As you walked back to your room, you ran into James again—roaming the front lobby. He lit up the second he saw you. He approached with his usual warm smile.

“Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?”

“I did. The headache’s a lot better after some sleep—and the breakfast helped too. Thank you,” you said gently, still a little shy.

“Excellent! A lady must be well-nourished,” James offered his arm with a smile. “Walk with me?”

You hesitated—only for a second—before accepting. You were starting to realize there was no reason not to trust James. He had only cared for you so far. So the two of you began strolling through the Cortez’s halls. It was a quiet walk, and James didn’t seem to mind the silence—but it was eating you up inside.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused last night,” you said finally, eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t usually do that stuff… drugs. But… I’m going through a lot.”

“Would you mind sharing, darling?” he asked gently.

So you told him everything. How you thought you were living the perfect relationship—until you were betrayed by someone younger and prettier. How your parents shut you out and told you you’d had it coming. What could you say? You’d been in love.

James was quiet for a moment, then finally spoke.

“I understand,” he said—and you could swear you heard something vulnerable in his voice. “The woman I loved more than anything… she made me feel disposable. Used me. Replaced me.”

He stopped walking, gently releasing your arm and stepping in front of you.

“That’s why I understand you, darling,” he said, brushing your hair back. “We’re so alike… That’s why I like you.”

Your heart was pounding. James made you nervous—but not in a scary way. In a way you’d never felt before. It felt good. Really good.

“Mediocre men are drawn to cheap, disposable beauty. But you, my dear—you’re not disposable. You’re rare. Beautiful. One of a kind,” he said, one hand still in your hair, the other squeezing your hand gently. “I admire that. And I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you like that again. I’ll never leave you. That’s a promise.”

His words hit hard. They made you want to cry. You knew this was insane—even ridiculous. Falling for a man you barely knew, who lived in a creepy hotel. But the connection between you two was undeniable. And besides, James was charming. No one could deny that.

The vinyl spins as the man paces, knowing you'll be the first to arrive, even before John Lowe of all people. The door opens and we swings his head around, eyes wide as he spots you. Three long strides and he's at you, arm around your waist as he sinks his nose into your neck.

People say that March is a loving man, but they don't know the half of it. He's possessive, especially when it comes to his lovers, which he's had and has many of. James is nothing more than a growl-y mess when he's without a partner, and being unable to hear your voice, see your face, touch you... he's pent up.

"Darling, how I've missed you." He purrs, lips pressed against your pulse point, despite there not being a single beat in your chest. He nips slightly, pouting as you pull away.

"You're too much already, my love." You murmur. Something about James changes you, the way you think, the way you speak. If your heart were beating, it'd be racing.

The two of you are time capsules of two different eras, but when together, you intertwine like fibers of yarn. Two sides of the same coin, if you will.

"Can't a man hunger for a beautiful thing such as you?" He hums softly, his forehead against yours as he hums and chuckles, clearly excited to see you but trying to play it cool.

Your hand comes up to his face, "Yes, but I barely took two steps into the room, dear." You smile, watching him take your hand and twirl you around before pulling you against his chest, chin resting upon your shoulder. "James!"

"Ah, ah, my darling... Shut up a moment and let me enjoy your company before anyone else gets here." He says, a slight growl in his chest.

"Ridiculous..." You murmur, but don't move. His hands wrap tightening around your waist, a hand over your stomach and another rubbing up and down your arm.

"You adore it, however..." He whispers in your ear, a few soft kisses pressing against your temple. His arms constrict around you tighter, making you tense and arch your back and gasp out his name again.

Before you can say anything more, he presses his nose into the nape of your neck. You feel that his lips slightly parted, as if ready to sink teeth into you given the command. You stay in this position, not sound but your soft yet sharp breathe and his small chuckle.

"James..." You murmur, only to me met back with your name in a loving, singalong tone, lips moving against your skin as he speaks.

"You look ravishing, my love... Why, I could just... eat you up." He whispers, leaving small bites along the side of your neck.

You groan, your eyes rolling back as you relax in his arms, "I hate you." You whisper.

"On the contrary. I believe you're just as fascinated in me as I am you."

"Mayhaps, but only if you let me turn around and kiss you silly, dear."

With that you're turned around and pressed against the door, wet sounds of lips and teeth clashing filling the space between you both. His hands cup your face and holds it in place as he explores your mouth with his tongue, reminding himself of the shape and taste after a year of not having you.

You're still pinned against the wood as he pulls away, teeth clamped down on your lip. When your lip snaps back to your faces, it's bleeding. However, you're still smiling. He grins back at you, licking your blood off his lips.

"I've missed you more than life itself." He pants out, his hand around his ascot, loosening it.

"And I the same, dear." You murmur, your hands helping him get as little undressed as he needs. You're palming him through his briefs, his eyes rolling back.

"You are bewitching." He growls, taking his cock out before quickly moving to undo your own zipper. "I can't handle it any longer, you're intoxicating. As soon as you walked in-"

"Shut up, your dirty talk is a turn off." You hiss out before kissing him roughly. He gasps, kissing back and pulling you into his surprisingly strong arms.

"You'll regret saying that." He purrs, lining up with your hole. Before you can snap back, he pushes in. You gasp, your eyes rolling shut.

James pushes deeper, eyes boring down at you as he grunts out, smiling sadistically wide. You moan out, your eyes opening slightly to see him looking down before they roll shut again.

You moan out his name with each inch he pushes in and he responds in a grunt each time, his cock twitching. "You still wish for me to be silent?"

"No- maybe- fuck shut up-" You moan out, your back arching off the door. Something snaps inside of James and he pulls out, holding you in his arms before spreading you out on the closest surface.

"No, I don't think I will. I'm going to fill you up and make you walk around like that all night, love." He growls out, spitting into his hand before stroking it onto his cock. "You're mine, you know this?"

"Y-Yours..." You repeat, gasping as he enters you again.

"Exactly, darling. Mine." He growls out, leaning over you and biting your neck again, harder this time.

You moan out, the pleasure already too much. You know he can go for hours, but he's on a time crunch. He's faster, making your body tremble. He pumps in and out of you, filling the need you both had for the past 365 days.

"James- James, slow down-" You cry out, but he doesn't. He speed up, growling and grunting with each trust inside you. "James!" You cry out, your back and ass arching completely off whatever surface he placed you on.

"That's it, love. Scream for me." He says with a sadistic purr. "Let the whole floor know you're mine." He whispers into your ear, sending goosebumps down your entire body.

"James- Fuck, James I'm gonna-"

"Don't you dare..." He growls out, pounding harder. "You're not allowed release. Not after being such a rude little thing to me earlier. You're getting exactly what you deserve, darling.

"You can't cum, you can't even clean up before the rest of my lovely guests arrive. You'll be dripping all night. Is that what you want?"

You nod, biting your lip and whimpering as he speed up even more. His hips meet yours, the wet sound of skin slapping filling the room.

"If you cum, I'll have to punish you, you know this, yes?" He murmurs, panting as he looks down at you with wide, feral eyes, like a predator. You nod quickly, making him grin wider. "Good." He whispers in your ear before biting at your lope teasingly.

"I'm going to fill you up. You're such a good little toy. Darling, I'm going to- agh, you devil-" He groans, cock throbbing before you fill his release paint your insides.

You moan out sharply, eyes rolling shut. The both of you are frozen in time for a long moment, one that feels like it lasts forever. You finally feel him move, opening your eyes slowly to watch as he wipes himself before tucking himself away.

"Up. You must help me fix the decorations, dear. It is your fault they're ruined now." He mumbles, rolling his eyes as if he hadn't just fucked your brain out.

You stand up and he helps, gentle, unlike earlier. He pulls you into his arms for a brief moment, nipping your ear before whispering, "Mine" one last time.

As ordered, you realign the decorations, noticing the poker chips on the table in front of each seat. "Darling, what are these for?" You ask, holding one up and looking at it.

"These are vintage chips, my love. From the year I finished the hotel, to be exact. We'll have a game with those late." James grins,taking the chip back and placing it perfectly in it's spot.

You raise and eyebrow, looking at the time. You realize that no one has come in and the party is supposed to start soon. He pulls you aside and presses his face into your neck once more, kissing softly. "I'm sure I wasn't too rough, was I, dear?"

His voice is soft, almost sorry, but that isn't the kind of word you'd use to describe James often. You shake your head, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. "Course not, sweetheart."

That's when you hear a cough behind you, both you and your lover jumping slightly and looking towards the door. That's when you see him.

2012 tumblr girl: flannel over graphic tees, beanie hats, doc martens, bracelets. i feel like this doesn’t need much elaboration.

hyperfeminine: okay okay hear me out. tate’s genuinely aroused by tiny tops, short skirts, visible bra straps. if you wear something low-cut and constance makes a disgusted face, it only reinforces his attachment.

note. ok hear me out. i can imagine tate going head over heels in love with a who dresses like regina george but with an attitude reminiscent of wednesday addams—he’d love the dissonance. bonus if constance hates her.

tattoos: he’s particularly into meaningful tattoos, such as song lyrics or excerpts from poetry.

piercings: being the sadistic little shit that he is, he’ll happily offer to pierce your ear for you at home. sterilise the safety pin and all that shit.

hair: doesn’t care much—he loves messy. bedhead, haphazard curls, grown-out roots, messy buns… tate doesn’t really care (influenced by his taste for grunge). dyed? hot. buzzed? hot. limp? still hot.

overall: he’s the kind of guy who falls in love with who you are, regardless of what you wear. still, if you made him pick, he leans toward aesthetics that signal alienation or emotional volatility in pretty packaging. the more it clashes with his mom’s standards, the better. he won’t complain no matter what you wear, but if you walk into his room in a tube top and a skirt? he’s done for.

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KIT WALKER

new americana / farmgirl: denim overalls, sun-faded cotton shirts, gingham dresses, work boots. imagine the silhouette of a woman who can climb into the back of a truck and carry feed, then braid her hair for church. he likes women who look self-reliant in a domestic context.

cottagecore : gingham, eyelet, high collars, soft florals, prairie dresses. kind if unintentionally “ethereal,”

housewife practical: tucked-in blouses, calf-length skirts, simple cardigans, aprons. i don’t wanna sound sexist bc it’s not my intention BUT kit walker is so #husband and literally perfect in every way (maybe minus the smoking) so yeah.

bohemian: long skirts, loose blouses, leather belts, sun-faded jewelry. earthy tones and handmade pieces—rooted in the spiritual or sincere, he finds it quietly moving.

note. it’s been a hot second since i watched s2. did he go through a hippie era at some point (his wedding scene, i think.) or am i crazy?

makeup: bare minimum. chapstick, light blush… actually he doesn’t really care because he thinks you’re pretty the way you are.

hair: clean, soft, touchable. braids, pins, or let down. he finds sensuality in how women keep their hair—for beauty and convenience. he’d learn how to braid yours if you asked. maybe even without being asked.

piercings & tattoos: basic earlobes are normal. multiple piercings feel foreign but not offensive. he might not judge a small tattoo if it’s meaningful—especially if it’s tucked somewhere private.

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KYLE SPENCER (PRE-DEATH)

hyperfeminine / soft girl : pastel skirts, hair ribbons, ballet flats. i dunno how to explain it BUT!! this is so kyle-coded. he’ll carry your scrunchies on his wrist.

dark academia: high-neck blouses, long skirts, muted colours. tweed, oxford shoes, silk scarves. you’d go on study dates at the library where you’d actually study.

n u goth: fishnets, heavy boots, black lipstick. makes him nervous, but in a good way.

tattoos / piercings: so we all know kyle canonically hates tattoos on himself but genuinely doesn’t care what you do with your body.

makeup: he prefers prefers minimal. fresh skin, clear gloss, clean lashes. he likes to see your face clearly, and he kisses your cheeks a lot, so heavy product annoys him.

hair: omg he loves your hair. long, short, natural, dyed—he’s obsessed with touching it. would happily learn to braid it, brush it after showers, or hold it while you cry.

overall: first of all, kyle genuinely doesn’t care what you wear. he’s less about aesthetic philosophy and more about whether you’re confident in it. if you’re happy in it, he’s into it. but when pressed, he leans toward styles that feel playful, soft, or tactile.

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JAMES PATRICK MARCH

refinement + erotic nostalgia

vintage / old hollywood / formal: ideal. corsets, stockings, long gloves, backless gowns. he finds eroticism in era-specific modesty!

makeup: he expects nothing less than perfection. red lips, cat-eye liner, smoky eyeshadow. he likes when your face looks like a painting—one he owns.

hair: prefers set styles. finger waves, polished buns, velvety curls. if it looks time-consuming, he approves.

piercings & tattoos: he’s disdainful of visible tattoos. ear piercings are tolerable if you don’t go overboard. anything else must be discreet.

vintage 1920s–30s glamour: drop-waist silk gowns, fur-trimmed robes, bias-cut dresses, garter slips. james is extremely aroused by time-specific detail. if you appear in a velvet robe with a cigarette holder and pearls, he may drop to his knees and propose.

structured femme: corsets, pencil skirts, heels are all greatly adored. i suppose the rigid tailoring reflects personal discipline—his favorite currency in a partner. when you wear something tight, high-necked, and (preferably) backless, he can barely stay seated.

lingerie: exquisite lingerie is a necessity and not a novelty ! he expects stockings, garters, satin underthings.

makeup: he reveres the symmetric (might be an architect habit.) clara bow-style thin brows, cupid’s bow lips, powdered skin, and smoldering eyes. he will watch you paint your mouth in the mirror like a man bewitched.

hair: he wants coiffed perfection. finger waves, pinned curls, chignons. he notices shine, shape, and silhouette. unbrushed hair would disgust him… unless it’s the aftermath of something he did to you. he cares a lot about grooming. cos look at his neat hair & pencil moustache.

piercings & tattoos: no visible tattoos. to him, they cheapen the canvas. piercings are fine as long as they’re era-appropriate (lobe only, perhaps a clip-on). anything suggestive of counterculture, punk, or rebellion reads as low-class. however, if you beg to be branded with his initials somewhere only he sees, his mood will change.

overall. james is obsessed with aesthetic control. he eroticizes elegance & self-composure. the more deliberately you present yourself, the more violently he desires you.

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KAI ANDERSON

chic / elegant: turtlenecks, blouses tucked into jeans, long coats. structured silhouettes signify maturity and discipline. he likes a cold front. he wants you to look untouchable in public, erotic in private, and ultimately malleable to his vision.

e-girl: dyed hair, fishnets, platform shoes, heavy eyeliner—i just know pre-cult!kai would totally dig this style chaotic, weaponised femininity. cult leader! kai still likes it more than he’d like to admit. the aesthetic’s emotional instability and curated rebellion appeal to him. ripped fishnets and plaid mini skirts under a trench coat—he’ll tolerate it if you frame it as self-aware. especially if you still defer to him when it counts.

casual femme: slacks, button-downs, low heels. very specific kink here. he sees it as feminine submission masked as authority—something he wants to deconstruct.

at home/private: he wants you in barely anything. lingerie, oversized shirt with nothing underneath, sheer robe. he’ll call public exposure “disrespectful,” but in private, the sluttier the better—so long as it’s just for him.

tattoos: doesn’t care much either way unless they’re about him. if you tattooed his name on the inside of your pinky or under the curve of your breast? yeah he’d go feral.

piercings: very selective tolerance. a nose stud or cartilage hoop is fine. multiple facial piercings bother him. tongue piercings? huge no-no. he’d complain amid a blowjob.

makeup preference: prefers natural tones—but sharp. clean contour, defined brows. if you wear lipstick, it should be matte.

hair: preferably long enough for him to grab. favors restraint. sleek buns, blown-out waves.

note. dunno if this is pure coincidence but the guy & girl on his threesome dream team both have platinum blonde hair so. put that into consideration if you will

overall:

kai likes duality—women who are polished, elegant, and respectable in public, then perverse in private. how you dress becomes part of his political narrative. kai is violently turned off by revealing outfits in public; says it’s about protecting you from objectification, but really, it has nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with control. he hates the idea that anyone else could see what’s his. but he’s not drawn to modesty for purity’s sake either...:/

────୨ৎ────

AUSTIN SOMMERS

high fashion editorial: he thinks in spreads, not seasons. if you look like you were styled by a fashion house—velvet trousers, sculptural blazers, sheer bodysuits under a mink coat—then you have his attention. he’s attracted to drama, but only the kind that’s cleanly executed.

monochrome dressing (black, white, red): insists on visual cohesion. you don’t have to match him—but you have to at least coordinate. he views outfits like mise-en-scène.

note. i think he loves seeing women in suits; especially fitted blazers with nothing underneath, cufflinks, patent loafers, garters hiding under trousers. gender inversion excites him!! if you wear menswear better than he does, he’ll try to outdress you at the next event.

note. real fur, silk, leather: austin is NOT ethical :(( he finds moral piety boring. mink or fox stoles, snakeskin gloves… anything tactile and expensive.

makeup: smoky eyeshadow, matte red lips, defined cheekbones. black eyeliner must look sharp. glitter is acceptable if it’s metallic and editorial.

hair: he prefers sleek styles. sculpted, old-hollywood waves, polished buns, asymmetrical bobs, dramatic part lines.

accessories: yes. gloves, veils, round sunglasses, garters, cigarette holders, clip-on earrings, velvet chokers etc.

piercings: tolerates piercings, especially if they read as erotic or expensive. such as silver hoops, diamond studs, snakebite cuffs.

tattoos: tattoos must be discreet and aesthetic. he’ll accept script, florals, or erotic silhouettes. he’s fine with your body being art, but not kitsch.

overall: austin is a maximalist with standards. if you look styled & expensive, he sees you as worthy of his obsession. elegance excites him, but only if it’s theatrical. every detail signals something: who you belong to, what you value, and how seriously you take being seen beside him. and above all, he wants to be out-dressed by his muse… but never outshone.

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PETER MAXIMOFF

skater girl: crop tops, flannels tied around the waist, beanies, and converse/vans. he associates this with energy, movement, and sass—three of his core characteristics.

sporty / tomboy: oversized tees, track jackets, bike shorts, varsity jackets. if you wear running shoes with a mini skirt, it short-circuits him.

note. denim jackets + patches / badges YES. the more distressed and decorated, the better. if your jacket looks like it’s been through four concerts and has random-ass phrases sharpied inside, he’s obsessed.

note. whimsical touches such as funky socks, earrings shaped like planets or lighting bolts, too many rings, slap bracelets—this makes him fall deeper in love.

makeup: he loves flavored lip gloss—cherry, grape, cotton candy. if it sparkles, even better. shimmery silver eyeshadow, glitter liner? hell yeah. he’ll lick your lips mid-kiss and ask what flavor it is. not kidding.

hair: space buns, messy ponytails, intricate braids with random beads—yes. highlights, dyed streaks, freakin’ cool!! he touches your hair a lot—spins your ponytail in his fingers or combs through it when you’re on the couch.

piercings & tattoos: loves piercings. ears, nose, cartilage, belly button. he doesn’t need a reason—he just likes shiny things. tattoos? even better if they’re quirky.

note. if you ever got a matching one, he’d brag and show it to about everyone.