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simpee9000 · 5 months ago

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I love your “not just friends” series🥹 im obsessed! Im hoping to see more I love it soooooooooooo muchhhh!!!!!!! Even telling my friends to read it

But I saw a bakugo headcanon by another anon about him having a crush which I wanna add a spin on, what if he rejected this said crush back in middle school but developed feelings after xD I find it funny

Thank you !!! I'm glad you enjoy it so much!

And that is literally Katsuki Bakugo, can't see him not doing it tbh. (This was also a lot longer then I planned for it to be- I just started typing and here we are- 1k)

He isn't confused about a lot of things in life but his feelings definitely stump him. He tries to analyze other people and how they react to people, but the dots just don't connect. He hears people rave on and on about how cute their crush is, but he just doesn't get it.

It's not that he hasn't been introduced to it either. I mean, it's middle school. Everyone is crazy about dating someone even if it's just to hold their stupid hand. Bakugo didn't get it, he honestly didn't want to get it. Sure he wanted to understand it, but only so he could know a weakness or some shit. He didn't want the gushy feelings or anything such.

Rejecting girl after girl was normal for him, people just loved how great he was. But after the first year of middle school that stopped. Mainly because of how rudely he rejected every girl in the past, but also because of you.

You got extremely close with him rather quickly, working your way into his life and friend groups. It was rare to see you away from each other.

Yet when you confessed to him in your last year of middle school, he stood still. It was the only confession he hesitated on. And while you swayed on your feet, anxious for a reply, he tried to cough up any words possible.

But the only ones that came out were. "You're not special."

In the most blunt way possible, he crushed your dreams. With the way he was looking at you, it was like he couldn't fathom the thought that you thought you were good enough for him, different than all the other girls. So you choked up any spiteful things you wanted to say and nodded before walking off.

He didn't necessarily like you then, but the thought didn't seems gross. So when he watched you walk away, he shrugged it off. You'd talk to him tomorrow definitely.

When tomorrow came and went, he was waiting for you to show up by his side at any second. But of course, you never did. You waited a day before showing up to class, but when you did you stuck near your other friends.

It stayed that way too. You only nodded at him after you finished middle school, a small final goodbye.

So it was rather unfortunate that one of your friends happened to be Izuku. It was a hard-built friendship, but he's very forgiving.

You came and visited the dorms often, encouraged by his mother to help him get by easier.

Bakugo hated it, you never even looked his way.

When he googled his feelings he didn't want to believe the words typed on his screen. It was all saying he was jealous. He'd never been jealous of anything, especially nothing Deku had.

Eventually, Kirishima pointed it out, commenting on the glare he was giving Midoriya. He also called him out the next day, when he kept glaring despite you not being there.

The day he cracked was after he fought Deku, after being yelled out by Aizawa he and Deku were told to wait.

Bakugo mentioned your name in a mumble at first before Deku questioned it. "She like you or some shit?"

"What?!"

"You fuckin' heard me," he spat back.

"No!" Deku scrambled for a reason. He knew you had a crush on Bakugo before, but you haven't mentioned it in a while, "Do you?"

"Do I like you?!"

"NO! HER!"

Bakugo's aggression faded as he thought. Everyone was saying that. Kirishima, his dad, and now Deku. He gave a small shrug because he was unsure.

"She still asks about you," Deku decided to say, rather than poke the bear.

"Hm."

"Wanting to know if you're okay. After the sludge, and after.. well you know," Deku mumbled.

The door opened before anything else could be said, but even if it didn't, they both knew the conversation was over.

Feeling the commonly named butterflies in his stomach, at just the thought of you thinking of him still, was odd. It was an entirely new feeling. After googling, once again, he came to terms with the fact that he finally felt all the gushy feelings that everyone else got in middle school. The ones you used to have for him, hopefully still do.

He still waited a year to act on his conclusion first. But he still slowly tried to weave his way back into your life. Choosing to sit next to you when you visited, to othering you the remote.

Everything was without words for a while. Almost a year in he was forced to talk to you often. All conversations being awkward and strained.

Confessing was a different story, it was the last day you could visit before it was officially summer break before the second year. Everyone was all sat around watching TV, people leaving before they got too tired. Surprisingly, Bakugo and you were the last people in the living room. He didn't want to miss a second of your presence because he knew he couldn't see you during summer. He was so glad Aizawa let you stay late.

His head snapped away from the TV when you stretched to stand, silently grabbing your stuff.

"What are you doing?" he spoke before thinking.

You looked stunned, he never talked to you without you talking first, "It's late, I should go. Plus is it not past your bedtime?"

He glared at your joke before looking at the clock. It was 2:54a.m, you asked him out at 2:54 p.m in middle school.

"Do you still?"

"What?" you switched your weight onto one foot, crossing your arms confused.

"In middle school," he sighed, "do you still?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Have feelings and shit."

He still wasn't looking at you, but out of the corner of his eyes, he could see how you froze.

"I don't know how that's relevant," you huffed, embarrassed and annoyed that he'd be so cruel to bring up the rejection again.

"I do."

"Do what? Know how it's relevent? Of course you do, it's your brain-"

"Have feelings and shit," he mumbled, crossing his arms at how irated you sounded. He was finally making his move and you seemed pissed as hell.

You barked out a laugh, muffling it with your own hand, "You can't think I'm that stupid, right?"

"I'm being serious," he looked at you straight on for the first time. He was always easiest to read when you could see his eyes, and he looked nervous. Out of all the emotions you've seen on him, this wasn't one.

"Oh."

He sighed and looked down, "Don't gotta say anything, you can spend the night in the common room. No one will care," he pushed himself off the couch, turning to leave.

"Bakugo," you called out softly.

"Hm?"

"I might," your voice was shaky, "but I need to think about it. Know that you're not fucking with me or something."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Take your time. You have my number."

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drunkinyourbenz · 4 days ago

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jealous billie smut?

୨ৎ only girl. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: smut and fluff

୨ৎ content: more sub top billie bc...yeah. oral (r recieving), jealousy, possesivness, fingering (r recieving), teasing

୨ৎ note: this request has been rotting away in my inbox and i know for a fact that you 100% wanted dom billie but idc <3 have some subillie bc i love her !! this is like half edited bc i got bored

the girl’s hand was on your waist before you had even noticed her walking across the room to you. by the time your eyes flickered down to where her hand rested, you could feel your girlfriend’s eyes burning into the back of your head from where she stood by the bar. she had given herself the task of getting drinks for the two of you, but you were well aware that was the last thing on her mind now.

you took the girl’s wrist, smoothly slipping it off your waist and giving her a look that would’ve told anyone else everything they needed to know. unluckily for you, this girl was either drunk off her face or just didn’t care.

it made you uncomfortable—you hated the idea of flirting with anyone but billie, and you knew billie would get jealous. although, she was adorably desperate to make sure you knew she could please you best when she was jealous, so…maybe it wasn't all bad.

billie had always been jealous, you learnt that fact a few months into your relationship. it wasn’t in a destructive way, it was in a quiet way. she would effortlessly pull your attention away from anyone else, giving them a cold stare until they took the hint. she’d stay quiet, her jealousy bubbling below the surface until she finally got you somewhere private and that’s when it really came out. she was your only girl, she was the only one who could make you feel good, she was your whole world—and she knew it. she just needed to prove it.

“you know, i’d love to–”

“i’m taken.” your words were final, and billie’s hand sliding around your waist only solidified that fact. she didn’t say anything to the girl, simply used her hand on your waist to turn you towards her. it was always cute seeing her putting on that fake confidence—because you knew that if she spoke, she’d be stumbling over her words.

you smiled at her, leaning closer to her to press a kiss to her lips, “hi, baby.”

the girl from before—who had almost been totally forgotten—looked the two of you up and down before rolling her eyes and letting out a scoff, “whatever. you’re so boring.”

you let her words pass through you as if she hadn’t even spoken, and you heard another soft scoff before the girl walked away. you felt billie’s hand on your waist noticeably relax as the two of you were left alone, a soft breath slipping from her lips. “god, i hate these parties.”

she didn’t hate the parties, she hated seeing people all over you—and rightfully so. you were hers, and she was yours. no question about it.

a breathy laugh left you as your lips brushed softly against her ear, “yeah? you know you’re my only girl, mhm?”

she hummed softly, her eyes darting around the party as if assessing something. it was crowded, loud, and the friends that the two of you were here with were nowhere to be found. “can we leave?”

you nodded softly, a knowing smile painting your face, “why d’you wanna leave, sweet girl?”

she sent you a look, and the slightly tense look of her shoulders and her furrowed brows told you everything you needed to know. there was a certain desperation in her eyes, silently begging you not to make her spell it out for you. she knew you knew why she wanted to leave, you were simply teasing her.

you weren’t quite done with teasing her, so you brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with a soft look in your eyes, “hm?”

her eyes stopped exploring the room, snapping back to yours with an undeniable look of utter desperation. she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. instead, she let out a soft, annoyed sigh, lacing her fingers with yours and pulling you towards the exit.

you couldn’t help but giggle softly at her frustration—her jealousy was adorable. it wasn’t mean jealousy, it was desperate jealousy. her jealousy only made her want you more, and considering how obsessed with you she already was, that was saying something.

she turned to glance at you as she tugged you towards the car, “stop laughing at me.” she was clinging to her frustrated act, despite both of you knowing full well that she adored your teasing. “you know exactly why i want to leave.”

you grinned at her, “of course i do. just want you to say it.”

she rolled her eyes, sending you a lighthearted glare, “you’re impossible.”

when you only winked in response, waiting for her to just admit it, she groaned, huffing softly. “fine. you know i’m jealous.”

“cute,” you mused, continuing to prompt her teasingly. “and you want to go home so you can…?”

she sent you another irritated look, “so i can make sure your eyes are only on me.”

jealous and possessive.

“believe me, my eyes were never on her.”

her lips twitched up into a barely noticeable satisfied smile, “and…never mind.” she trailed off, her eyes drifting to the floor.

oh, no. that wouldn’t do. “and…?”

she didn’t respond, she just opened the car door and slipped into the driver's seat. you sighed, getting in the passenger seat and putting your hand over hers before she could reach for the handbrake, “billie.” you murmured, your voice soft but warning. “tell me.”

billie’s eyes drifted down to your hands, staying silent for a moment before speaking in a soft voice, “wanna make sure i’m the only one who can make you feel good.”

the corner of your lips twitched up, “see, was that so hard?”

an unamused look was all you received, although you knew that deep down, she adored your teasing—you wouldn’t do it if she didn’t. “can i drive now?”

“yeah, baby.”

she wasted no time in reversing out of the parking space, starting the drive back to your house and not looking back at the club once. she was determined to get you home as soon as possible, to get you on your bed and her face between your thighs.

it was late, so there wasn’t too much traffic on the roads. the sound of soft rain pattered on the roof of the car, making the lights shine in dotted patterns against the glass of the windows. your eyes traveled over to billie when the two of you were brought to a stop at a red light, the bright city lights from outside the car shining onto her skin her pale blue eyes fixed on the road ahead.

you watched as her tongue darted out over her lips, and you knew that she was imagining everything she planned to do to prove she could make you feel better than anyone else ever could. you’d never doubted that, you honestly hadn’t even spared anyone else a single thought in the two years you’d been with billie. you simply liked seeing her hopeless desperation to please you when the jealousy took over.

billie’s jealousy was harmless, and had never once put your relationship at risk. she trusted you, and she knew that she was the only one on your mind. it was other people she didn’t trust, and she needed to make sure you knew she could please you best. more than anything, however, she needed reassurance. she needed reassurance that she was indeed the best, that she was doing a good job for you, that she was your good girl.

the moment the light turned green, the car was speeding off again. you could practically see the way her mind was racing with thoughts of how she planned to engrave herself in your mind, make sure you never forgot how much pleasure she could bring you and how devoted to you she was.

the drive was silent, an undeniable tension in the air—you both just wanted to get home and into the bedroom. once you arrived at your house, billie parked the car in the driveway and leaned over to unbuckle your seatbelt after undoing her own with a soft click. grabbing the back of your neck, she pulled slightly across the central console, your lips meeting in a hungry kiss as you let your hands thread through her hair.

“god, you have no idea how hot you were at that party. you don’t even have to try, do you? everything you do just drives me wild.” her words came out breathlessly before she pulled you back in for another kiss, her tongue slipping past your slightly parted lips.

when you pulled away from the kiss, she let out an impatient whine as she chased after your retreating lips. her eagerness made your lips twitch up into a subtle smirk, “inside.”

she let out a soft huff of air, but she knew that going inside would get her what she wanted sooner. so she opened the car door at the same time as you opened yours, both of you rushing to the door to escape the rain. she fumbled around in her bag for her keys with shaky hands, so you found your own keys to unlock the door for her.

she practically shoved you inside, only for the two of you to be met with your dog, shark, barrelling into you as you removed your shoes. his tail was wagging and he was practically bouncing off the walls, like a kid on christmas.

you crouched down to greet shark, patting his back and scratching behind his ears, “hi, my little baby shark. did you miss us?”

you heard your girlfriend sigh, her voice coming out impatient, and you could tell she was trying to hold back a whine threatening to escape her throat. her arms were crossed over her chest, her foot tapping softly on the carpet. “baby…”

you couldn't help the teasing smile that spread across your lips—she was so, so desperate, it actually made your heart race. “okay, okay,” you pressed a parting kiss to shark's forehead and muttered something about how you'd see him later.

billie’s hand circled around your wrist, tugging you up the stairs before you could finish whatever you were saying to shark. when she reached your shared bedroom, she shoved you through the door and closed it behind you. you couldn’t recall a time where she’d ever been quite this desperate, and you felt your stomach twist as she let out a breathy sigh and a barely audible, “please.”

your breath hitched in your throat at the look in her eyes as she gazed at you, seeing the utter devotion that she wasn’t even trying to hide now that the two of you were alone. you suck in a soft breath, watching her quietly for a moment.

“you need me?”

her eyes snapped up to meet yours, nodding frantically. she was silently pleading with you, begging for you to let her make you feel good. she needed you to reassure her that she was enough, that she could please you. she needed to be reminded that she was the centre of your universe.

you walked backwards until you felt the back of your thighs hit the mattress of your bed, and you sat down on the edge, gesturing for her to come closer. she closed the distance between the two of you in a few short strides, standing between your legs and looking down at you as you sat on the bed. her hands were trembling slightly—it was barely noticeable, but you noticed it. you noticed everything about her, you always did. she reached out to trace her shaky fingers across your cheek in an almost reverent touch, your eyelashes fluttering against her fingertips.

you leaned in, closing the gap between the two of you and feeling her practically melt in your arms. her hands slid down from your waist to your thighs, the tips of her fingers slipping under the waistband of your jeans, looking down at you with her big pleading blue eyes, an insatiable hunger burning within them.

“please? let me?”

you nodded in response to her question, and she instantly pushed you back so you were propped up against the pillows. you pulled your shirt over your head as she gently pulled your jeans off your legs. you heard a barely audible whimper leave her lips at the sight of you in just your bra and panties—and while you didn’t comment on it, you allowed it to give your ego a little boost.

first, she unclasped your bra and slipped the straps down your arms, discarding it on the floor by the bed. her lips latched onto your left nipple while her hand moved to squeeze and palm at your other boob. eventually, her lips trailed up from your breasts and to your neck, leaving a trail of love bites scattered behind her. the moment her lips were on your neck, she was sucking marks into your skin—marks that she knew you wouldn’t be able to hide. her voice was a soft whine, “mine.”

mine, mine, mine.

she settled down between your legs, propping herself up on one elbow while she gently pushed your thighs apart. her hand moved to trace a soft line down your inner thigh, eventually slipping under the lace of your panties and sliding through your folds. you heard her moan at the feeling of how wet you were, and the fact that she was so turned on from just that made your heart skip a beat.

she removed her finger, bringing it to her lips. you watched as her eyelashes fluttered and she moaned around her finger, and you felt yourself get impossibly wetter. she didn’t waste any time now that she’d tasted you, pulling your panties down your thighs and letting them fall to the side of the bed somewhere. her lips trailed up your inner thighs, her eyes permanently fixed on yours. attentive as always, she was watching your every reaction, every furrow of your brows and every inaudible breath that left your slightly parted lips. she’d always noticed every little detail, more than anyone else you’d ever met. it made you feel so…cared for.

soon enough, her tongue darted out to lick a stripe up your folds, and you heard her whimper at the taste. her eyes shut briefly, her nose bumping against your clit before she sucked the sensitive bud into her mouth. her eyes were open once again, looking up at you as she took in the clear bliss on your face. your clear pleasure seemed to encourage her.

soft moans spilled from your lips, “good girl.”

you watched as her eyes lit up with delight at the praise, a pleased murmur vibrating against your clit. her free hand snuck up to gently squeeze your breast, giving your nipple a teasing pinch.

one thing you knew was that you’d never get over the way she always looked in between your legs—needy and desperate, she’d do whatever you wanted and more if it meant she got to touch you. she sucked particularly harshly on your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips and causing her searching eyes to snap back up to yours. her brows were furrowed as she watched you for a moment, pausing her movements. her voice was laced with concern when she spoke, “was that…too much? sorry, was i– uh, i can—”

you cut her off by tangling your hands in her hair and gently pushing her face back down between your legs, “you’re doing perfect.”

at those words, you watched as her shoulders visibly relaxed and she dove back in, her tongue eagerly working at your center. her eyes fluttered shut this time—this was bringing her just as much pleasure as it brought you. she needed to make you feel good, she didn’t feel complete until you’d fallen apart around her.

when your thighs closed slightly around her head, she used her hands to gently pry them open again, holding them in place as she ate you out. her nails dug gently into your skin, you knew they’d leave slight crescent indents in their place.

your back arched up off the bed slightly at the pleasure, and you watched as her eyes flickered up to meet yours.

“doing so good for me, baby. so perfect.”

her lips curled up into a smile, and her tongue darted out to lick between your folds again before she spoke, “you close?”

“so close.”

at that, her lips returned to your clit and she slipped two fingers inside of you, curling them perfectly and coaxing moans from you that made her grind against the bed subtly. your breath hitched as her tongue flicked against your clit, “fuck… that’s it, baby. so good for me, my only girl.”

those words were it—billie flicked her tongue against your clit again, curling her fingers inside you when you finally felt the tightly coiled spring inside of you snap, shockwaves of pleasure washing over you as you let your head fall back against the pillows. “billie–”

billie reveled in the pleasure written all over your face, continuing to eat you out to drag out your orgasm until your hips jerked away from her mouth. after leaving a gentle nip on your inner thigh and sucking a soft hickey there, she dragged herself up to join your lips together. her tongue slipped between your lips, letting you taste yourself as your hands travelled down to her waist and pulled her closer to you so she was straddling your hips.

“see?” she murmured softly as she looked down at you from where she sat on top of you, “no one else can do it like i can.”

your lips twitched up into a smile and you leaned in to press another loving kiss to her lips, “oh, sweet girl. there was never any doubt. you’re my only girl, forever and always.”

୨ৎ taglist : @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart

send an ask or comment here to be added <3

#୨ৎ lyd's inbox #୨ৎ lyd writes #୨ৎ lyd yaps #୨ৎ lyd's anons #billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x you #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #sub billie #sub top billie

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sakasakiii · 5 days ago

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Every time I see your art it makes my day brighter. Glad to hear you're doing well!

hi hi hello!!!! thanks for checking in, anons, and for the kind words!!! im doing great, though im predicting ill be a bit busy in the weeks to come, so i hope you wont mind me if i slowly slink back into posting less and less OTL I've still got a few proper pieces to be posted per my usual time, but im gonna do my best to answer more asks in-between!! anon 1, i hope your day is even brighter than how you made mine when you sent in that ask <333

here's a quick sketch of tyelpe and annatar as requested :D anon 2, im so sorry for taking so long to get to this but im absolutely flattered to hear you like my art!! most of my gallery is filled with the works of artists i study, but its a foreign concept for me to consider that my art is potentially saved in someone else's?!... im not quite sure how to put it to words.... 😭😭thank you again aaarrghhh;;;;;

its been too long since i drew these two so.... redesigned buffer tyelpe finally gets his own piece :D thank you again anons!!! i hope you both have a wonderful rest of your week! ❤️

#silmarillion #rin replies #anon asks #celebrimbor #annatar #this turned into quite a yap fest OMG im sorry #i decided to go back to my old annatar design bc i couldnt get used to his new one after all #i think im just too attached to the og one hahahaha #my tyelpe has gone through the same number of redesigns as argon 😭 but i think im happy enough with this one to keep it consistent yahoo!!#im gonna try and aim for more sketches like these so i can finally answer more asks ive been sitting on for years atp #im sorry again for taking so long but ill do my best!!!! >:DDD #sauron #silm #noldor #silm art #the silmarillion #sakasakart

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majesticallyunmagestic · 7 months ago

Text

Jumpscare!

Edit: On a. We'll call it a mental health leave. Thanks for bein here, you guys rock :)

High-key thinking about splitting up my blog? Like. Keep this one for just random stuff, but make like..Two more? One for just broad kin stuff and another for just overall negative stuff. I want this blog to remain silly and lighthearted, but lately I've been..upset?(I'm not going to do anything harmful, I promise)

May do custom tags too, we'll see...And maybe a craft/crochet blog!

How do I sign these off..? It feels rude to just leave it. ..Thanks for reading? Lol

-The Scout!

Blu!Scout RP Blog

Edit: Starting on those custom tags! If anyone has suggestions, I'd love to hear them!! /gen

(Custom tags go here until i make a better intro. IF I make a better intro.)

anon yapping - Anonymous creatures that show up in my mailbox to tell me or ask me things!

The Fish Speaks - My partner @/maggotpoolautism showing up in my mailbox! May also use if i reblog anything it makes^^(please ask to be removed)

A Message Of The Lord Of Thirteenths - My friend @/tangerinetime69 if they ever come into my inbox OR if i reblog something from her :3(please ask to be removed)

scout yapping - me just saying random scout-related shit LMAO

vox speaks - vox-related posts :]

howling to the void - non-kin-related posts

rockin' n rollin' - Montgomery Gator Posts

no. one talks - Bakugo posting

the king answers - Lucifer(HH) related posts

#uhhh how do i tag this #get jumpscared lol #blog updates of The Scout idk #anon yapping #scout yapping #The Fish Speaks #A Message Of The Lord Of Thirteenths #vox speaks #howling to the void #rockin' n rollin'#no. one talks #the king answers

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maybanksprincess · 3 months ago

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How do you think JJ would react to new girl friend reader telling him she has a pain kink? I bet he would be a little stand offish at first not wanting to hurt her but then he would go absolutely crazy with it after he hears her moan when he bites her shoulder in doggy. He is so into it that he’s pinching her in public to let her know when he’s horny. I find that to be so hot and very much like jj🤭🤭

you two had been taking your sex life very slow, having sex in limited positions because you weren't sure what the both of you liked, and of course neither of you were bold enough to bring it up.

you both have had sex in doggy, and had sex in the car a few times, other than that...its a wrap

eventually when he gets comfortable enough he would pinch her thigh or waist in public to let her know he's got a boner and they need a quickie in the car.

jj honestly didn't know what came over him when he leant down to bite your shoulder during one of y'all's quickies, he almost apologized, stilling his pace from behind you a bit, just when he opens his mouth to speak, he hears a pornographic moan escape your throat.

before he can register whats happening, he feels you clamp down on him and fuck yourself on his cock. it only escalated from there.

he leans down and bites your neck and shoulder softly, nipping at the skin as he meets your thrusts. "mm you like that mama?" he growls in your ear

he was so turned on from the fact that he made you almost cum from literally biting you, the next few seconds he feels your creamy release on his cock.

he was never gonna let you live it down, and hes gonna keep biting you during sex more often <3

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xxgoldie · 1 month ago

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i’d like to say this is NOT a request i do just be yapping because you're such an inspiration to me!! thinking about a scenario where lighter gets injured protecting his s/o…him downplaying or ignoring his injury until its just the two of you, and when you’re fussing over him and dressing his wounds he’s gently thumbing away your tears and telling you all the sweet nothings about how it’d take a lot more than that to get rid of him, where’s your faith in the red scarf? he’s okay baby it looks worse than it actually is.

trying to be calm for your sake but he’s so shaken up internally because if he hadn’t jumped in he might’ve lost you…and at the same time, seeing you cry over a guy like him? wrapping him up with such care like he hasn’t broken bodies with his bare hands? he’s so overwhelmed and when you’re done disinfecting and bandaging and try to leave his side for any reason he’s wrapping you up in his big scarred arms and he won't let go for anything. please just stay right here where he can nuzzle against your pulse and smell your shampoo and feel your warmth.

every wet little sniffle from you is met with a kiss from him, he turns your face into a mural for his love, peppering kisses of relief and apology alike across your forehead, temple, cheeks, and nose. and when your lips finally meet it’s like you’re breathing life back into him, he can’t get enough. suddenly nothing is enough. he’s gently coaxing your clothes off because he needs you closer, needs to feel your bare chest against his so he knows your hearts are pounding in tandem. if you try to deny him because of his wounds he’s not afraid to beg, you can ride him as slow and careful as you want he just needs you. ughghgh slow soft emotional sex with lighter where neither of you care about actually getting off has me in a chokehold

i'm,,,,, i'm an inspiration?? anon i will kiss you on the mouth that's like the best thing anyone's ever said to me

the rest of this ask is a close second bc oh my god. soft comfort sex w lighter.

trying so hard to keep it together for him, because he's the one injured, why is he the one comforting you? you're scolding him for being reckless but your heart isn't in it, he sees the way your hands shake as you dress his wounds ever so gently and the tears threatening to spill over, and he's also trying to hold himself together because it doesn't look like you could handle him in any worse state. and that fact alone makes that knot in his chest tighten, how much you care for him, the fact he's lucky enough to love someone so much and have them love him back and he was so close to losing that. he's forcing himself not to think about what would have happened if he'd jumped in just a little later, because the brave face he's putting on is holding on by a thread. he really just wants you as close as possible, needs to feel your skin against skin, needs there to be no doubt that you're still there, and you need the same.

#when he nearly loses you and him saving you means you nearly lose him #anon ur mind is unparalleled im gonna be thinking about this for the rest of my life #i'm. i'm unwell he's so hhhhhhhhhh #goldie yaps ♡#goldie yearns ♡#mdni #lighter x reader #zzz lighter #zzz lighter x reader #lighter lorenz x reader #zzz lighter lorenz #x reader

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sketchehm · 1 month ago

Text

Serpias reading chatter: If you insult those who gossip.....

Serpias: No no....What do you mean insult people who gossip? I respect it, I respect them. I know that humans are curious. A lot of people are nosy, we're all nosy. ALL OF US. No one is safe. You know, if you don't like the drama from the youtubers, you'd like the drama from your friends. That's just how it is, that's just how life is. So. [waves hand] There's nothing else to say.

Chatter: I like the drama from the gringos

Serpias: See! The drama from the gringos is really good, ya know?

Serpias: EXCEPT! If it has something to do with my Sapni. If it's with my Sapni, then I'm not interested. I don't like it. There's no attacking, only defending. [lunges at camera] I'll DEFEND HIM. GRRR. My Sapni, no one's allowed to touch him. No one TOUCHES my Sapni.

#ehm yaps #this is for you anon!#i hope this is all correct lmao

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slowd1ving · 6 months ago

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Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same.

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser.

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son.

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief.

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist.

A merger had occurred.

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he.

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him.

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival.

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform.

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week.

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you.

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears.

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves.

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant.

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind.

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship.

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him.

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own.

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home.

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger.

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat.

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse.

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service.

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye.

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him.

You hadn’t changed.

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered.

You had changed.

And in the end, it was him who was left behind.

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja.

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago.

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself.

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.”

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason.

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright.

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself.

This was the night before the apocalypse began.

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict.

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you.

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless.

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy.

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end.

✦ . 　⁺

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed.

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first.

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger.

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him.

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul.

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course.

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late.

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read.

But he was never avoidant like this.

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up.

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin.

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight.

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man.

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true.

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another.

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t.

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you.

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did.

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe.

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days.

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more.

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music.

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him.

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded.

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness.

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light.

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air.

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat.

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind.

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him.

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders.

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet.

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else.

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind.

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that.

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body.

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap.

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you.

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed.

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one.

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over.

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system.

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun.

✦ . 　⁺

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

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