#because im the only person who lived them

[itgirlgyurecs]

i fucking finally read it and omg aaaaaaaah someone sedate me this was so fucking adorable and so insanely well written i can close my fuckin eyes and see it playing it out?!?!

first of all the entire layout, like the characterization of both characters, is sooo insanely well done and the world building is quite literally genius. hp you a literal genius! cause the ground work is so nuts i was here for the smut and stayed for the beautifully flowing story and their chemistry. the moments when we see both of their personalities shine through: like our oc is no meek person they are sooo proactive and cool esp standing against that one prof that gave them pain (ngl if that one prof wasn't old and a fucking annoying old fart of a person: he had that ONE LIKE that had me like 🤔😁).

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

now only imagine if halo effect was applied 👀🙏 okay no one? just me? okay…

like ofc vaughn is a piece of shit and then there's soobin, like even if he wasn't our lead, bro is just such a well written character. dudes like how a professor should be fr when he listened to oc about their troubles in the old fart’s class and then explained it TO THEM! MOTIVATED THEM NY TELLING HIM ABOUT HIS REASON TO STUDY CHEMISTRY (like again seeee the characterisation!!!)

and of course the ALMOST MOMENTS?!? WHEN THEYHAD THAT STUPID DELCIOUS CHEMISTRY LOOKING AT EACH OTHER AND THEN UNABLE TO LOOK AT EACH OTHER 🤭🤭🤭 SO FREAKIN DELICIOUS AND THE KISS! AND THE BACK AND FORTH BC OF THE TABOONESS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP?!? like that entire section my heart was at my mouth to see which one of them would break down first and become the one desperate BUT OH I WAS SO HAPPY TO REALISE BOTH OF THEM WERE! LOVE WHEN THE CHARACTERS ARE SOOOOOOO IN LOVE!

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students.

like are you kidding me?? +!? this is so adorable. This made my stomach flip soooo many times and the little exchange they had with their EYES AFTER JT THE SMILE?!?! that was such a subtle but impactful move like this fic does such a great job at building the dynamic and genuine sense of want and love between the characters.

and then we see the smut! the highlighted part and it's somehow a mirror reflection of their dynamic within the story. it's gentle, it's sweet but it's laced with the desperation that they both have for each other. it's such a sweet section, and I love when soobin becomes vulnerable with her because like omg he can like that with her, and she is soo giving, and accepting of him, like a flip of their dynamic in the real life. it's the perfect balance, they are soo accepting of each other. this shows that they prefer each other like that. it was soo needy, soo passionate and perfect I LOVED IT SOO MUCH!!

I'm so sorry this was SOO ALL OVER THE PLACE BUT HONEST TO GOD I ENJOYED IT SO MUCH THIS FELT LIKE ENRICHMENT TO MY HEALTH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH! I LOVE THE CHARACTERS SO MUCH AND THE WRITING! HP YOURE WRITING AND YOUR ABILITY TO BUILD THE STORY IS ALWAYS SO INSANE! legit felt like i was reading a book, like the sections in the beginning leading to how we see soobin and oc are together and the sweet build up to their chemistry! OMG JUST REALISED THE CHEMISTRY FOR THIS FIC IS INSANE SHE IS LIVING UP TO HER NAME!!!!!!!

AND THE TENSION IN BETWEEN IM SO GLAD WE HAD THAT PART BECAUSE even if the age isn't an issue they still were at a vulnerable spot at the power dynamics and im glad they waited for her break before they decide to do anything. and even the period when they tried to stay away and both parties looked like they were about to… ki..i mean like not doing well!.

and the ending is soooo sweet too I LOVE!!

office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

cw. chubby!reader, reader is an adult grad student, minimal age gap, clear consent, petnames (babe, baby, honey, darling, good boy), mommy kink, face sitting, unprotected penetration, creampie, cunnilingus, handjobs, ending is cheesy, "epilogue" of sorts involves christmas vibes, kissing, please lmk if i'm missing anything. NSFW/MDNI notes. i would feel irresponsible if i didn't acknowledge this is a romanticized portrayal of a professor-student relationship. while the relationship in this story has clear consent multiple times, irl relationships like this can be inappropriate and exploitative bc of the authority imbalance. you deserve a healthy, consensual relationship. prioritize ur well-being and autonomy. relationships should be built on mutual respect, equality and clear consent. this is a work of fiction and should be read as such. shoutout to @silvergyus for sending the prof!soob pic <3 wc. 11.6k

“Which brings us to Le Chatelier's Principle in real-world chemical reactions,” Professor Choi says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This will be review for most of you, so I won’t go into too much detail.” 

Chemistry is your favorite thing in the world. It’s real-life magic. And Professor Choi sees it that way too. His olive green chinos are wrinkled from walking from his office. The sleeves of his white button-down are pushed up so he can write freely on the whiteboard while his burgundy tie sways with his scurries. 

Sparks of passion fill his eyes as he lectures. And he never disappoints with his cheesy jokes. Although you seem to be the only one that laughs at them—maybe you’re the only one that gets them. Not many students in his class are the experts in chemistry you are. You took it as a break from your intense course load and the elective credits are a nice bonus. 

Most of your professors are so old they barely know how to turn on their laptop and are so deep into their tenure they’ve given up. If you bothered showing up to their office hours, you’d be lucky to find a professor, let alone a helpful one. So you’ve become a frequent visitor in Professor Choi’s office hours, talking about advanced chemistry he can’t wait to teach but it’ll be at least five years before he can. In the meantime, he’ll settle for nerding out with you in his office for a few hours every week.

“Great class today, everyone,” he says. “Have a great weekend and don’t hesitate to visit me during my office hours with any questions!” That sentence started out as a normal speaking voice but ended up a shout over the shuffling of the desk chairs and backpacks. You’re typically the last one out, but you save your questions for his office hours tomorrow. 

-

“Hi,” you say, lightly tapping your knuckle against his office door.

Turning around in his chair, his lips form a pout in surprise at seeing you. “Were you waiting outside? Sorry that meeting ran a little long—” He shuffles to organize his desk. 

“That’s okay.” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks up at you. Did he just look you up and down? Don’t be ridiculous. 

“What can I do ya for?”

“Right,” you start. “Can I…?” You ask, motioning toward the spare chair, waiting for his nod before sitting. “You know Professor Vaughn’s class?” You barely catch it, but his eyes roll. Professor Vaughn is the worst professor you’ve had. Boring, harsh, impatient. It doesn’t help he teaches one of the most complex forms of chemistry. “I’m not really getting this week’s content and was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course.” He smiles. And it’s devastating. The sparkle in his eyes and those dimples. Craning his neck to look at your notes riddled with red question marks, he nods. As soon as he sees the title of your notes, he says, “Let’s think about this from a quantum mechanical perspective. If we assume that the π-complex is forming, we’re talking about a stabilization due to delocalization π-electrons, right?”

In what feels like no time at all, an hour has passed and the conversation has been the complete opposite of Professor Vaughn’s lectures. Questions led down rabbit holes, leading to other theorems and more questions. As he glances up at you through his glasses, there is an undeniable tingle in your stomach.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed how attractive Professor Choi is. He’s tall, lean but undeniably strong, he has the most perfect silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes, and his pout—indescribably cute. And again—those goddamn dimples. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy, handsome, and pretty. You’d never think of doing anything with a professor, but you can’t help your mind wanders during the slower lectures. 

How long have you been staring at each other in silence? Too long probably. He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking at his watch. “My office hours have been over for a few—”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” you say, stumbling as you stand, attempting to gather your things as quickly as possible. But he shakes his head, trying to shrug it off. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I just have my emails waiting for me.”

You nod, shoving everything into your bag and heading out the door. What was that? You’re probably overreacting, you think to yourself. He’s charming because of his looks, there’s no way he’d— No. Don’t even finish that thought. 

-

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

As your hands tighten around the test tube, you know exactly what to do—you always do—but everything slips through your fingers in his class. 

"I’m trying to get the reaction to stabilize," you stammer, eyes darting between your hands, the chemical reagents lined up on the table, and your notebook.

Professor Vaugn’s expression hardens as he steps closer, looking down his nose at your station. "Trying is for high school sophomores. If you’re still trying, you’re behind."

Taking a deep breath, you carefully add three more drops to the mixture but the reaction goes wrong. Again. A plume of white smoke rises from the beaker, and the liquid turns an unexpected, muddy brown.

"Unbelievable," Vaughn mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone knows you’re the best student in your class. Well, everyone except Soren, who’s so jealous of your intelligence they can hardly stand it. They simply smirk. "I expected more from you."

Your heart sinks. You checked those calculations three times. Maybe it’s your shaky hands. Or the pressure of him looming over your shoulder. Or the other stuff on your mind. 

"Are you going to sit there and guess again, or would you like to double down on failure with your next attempt?" Vaughn sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

"Can’t manage a basic reaction?" Vaughn interrupts with his icy voice. "I’m beginning to wonder how you even made it into this program."

"I’m perfectly capable. The solution is just—"

"Wrong. Yes, we’ve established that." Vaughn’s lips curl into a patronizing sneer. "Maybe chemistry isn’t the field for you if this is the best you can manage." That got everyone’s attention—it would be an interesting sight to see you fail. It so rarely happens. Sure, you’ve been doubted before but have always proven yourself. Today would be no different.

You take a deep breath and count to yourself, One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

As you block out Vaughn’s piercing gaze and the weight of the other students’ eyes, you carefully remeasure the chemical, adjusting the proportions this time, methodically double-checking your work. You add the reagent once more, slowly, and watch as the solution begins to shift. 

A moment passes. The reaction stabilizes and the solution turns a clear, pale blue. 

"Finally," Vaughn mutters. You don’t even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. He turns to walk away but pauses. "Barely acceptable. Next time, you won’t be given the luxury of so many failures."

-

Bursting through the door upon dismissal, you can’t get to the restroom fast enough, barely making it to a stall before tears stream down your cheeks. 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you whisper to yourself. 

Sometimes, chemical reactions need to be dealt with instantly, but that’s an overwhelming amount of pressure. You give yourself five seconds before you absolutely have to deal with it. Same thing here. Cry. Count to five. Wipe your tears and move on.

But it’s difficult to move on this time. You’ve counted to five a few too many times today. But the only person you want to talk about it with is—

Professor Choi,  Are you available to meet me in Lab 270 tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been struggling with some reactions and could use some help. I’ll be there from 2:00—4:00.  If not, no worries! 

Sniffling, you hit send on your email app, shove your phone in your bag and head home. 

The next day drags on and on. Did he even get your message? Expecting an empty lab, you’re surprised to find Professor Choi waiting for you behind a laptop wearing a cute tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. His eyebrows are furrowed as his focused eyes study the computer, but they brighten at the sight of you. 

Initially surprised by your confusion, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I didn’t respond to your email, did I?” He’s already got the lab station set up. How long has he been waiting on you? “So, how’s Professor Vaughn’s class?” Did someone tell him about yesterday? God, you hope not. 

“Fine,” you deadpan. Shaking your head, you say, “I’m sorry…I’m just kinda stressed.” 

“I can go if you need some time by—”

“No,” you say, softening your tone. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

And he’s more than willing, letting you ask whatever you want, never interrupting or talking over you like most of the men in the program. He gives you space to explore ideas and theories, listening closely instead of answering everything for you.

And he’s so damn sexy when he’s the one doing the ranting. The way he talks with his hands, ones that are so big with fingers so long you wish he would wrap around your—

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? What a fucking nightmare. “Uh, sorry, just…talking to myself. Too many thoughts racing around the ole dome.”

A slight pout forms on his lips as he continues his rant. Now, the only thing you can think of are his lips wrapped around your—

“Ah!” Your hand slips toward the Bunsen burner and, great, now you’ve got a nice burn on your thumb. 

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” He stands quickly. “Let me see.” His fingers graze your palm, igniting a fiercer burn than the actual flame just did. “Run it under cold water, okay?”

In the meantime, he straightens up your station before meeting you at the sink. “Is something wrong?” His words make you jump. “You seem distracted.” 

That’s all it takes. The floodgates open. You rant about the sexist piece of shit Professor Vaughn and his power moves to intimidate you when he knows you’re the best student in the program. About how embarrassed you were in lab yesterday. Last semester when you raised your hand to correct an equation on the board and he gave you a firm talking to about respect after class. 

He watches you carefully, handing over a towel for your hands as you take a steadying breath, fighting back tears.

“Did I ever tell you why I started studying chemistry?” he asks. You sniffle, shaking your head. “My grandfather. He was a baker.” His voice softens, and you look up to find his eyes full of kindness. “Every Saturday, he’d make me work in his bakery. I didn’t mind—it felt like magic, you know? But really, it’s science. It’s all precision, measurements, timing.” 

A smile tugs at his lips. “Once, I tried baking a cake for my mom’s birthday, followed his recipe exactly. Measured the flour, the sugar, the cocoa. When I pulled it out of the oven, it was hard. Flat. I was sure he’d be disappointed, calling it a waste of time and ingredients. I was terrified. But he looked at it, smiled, and told me to try again the next day. When I asked why it didn’t work, he said I needed to ‘feel my way through it.’”

You sit there, the sting from your burn now fading, but your heart’s still aching, wanting something from him—a hug, a kiss, even just a pat on the shoulder.

“If I’d gotten it right the first time, I’d never know what overmixed batter looks like. Or that I like more cocoa than he did. Or that you should coat berries in flour.” His smile creeps up to his eyes. “Seeing how failure could make you better—it made me curious. I wanted to understand why some things worked and others didn’t, why I needed to feel my way through it, to get into the details.” He makes eye contact with you again. “That’s why I went into chemistry. Baking taught me the magic is in the little things—if you’re willing to screw up and keep going.”

Nodding, you smile back. His words hang in the air for a moment, like they’re meant to settle, but something’s missing. 

“All I’m saying is, its okay to fuck things up, okay?” he says, his candidness drawing a chuckle from you. “How else would you learn?”

-

The world’s drained of color—only hazy shades of grey and beige are left. Your palms press against a cold marble countertop with the faint sound of running water echoing in the distance. The reflection of the mirror looks like you, but not quite. The woman in the mirror has her lips painted a dark, sultry brown, a shade you’d never choose. And the outfit is far too dressy for a lecture. Shadows fall where there shouldn’t be any. 

The hallways are unfamiliar, yet you know it's the same building you visit almost every day. It's blurry, like you’re walking through a memory that isn’t yours. 

You look down at the saddle shoes on your feet clicking against the tile floor, unnervingly filling the emptiness. It feels like someone else is controlling your body but you don’t question it. You can’t. Your hand raises, knuckles brushing a wooden door before it creaks open on its own. 

On the other side of the door, Professor Choi faces a green chalkboard. Has that always been in his office? Hurriedly scribbling down equations, he glances between the board and the notebook in his hand. When he looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Come in,” he says gently, setting his notebook aside. His voice wraps around you, making the room feel smaller, closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your spine tingles. “I know,” you reply, but the words sound hollow, like you’re speaking from somewhere else. 

“Here,” he suggests, holding a piece of chalk out to you. The way he gestures toward the board is magnetic. As you take it from his hand, your fingers brush his. “What do you think of this?” An unfinished equation waits to be solved. His presence looms behind you, close but not quite touching as you reach up to solve it. Your heart pounds, every stroke of the chalk on the board heavier than it should.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. You turn to face him and he’s closer than expected, his warmth radiating against your skin. The air is thick with something unspoken. You step closer, tentative at first, then quicker, more certain. Your lips almost brush his, but he pulls back, his breath catching.

He looks down, your name a whisper on his lips, soft and pained. “I—” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, then fall back down like the weight of your gaze is too much.

“What?” You ask, your voice barely more than a breath. Your eyes dart between his, lingering on his tempting mouth. He leans in again with desire in his eyes. He wants to kiss you. You can feel it. And for a moment you think he might.

But he pulls away, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, his voice strained, as if saying the words is physically painful for him.

“Why not?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, frustration and longing lacing your tone.

His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or—”

“Why would I feel like that?” you interrupt, your voice impatient. Your heart races, pounding in your ears, drowning out reason.

“I’m your professor,” he breathes out like it’s a curse. His words only fan the flames of the tension building between you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself. It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school—you’re a grad student, close to starting the same PhD he earned barely three years ago. He’s no more than five years older.

“I don’t care,” you insist, stepping even closer, your lips a breath away from his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes darken, his resolve faltering as his gaze drops to your lips. “It’s a mistake,” he whispers, but his voice trembles with indecision, trying to convince himself more than you.

“Make the mistake,” you urge, your voice soft but sure. Your hand reaches for his tie, tugging as light as you can just to bring him that much closer. “You said it yourself, it’s okay to fuck things up.”

There’s a beat of silence, so thick it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting. And in that moment, the space between you seems to collapse, the weight of everything unsaid pulling you closer. 

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake. 

You bolt straight up, feeling around your soft bed sheets, breathless as your heart pounds from the vividness of it all. For a moment, you linger in the feeling, brushing your fingers over your lips, feeling the warmth of the almost kiss. But reality sinks in and your stomach drops.

Reaching for your phone, you check the time. Great, it’s almost time for his class. But there’s no hazy world to hide in. Skipping class might be an option but an exam reminder drags you out of bed. 

- 

Trudging across campus, your stomach sinks lower with each step. How can you look him in the eye? Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you hang your head low. Let’s just get through this exam and get outta here. 

“How’s your hand?” Professor Choi’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Looking at you like you’re the cutest puppy he’s ever seen, you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you hold out your hand. The second his fingertips touch yours, you flinch and jerk it back. 

“Um—” you start. “Better, thanks.” Turning away from him, you distract yourself with a random notebook from your bag. 

“...You okay? You shouldn’t be nervous about the exam.” When you look up, you’re met with eyes that appear…hurt? 

“No, it’s not that.” That’s not a good answer. “Just…” What would you even say? I had an incredibly vivid—and delicious—dream about you last night and now I need to know how your lips feel in real life? “Cramps.”

“Ah.” He nods and leaves you alone, awkwardly walking to the front of the class to make some announcements and general good wishes before the exam. With your fist pressed to your chin, you refuse to look up, hanging your head low even as he slides you your copy. 

There’s a bright green post-it stuck to it with a note, It’s okay to fuck it up! Your heart races as your eyes dart around searching for him. When you find him, he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile but rush to unstick it before anyone sees, storing it in your notebook for safe keeping. 

-

As you return to your apartment, the post-it stares back at you like you’re the guiltiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. It’s practically calling you a whore. And you can hardly take it anymore. You can’t bring yourself to face him for class a few days later—although skipping feels like a cardinal sin. Soon enough, though, your email dings. 

From: Choi Soobin, PhD I noticed you were absent from class today. I hope everything’s okay. The lecture notes are attached for your reference. Feel free to stop by my office hours with any questions. Professor Choi

Did your heart just flutter? Why are you walking toward his office? When you knock on the door, he stands—more like stumbles—to greet you, “Hi!” 

“Hi, Professor Choi…” You linger in the doorway, clutching your notebook tight to your chest. “Sorry I missed class—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

“You’re not overwhelmed with coursework, are you?” His eyes search yours, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes it hard to look away.

“No, no, I’m alright. I just…had a migraine this morning,” you say, shrugging slightly. “It’s gone now, though.”

He nods, easing into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze doesn’t waver and the intensity makes your pulse quicken. “So, I’m guessing you’re here to go over questions from the lecture?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Vaughn’s class I’m struggling with. His lecture today was…brutal.”

“I’m shocked,” he says sarcastically. “The man’s got a gift for making simple concepts sound like Greek.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing. “I thought it was me, but he seems to take pride in making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Trust me, it’s not you,” he says, a glint of warmth in his eyes. “He’s terrible. And annoying. And boring. And I’d tell him that.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well…” He breaks into a grin. “Maybe after I reach tenure. Though he may be retired by then.”

“Or dead,” you say matter-of-factly. He looks at you awkwardly then you both laugh, genuinely. There’s an ease to it.

He gestures to your notebook. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

-

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at that,” you say, a giggle escaping your lips. 

“You always laugh at my bad jokes,” he replies, staring at your face a little too longingly. If you were anyone else, he might find some excuse to touch you. Maybe brush a piece of lint off your shoulder, lightly touch your arm while he laughed at something you said, or something as casual as a fist bump. 

If he were any other guy, you’d be much more obvious, making it crystal clear you want him to kiss you right now. But you can’t. You don’t even know how he thinks about you. You’re probably just another student to him. 

“Well, those are all my questions,” you say, awkwardly packing your bag. 

“Yeah, you can, uh…head out…” he trails off as you start to rise from your seat. 

You’re searching for something to say, something to let you stay just a little longer. But nothing comes. He watches you walk toward the door, the silence hanging in the space between you. 

“Pens!” His voice suddenly burst out, loud enough to make you stop mid-step. “They, uh—I went to a conference last week and they gave me a ton,” he says, scrambling to gather a handful from his desk. 

You take them, your fingers brushing against his in a way that feels far too intimate. His eyes lock with yours, the touch sending a ripple of tension through you. “But you’re, uh…picky about your pens, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice softer now, almost unsure.

Laughing quietly, you say, “Yeah, but…that’s okay.” Your words are heavy with subtext you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. “Well, goodbye.” You offer him a smile, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks again.” 

“Yeah. Goodbye,” he says, but his feet shuffle forward as if he’s moving without thinking. Awkwardly reaching for a handshake, he realizes your hands are occupied. Instead, he reaches around you for the door handle, but he gets a tad too close and your brain scrambles. 

Before you can hold yourself back, you drop the pens, letting them clatter to the floor as your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet his in a rush, warm and soft. While your eyes close to savor the feeling, his widen in shock before he relaxes into your touch and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. 

It’s everything you’ve been holding back—unspoken feelings unraveling in a heartbeat. His lips move against yours with a hunger that surprises you, the world melting away as you lose yourself in the moment. You feel weightless, your pulse racing as his hands grip your waist a little tighter, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and dazed, he presses his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never gonna use those pens, are you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to anchor himself in humor, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit, your heart still pounding. “They’re garbage.”

Before you can think, you kiss him again and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours with an urgency, like he’s wanted to kiss you since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips are soft, but his kiss is demanding, making up for all the lost moments between you. For those few minutes, nothing else matters—you bask in one of the greatest kisses either of you have ever had. But not for long.

Reality catches up too quickly. You pull away suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. “Oh my god—” you gasp, backing up, your fingers graze your lips trying to make sense of what just happened. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I—” He’s stumbling through his words, just as lost as you are but neither of you regret it. “I wanted—”

“That was…” You can’t even finish your sentence. It was everything. Too much, too fast, too real. But you can’t take it back.

“I—” He’s trying to find the right words, to reassure you, to tell you he felt it too, that he wanted it just as badly. But he’s as flustered as you are, his voice rough and unsure.

“I’ll just…go throw myself off a bridge now,” you mumble. You can’t even look at him as you make a beeline for the door, your face burning with embarrassment. You think you hear him say something, but the blood rushing in your ears drowns it out.

You leave the room quickly, your heart about to burst through your chest, trying to process what just happened. The kiss lingers on your lips, a mix of exhilaration and terror swirling inside you. It’s too much to handle.

But, hey, there’s one bit of good news. At least he kissed you back. 

-

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Drop his class? It’s too late in the semester for that. And you need those credits. Wait until the end of the semester to talk to him again? Can you go that long without his lips on yours again? 

Back at your apartment, you rummage through your books to find the university’s code of conduct, hurriedly searching for anything related to “appropriate relationships,” “faculty-student relationships,” “consensual,” blah blah blah, whatever the university has coded sleeping with a professor.

The University strongly urges those individuals in positions of authority not to engage in conduct of an amorous or sexual nature with a person they are, or are likely in the future to be, in a position of evaluating.

Your eyes read over the words, “strongly urges” once more. Not totally against the rules, you suppose. Even if you did wait until the semester was over, you’d need to report it. You wish you could talk with him about it, but bringing this up is tricky. Is it moving too fast? You can’t text him, you don’t have his number. And using your student email to send a message to his faculty email that says, “Oh, by the way, I checked the rules and we’re in the clear to have sex!” is a terrible idea. 

Maybe one kiss in his office doesn’t mean anything. Oh, but it was everything. 

-

After much deliberation, you convince yourself to attend his class a few days later. You’ve brought the code of conduct along, as well as a bright pink post-it sticking out of the book. To avoid any form of small talk with him, you wait outside right until the start of class. 

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. The message couldn’t be clearer, he thought. You’re practically telling him to leave you alone. But when he finally reads the post-it, his heart flutters. Written in your handwriting, it says, It’s okay to fuck it up! complete with a smiley face. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he glances up at you to catch your gaze. And just as the slightest smile appears on his face, a big one appears on yours. You hide it with your palm as you start at the blank page of your notebook. Blinking, he shakes his head and begins his lecture. But how can you concentrate now? 

You’ve gotta give it to him, he delivers his lecture perfectly. If it were you, you’d barely be able to think. Hell, you barely can throughout the whole thing. 

Now that you’ve gotten that smile of permission, you finally let yourself daydream. 

Has his ass always been that cute? Has he always been that tall? Has his voice always been that deep and sexy? 

You don’t even know what he’s talking about, but that’s okay, you can always stop by his office hours. “What do you think?” He asks. 

Oh shit, he’s looking at you for an answer. He can always rely on you to keep class moving along when everybody else is dead silent. You shake out of your thoughts, panic-reading the board to come up with something. It's similar to your discussion you had the last time you went to his office hours. The time that ended in that gorgeous kiss. Throwing together an answer, his eyes brighten as he cheers, “Exactly!” 

Oh my god. He’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could just gobble him up. 

-

“So, I suppose we should talk about…” Professor Choi trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like it’s obvious what he’s getting at. And it is. But you stay quiet. You wanna hear him admit it. You raise an eyebrow, playing coy.

You decided to press your luck by visiting his office outside scheduled office hours—right after class—to simply test the waters and gauge his reaction to the code of conduct and that kiss…that incredible kiss. 

“You know…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, sighing like okay, fine, I guess I’ll say it. “I like you and you like me, right?” His voice dips just slightly, enough for you to notice the hesitation. “Unless I’m totally misreading—”

“No! You’re not…misreading anything,” you’re quick to say, along with a chuckle. Phew—he was worried there for a second. So goddamn cute. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He exhales a small laugh, but his smile is strained, cautious. “I want to make sure you don’t feel…weird about this.” Hand sliding nervously along the edge of his desk, he traces the wood grain before his eyes flick up to meet yours. Truth be told, he’d never do something like this with a student. Never want to make anyone feel pressured. But he never thought he’d feel like this. Giddy and blushy like you’re his first crush. 

“Why would I feel weird?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. You’ve thought about this—about him—far too much for any of it to feel weird.

“I’m just terrified you feel like you need to do something about this.” You’re taken aback, confusion visibly etched across your face. “You know, because I’m your professor or because I’m in the department and I know your plans for a PhD here.” His voice softens, vulnerability creeping in. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”

“I don’t,” you say gently. “It’s not like that.”

He nods, though the tightness in his jaw doesn’t disappear. “Because if you ever even remotely feel like I’m pressuring you, I want you to tell me. Immediately. I mean it.”

“No,” You shake your head, almost too fast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like that. Not at all. I’ve thought about this…about us, a lot.” Your voice falters for a moment as his eyes widen, softening in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You weren’t expecting him to look at you like that—so open, so relieved.

His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to reach out to you. “Yeah?”

You nod again, more confidently this time. “But I think we should wait until the semester’s over. Before we…you know…do anything.”

He smiles gently and leans back, visibly more at ease. “I think so too.” 

But you didn’t realize how fucking difficult it would be to get through the last six weeks of the semester. Every class you sit there, thighs pressed together thinking about the dirtiest things you want him to do to you. Every office hour you went to, you could practically swim through the thickness of the tension between you two. 

It didn’t help how cute he was being. Post-its he’d leave on every exam of yours—You’re gonna do great! You’ve got this. Trust your instincts.—encouragement no other student got. You kept every one of them in your bedside table drawer. 

When finals week finally arrives, it wasn’t just about exams; it was about counting the hours until you could finally be with him. Or at least talk to him like he wasn’t your professor. As he handed over your final exam, the familiar green post-it note was stuck to it: Happy Finals Week! 

Your internal scream was so loud, you’re worried your classmates heard it. You’d pre-written a post-it to stick to it once you returned the exam. It had your phone number, a smiley face, and the words: Since you’re not my professor anymore. 

-

After a full day of checking your phone every twenty seconds, you started to give up. Was he just playing you? Did someone else see the note? Did he change his mind? But finally, you receive a text.

hi! this is soobin (professor choi lol). i was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something?

soobin!! omg yes i would love to get dinner with you :) how’s tomorrow? 

how about right now? if you want, of course! no pressure we can totally wait until tomorrow it’s up to you

You squealed into your pillow, kicking and giggling like an idiot. Should you be flirty back? 

i can be ready in 30 min. 364 oakridge drive. it’s an apartment building- i’ll meet you downstairs. 

be there in 45 :) 

-

Like a perfect gentleman, Soobin meets you at the passenger door, swinging it open with a charming smile before gently closing it behind you. The slow walk up to his front door makes your stomach stir. He has to fumble through his keys to unlock it. 

Once inside, he slips his shoes off quietly, revealing cozy patterned socks that make you smile. Meticulously, he hangs his jacket on a coat tree and places his keys in a speckled clay catch-all that rests on a table next to a houseplant. As he walks toward the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder, his voice low and inviting. “Do you want a drink or something?” The warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re drawn to this softer side of him. In class, his tone is bright and dorky. In his office, it’s casual and laid-back. At dinner, it was sweet and charming. But now? Now it’s sultry, almost sexy. Like he can’t wait to be with you but would never, ever pressure you. 

“Hot tea?” You suggest with a steady voice, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, switching on his tea kettle. In the meantime, you take a look around his much neater than expected apartment. 

The mid-century modern furniture is impeccably arranged—a sleek sofa, a low coffee table, and a stylish armchair with an even more stylish decorative pillow. Perfectly nurtured plants thrive around the room, adding a green vibrancy to the minimalist backdrop, breathing life into the space. A gallery wall above his expensive-looking couch features travel photos, beautiful art, and a few subtly science-inspired pieces. In the corner across the couch is a sleek electric fireplace underneath a huge TV. 

“Who’s this?” you ask, your heart swelling as a fluffy gray cat glares at you through one half-open eye. Her perfectly groomed fur and regal posture make her look like she owns the place. Just then, Soobin steps into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea, filling the air with a warm spice. 

“That’s Molly…short for Molecule,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s sweet.” 

Extending your hand toward the cat, he starts to sniff you. “Hi, M—wait,” you pause, looking up at Soobin with a teasing smile. “Molly, short for Molecule?” He nods, his grin widening. “You’re adorable,” you tell him. Has anyone ever blushed quite like he did just now?

He stares down at his feet, clearly caught off guard. “You’re,” he starts. “Well, you’re cute too.” His sincerity makes your smile grow even stronger.

“Can I sit?” you ask, nodding toward the couch.

“Oh,” his smile falters for a moment. “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.” You plop down on his couch, settling into the surprisingly soft cushions. Molly clearly doesn’t think the couch is big enough for the two of you, so she strides over to probably the nicest cat tree you’ve ever seen.

You sip your hot tea and your body finally relaxes. As you reach to sit it on the coffee table, he politely asks, “I don’t mean to be a square, but can you use a coaster?” 

“Of course,” you say, complying with the request. “So, tell me,” you begin, clearing your throat. “How’d I do on my final?” Humming, he stands to rummage through his messenger bag slumped over a dining chair. You gasp, “A ninety-seven?” Thumbing through the pages, you find a single red X on possibly the easiest question you’ve had on an exam since high school: What is the atomic number of oxygen? “Are you kidding me?” 

Any attempt to mask your embarrassment is impossible. It only deepens when you look up and catch him already watching you—lips pressed tight, failing miserably to hide a smug, amused smile.  

“I, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “I got that one wrong on purpose. You know, so as to not raise any suspicion.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, did you now?” You nod. “That was on the exam just so Toby wouldn’t get a zero.” You nod begrudgingly. “And you put 10! That’s not even close. That’s—”

“Neon,” you grumble. “Yeah I know…” you say, avoiding his eyes as he laughs playfully. 

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

“Reactive nonmetal,” you cut him off. “I know, okay?” You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin betrays you. “It was a high-pressure environment. Sitting in an exam room with your professor watching you."

"I barely looked up from my laptop,” he reminds you. 

"Your presence is distracting enough," you shoot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, so my intellectual aura threw you off?”

“I dunno…is that what you think, professor?” You ask cheekily. “Maybe it was something else.” You’ve tossed the exam onto the coffee table, moving closer. 

“Like what?” 

“Just…you. You’re distracting.” You smirk, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, like they’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue. 

Intrigued, he tilts his head and asks, “What about me?” There’s something magnetic in the way he looks at you—like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it, to savor the way it sounds coming from your lips. 

You hum, tracing the lines of his body with your eyes, mapping out uncharted territory before exploring it. You don’t want to move too fast, but every fiber of your being screams for more. He’s not lighting a fire inside you—he’s setting the whole forest ablaze. Sure, your imagination has been running rampant since he returned your feelings six weeks ago, but now that you’re here, he scrambles every thought.

“Your eyes…” you say while yours flick over his face, taking in every curve, every freckle, every lash. “They’re so pretty.” 

A smile—small but real—tugs at the corners of his lips. The kind that’s private, meant just for you. His eyes darken as he leans in, the space between you shrinking. You glance down, noticing the way his long fingers curl around the mug handle. There’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds it. You take it from him gently, setting it atop a coaster as quietly as you can.

“Your hands…” you whisper, fingers barely brushing his knuckles, tension coiled under his skin. They’re hands that have worked, experimented, written things down—hands you want on you. Guiding one to your thigh, the squeeze he returns sends a shudder through you. 

Everything between you is electric. Your breaths come faster now, more desperate. Every inch you move toward him is a test, a slow-motion collapse of restraint.

“Your legs…” A soft breathless chuckle escapes as you glance down. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Boldness surges through you like a current and you hike one leg over both of his, straddling him. The shift is seismic. His hands move to your hips, gripping you, afraid to let go. The heat of his touch spreads through you, anchoring you in place, though it feels like everything around you is spinning.

“And your lips…” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. “Oh my god, those fucking lips.” You can’t stop staring at them, just a breath away now, soft and wet. Your pulse races. 

You cup his face, lifting his chin until his eyes meet yours again. His pupils are blown wide, the desire in them unmistakable. Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, and the moment stretches, suspended. You lean in just enough to feel his breath on your lips. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

It isn’t tentative—it’s dam-breaking. Like he’s been starving for it, holding back for years. His lips are soft but urgent as his hands tighten around your hips to pull you closer. You taste jasmine tea on his lips, a subtle sweetness mingling with the spice of his cologne—clove, pepper, something dark and addictive. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t believe I had to wait so long to kiss you again.” You kiss him again and he moans sweetly into your mouth. Just as the kiss deepens, he retreats, his breath ragged. “You okay?” 

Nervously nodding, he says, “Yeah,” but his eyes flicker away. He tries to kiss you again, but you place your hand on his chest, gently stopping him.

“Wait,” you say, eyes searching his face. “What’s going on? Am I being too—”

“No,” he says, almost a little too urgently. “It’s not that. It’s just…” His hands fall to the couch. Bracing to tell the truth, he squeezes his eyes shut before adding, “I need to tell you something.” You sit back on your heels, still in his lap but giving him room to speak. 

“What is it?” You ask softly. 

“There’s this thing… I haven’t—uh…” He stumbles over the words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Soobin?” you ask, your voice gentle but steady. That’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name. It feels utterly…vulnerable. “Are you a virgin?” The question is delicate. Shutting his eyes again, he takes a deep breath. 

“No,” he says. “Well, not exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. What is that even supposed to mean? “It’s just…it’s been a while. And before then, I hadn’t had a lot of sex. And I haven’t had any…recently.” 

“How long?” you encourage, your eyes softening.

“A year.” 

You hum softly in acknowledgement, watching his confidence falter. Instead of pulling back, you lean forward, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his neck. He trembles under your touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips, your hands moving all over his body, claiming him.

“Oh, Professor Choi,” you whisper, your voice dripping with heat and promise. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

-

As your breath slows, you sit up and let your hand linger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Tell me,” you start. “What do you like?” 

“Um,” he swallows, trying to force the lump down his throat. He’s so hesitant but he finally says, “Touching.” 

“You touching my body or me touching yours?” 

He exhales shakily. “The first,” he says, confirming with a squeeze to your hips. 

You hum against his ear. What are you gonna do with him? Tease him forever? Let him have his way with you? You ask, “Why don’t you take my shirt off for me?” 

Gracing his hands over your arms, he grounds himself again before asking, “You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” You nod, guiding his hands to the top button of your blouse, letting him slip it through the buttonhole. One by one, he exposes more of your skin, his heart thumping harder with each passing second. Pushing the silky fabric past your shoulders until your top half is only covered by a bubblegum pink mesh bra, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—except for the red embroidered hearts over your nipples.

After easing the shirt out from your trousers, you reach back to pull at the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He slips his finger under one of your bra straps, pulling it to the side, but you stop him. “Wait. It’s your turn.” 

Tugging on his tie, you slip it through the collar and unbutton his dress shirt. Seeing his body bare in front of you for the first time, you’re practically drooling. You indulge in running your hands all over his body, lean with subtle muscles, from his chest to the bottom of his abs. 

“How come you got to touch me if I didn’t get to touch you?” He asks innocently. 

“You’re right,” you chuckle. “I’m sorry.” You smile and sit up to press your palms against his and let your fingers intertwine. Your heart melts and you fear you may throw up. “Did you want to take my bra off first?” He nods. Fumbling fingers reach behind you to snap it off, letting it fall to the couch. As he sees your bare tits, his eyes widen and he lets out the cutest little Oh. 

He’s hesitant to do anything. You have to guide his hands to massage your tits—and they’re the perfect size for you. 

“You’re so…soft,” he says, looking up at your eyes, like he’s not sure if that was okay to say. 

“You like them?” He nods eagerly. Experimentally swiping a thumb across a nipple, it hardens at his touch while you let out a sharp gasp. 

“You like that,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can I taste?” Nodding, you lean forward, welcoming his lips. His body finally relaxes as he moans against your skin. Circling the tip of his tongue around your nipple, he’s teasing you. And oh my god do you love it. 

One of your hands threads through his hair and you stuff the other down your pants, but he grabs your wrist softly. 

“That’s not fair,” he whispers and you concede, keeping your hands to yourself. With one hand, he stuffs your tit back in his mouth while the other plays with your other nipple. His hot, wet mouth on one nipple and his teasing fingers playing with the other sends waves of pleasure through you that may send you over the edge.

If you don’t do something to ease your need, you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to take this. You resort to grinding against his hard cock, making his hips buck. 

Lifting your legs off his, you swing around to sit next to him, palming his cock over his trousers. Desperately clawing at the waistband, you unbutton and unzip his pants, encouraging him to kick them off. He stands to slip them off and as you reach for the band of his boxers, he stops you. 

“Your turn,” he whispers. And you comply. But not without a show. Standing slowly, you push him to the couch and turn your back to him. As you push your pants down, your ass looks delicious in your thong that matches your bra—mesh bubblegum pink with red trim. When you turn back, he’s fisting himself over his underwear. 

“Nuh-uh, that’s not fair,” you say. Returning next to him on the couch, you feel him over his boxers and your mouth waters. Goddamn you can’t wait for him to be inside you. “Do you have any lube?” He nods and shortly returns with a barely used tube. 

While he stays standing, you sit up on the couch, running your hands across his muscular thighs and perfect pelvis. Looking up at him, his eyes are bright, darting all over your body like he’s afraid to miss something. He fiddles with his waistband, flipping the elastic over softly. A small smile flicks across your lips before you tug his boxers down his legs, leaving trails of kisses along the way.

Encouraging him to sit down, you look down at his cock, long and hard and dripping with precum. Finally, you drag your fingertips up and down his cock before squeezing him. He moans like you’ve never heard a man moan before. Laying your head on his shoulder, you sprinkle kisses all over his skin, finding a spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. 

He hisses and—almost involuntarily—wraps one of his hands around yours to use his long fingers to guide your hand up and down. There’s something magical about someone with so little experience telling—no, showing—you what to do with his body. It’s electrifying. He hasn’t been touched in so long that he’s desperate to get off and can’t waste time with words. But no words need to be shared. His movements tell you what speed he likes. 

Snaking his other arm around you, he stuffs his fingers in your hair and clenches his fist, subconsciously tugging the strands. His lips are right against your ear, breathing rapidly and heavily and he can hardly take it anymore. You watch his chest rise and fall as he clenches your hair, moaning getting quicker, he squeaks and whines. 

Hurriedly pressing his lips to your temple, you can’t take your eyes off his cock as he shoots short spurts of cum all over his stomach. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath before he gives you a sweet smile. 

You don’t let up with kisses all over his body. Sprinkling kisses here and there while he cleans himself up with a hand towel he’d brought with him when he got the lube from his bedroom. Once he’s clean, he slouches down the couch. 

“Will you sit on my face?” His eyes are ever so sweet and innocent, like he’s finally able to test all his fantasies. “Please…” You hum like you’re only considering it, but we all know you’ll say yes. “Please, mommy?” Everything halts. 

“Mommy?” 

“F-fuck—” he sits up, ears turning redder than you’ve ever seen them—anyone’s ears for that matter. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, no…” you say gently, cupping his jaw to make him look at you. You can’t help yourself—you press your lips to his again and you lose yourself in his intoxicating kiss. But you break it and say, “Keep calling me that.” 

“M-mommy?” You hum. Before you give him what he asked for, you shove your tit in front of his lips. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. His plush lips wrap around your hard nipple while he thumbs the other. It feels like fucking heaven.

“That’s my good boy.” He lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard in your goddamn life. His eyebrows furrow, looking up at you through his lashes. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Yes, mommy. Of course.” 

“Soobin,” you breathe in disbelief, dropping your head back. “You’re so sexy, I swear to god.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “That’s you.” He smiles. “Will you please sit on my face now?” He slouches down again without waiting for an answer. “Please.” You hike your leg up to rest your foot against the back of the couch, gently hovering over him. But he wraps his hands around your hips to yank you down. As he flicks his tongue over your clit, you might be embarrassed by the volume of your moan, but there’d be no reason to. 

“I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “This was always what I was best at.” You chuckle. “Wait, no—” he shakes his head. “I’m good at the other stuff too. I hope.” Returning his tongue to your clit, you gasp and fall forward, bracing yourself against the back of the couch. He seizes the opportunity to get fully entranced in your taste. 

There's an impossible contrast—your body melts, muscles soft and pliant as you surrender to the pleasure but, at the same time, goosebumps prickle along your skin, sharp and electric. Warmth and vulnerability layered with a thrill that leaves you shivering, somehow both at ease and on edge.

But then he snakes his hand behind your ass to tease your asshole with his pinky. And it's overwhelming. Your knees are so weak you can hardly hold yourself up. The way his hands feel on your body, touching you in all the right places, flicking his tongue perfectly, moaning so temptingly along with the built up tension—it is so much. So. Fucking. Much. 

It builds in your stomach—teetering on the edge and god you only hope he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. But you can’t form words to tell him that. But he knows. 

And then it happens. 

You feel like you’re floating—or falling may be more accurate—as your orgasm washes over you, thighs quite literally quivering around his face as you come undone on top of him. For him. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you roll and plop to the couch and he sloppily replaces his tongue with his fingers. You make a mental note to show him exactly where your clit is later. How is it that he found it so easily with his tongue but missed it with his hand? You guess he was right—oral is what he’s best at. Your chest heaves with your deep breaths as you come down from your high, watching him smirk at you. 

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck?”

“What?” He chuckles. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I told you I’m good at it.” 

“Where’s your bedroom? This couch is too small for what we’re about to do.” 

Once he shuts his bedroom door to keep Molly out, he pulls you by your waist to press his bare body to yours and kisses you again so romantically it takes your breath away. 

“Wow,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Oh my god, shut up.” You go straight back in for more kisses. But you break it— “But not literally, though. Please keep saying stuff like that.” You giggle together, slowly falling toward the bed until you’re gently laid on your back and he’s over top of you. 

“Can I, like, kiss all over your body?”

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t need to ask.”

And then he does exactly what he wants. Starting at your lips, he moves to the corner of your mouth, trailing behind your ear and down your neck. The way his breath tickles your neck sends shivers down your spine and you need more, more, more. 

As you lay there, simply basking in the feeling of him taking his time exploring every inch of you with the softest lips you’ve ever felt, you can’t help but be giddy. He’s tentative in some areas and eager in others. After he kisses the sensitive skin under your breast, he carefully observes your reaction. When he delicately presses his lips to your pelvis, his eyes flutter up to yours nervously. 

“Soobin,” you say breathlessly. He hums against your tummy, shaky hands running up your thighs. “I need you please.”

“You need me?” You nod. “Where do you need me, mommy?” You groan, arching your back, not even knowing where to start. You need him everywhere. 

“Inside me,” you say. “Please, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.” 

“Have you?” He asks innocently, using his fingers to play with the folds of your pussy so casually, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I should be the impatient one.” But you know why he’s taking it so slow. He’s nervous as hell right now. 

Aligning his cock with your entrance, he slowly pushes himself inside you. And it's utterly exhilarating. For both of you. He falls forward, framing your face with his forearms, digging his nose into your neck. 

“Fuck…” He whispers shakily. Your nails drag down his back at his inexperienced hip rolls. “Oh my god, what are you doing to me?” Despite his inevitable desperation, his thrusts are controlled. He’s trying his very best at least. But his cock is so fucking perfect, you figure he’d make you feel good no matter what he does. Although, a little part of you thinks about how good he’ll be at fucking you in a few months after a little practice. Or lots of practice. 

He whispers swears, your name, and mommy…over and over again. Then he sits up, looking down at your body. Awkwardly fumbling as if he wants to say something, his mouth isn’t cooperating with his brain. He slowly comes to a stop, sliding out of you and barely touches your calf. 

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—” 

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—” 

“You’ve never had someone on their knees for you?” You ask and he silently shakes his head. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Of course I’ll get on my knees for you.” You oblige to his request, turning yourself around and arching your back to give him a perfect view of your ass. He groans at the simple sight of your body. He swipes his hands over the swell of your ass, squeezing here and there. 

He clears his throat and asks, “What do I do?”

“Oh,” you chuckle lightly. “Just get on your knees and guide yourself in. Make sure it’s the right hole,” you say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension a bit. 

But when he’s finally inside you again, it’s heaven. And he indulges in himself a bit—thrusting faster, harder, making your ass jiggle. The lewd sounds of his cock in your wetness and his hips smacking your skin makes it all the more erotic. But it doesn’t take long before—

“I like it better the other way, I think,” he says matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, babe,” you say, flipping back over and spreading your legs. And he slides right back inside you, letting his head fall back. But your tits bouncing are simply too tempting not to look at. They’re why he prefers it this way, so why not look at them as much as he can? He retreats a bit, opening his mouth like he wants to ask you something but he’s too shy. 

“What is it, baby?”

“I was just wondering if you…if you could—would you want to be on top?” His tone is genuinely sweet. “Like what position do you like?”

“Missionary’s my favorite too,” you say. “But I would, hm, I would really like to be on top for a bit.” Switching quickly, you align yourself over his cock and sink down on him so, so, so slowly, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Oh my god, Soobin. Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. The feeling stretches all the way to your toes. “I need to hump you like crazy for a bit,” you say with a chuckle. He nods like that’s perfectly fine with me, mommy. 

And you do exactly that—bounce on his cock as fast as your body lets you, relieving that built-up tension. Over the last few months, you wanted to jump his bones every time you were in the same room and that feeling never let up, like there was a tension thermometer in your body that was constantly stuck at boiling. 

But perhaps it was a bit more painful for him because an occasional rut up into you isn’t enough anymore. He holds your hips to keep you in place, fucking up into you as fast as he can. Head dropping back, he groans, your name leaving his lips. 

“Mommy?” His eyebrows furrow, looking utterly pathetic. “Let’s switch back. Please.” Hiking your leg over his hips, you land roughly on your back. Gently grabbing your hands, he pins them above your head, aligns his cock at your entrance, and slides inside you, rolling his hips so deliciously. As he kisses you, he swallows your moans. Trailing down your neck, he whispers, “Please tell me I’m making you feel good, Mommy.” 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you say, “Fuck, you’re making me feel so good.” 

Slowing his thrusts, he asks, “What else would you like me to do?” Smiling up at him, you rub his thighs. Waiting for an answer, he covers your collarbone in kisses, making his way back to your ear. After nibbling gently on your earlobe, he whispers, “Tell me how to make you feel even better.” Oof. Shivers. 

“Rub my clit,” you say. He sits up, fumbling with his fingers. “Use your thumb,” you giggle. “Wait.” Reaching for his hand, you let spit pool in your mouth before wrapping your lips around his thumb. Sucking on it, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he follows your instructions, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he fucks you, listening intently to every instruction, every a little to the lefts, up a little bit mores, and he never gets impatient. 

Your back arches impossibly high and you say, “I’m close, babe. Don’t stop.” You rub your own nipple, but he moves your hand out of the way, wetting his thumb with his own spit before circling it for you. 

Everything has been building to this moment. Staring at him in every lecture, longing for his touch. That kiss in his office was just the start of your addiction. Attending his office hours didn’t help, but you couldn’t stay away. You needed to be closer to him. To feel heat radiating off his body. To smell his spicy cologne. To watch his fingers wrap around his pen and wish they were wrapped around something else. 

All of it was for this moment right here. Cumming around his cock for the first time. You can’t wait any longer. There’s a white hot burning in your belly that’s getting more furious by the second. His name leaves your mouth in a yelp before fireworks explode inside you. 

Your legs shake around his waist as he fucks you through it, not changing a single thing. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing your nipple to make sure it’s the most perfect orgasm you’ve ever had—not too much and not too little. 

And it’s neither. Instead, it’s perfection. You knew it would be. It seems to last forever but somehow not long enough. As soon as you finish, you miss it. 

Catching your breath, your vision clears up as you look up at him with a smile. He shyly asks, “How was that?” 

You take a deep breath and say, “Oh my god, that was so good.” Rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs, you can tell he’s getting impatient. But still—he’d never pressure you in a million years. 

Bending to kiss your neck again, he whispers, “Can I cum inside you?” You nod frantically. 

“Please.” 

“I have condoms if you want.” You think about it for a second. Really. You would love nothing more than to feel him fill you up. But it’s risky. “Mommy…” His hips slowly start moving again, encouraging a decision from you. “What are you thinking?”

“Cum inside me, please. Wanna feel all of you,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that sends your head reeling. He sits up and squeezes your thighs over and over, adoring the way your body feels in his hands. Soft and squishy and intoxicating. Licking your own thumb, you pinch and rub one of his nipples, making his mouth drop open. He didn’t even think of having his own nipples played with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps. You praise him, Cum inside me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me. I want you to feel so good for me, okay? And he’s rutting his hips into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure. You simply can’t get enough. You want him inside you forever and ever. “You’re…” he trails off. “You’re gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” Like it’s a command, his hips stutter and his cum fills you up, warm and sweet and heavenly. Swears and other inaudible words you hope are compliments spill out of his mouth. Falling forward, he digs his face into your neck once more, twitching until he comes to a stop, taking deep breaths. 

You expect a warm smile to echo his warm cum filling you up but he stays put. In fact, he doesn’t move or say anything for quite some time. So much time passes that his cock has slipped out of you on its own, his cum leaking down the swell of your ass. 

You finally break the silence, “Are you okay?” He nods awkwardly. “Look at me.” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” He still won’t budge. “Soobin, what’s going on?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?” 

“Calling you mommy,” he finally sits up. “I was just caught up in the moment—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Honey,” you giggle, sitting up with him. “I told you I liked it.” 

“You weren’t just saying that?”

“I don’t think I would’ve came that hard if I didn’t like it.” 

His eyes brighten before adding, “I guess so.” It genuinely was one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had. Surely, he has to know that, right? But wait— 

“Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god,” he’s finally relaxed a little, peppering your face with kisses. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear.” He stands, walking into his en-suite to get you a towel, damp with warm water. “So…” he starts awkwardly. “Should we, like, report this to the dean?” 

“Is that your way of asking me to be exclusive?” He blushes as you brush some of his hair behind his ear. “Because my answer is absolutely.” You press your lips together. “Although, can we hold off for a while? Just until next semester starts?”

“Be in our own little world for a bit?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re taking a break until next semester, right? Are you working right now?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I got a bunch of scholarships to pay for school,” you say proudly. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“Because I’m the smartest person you know,” you say cheekily. 

“No lectures until next semester, so I’m pretty much free.” He smiles, clearly wanting to say something more, but bites his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “This may be moving way too fast, but do you maybe wanna spend the holidays here? With me?”

The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Both of you admit it’s too fast. But neither of you care. The fireplace roars as you decorate his Christmas tree together, wrapped presents, baked cookies, everything you could think of that ooey-gooey couples do. 

And of course, nightly sex is a bonus. You simply can’t get enough of each other. And you just about lose it when you walk into the kitchen on Christmas morning. He’s standing at the counter wearing a Santa hat, flannel pajama pants, and a black tank top making your favorite tea. 

“Ah, there she is! Good morning,” he says with a smile. You take a plate full of chocolate chip waffles from him. But not before he kisses you. Cupping your cheek, he pulls you into perhaps the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had. You can feel his smile on your lips. 

And everything feels absolutely perfect. You think you may be dreaming, but he feels so very real at this moment. And his voice is clear as day, “Merry Christmas.” 

[chiisanajimi]

woe, sonic fankid be upon ye 💥

introducing starlight the hedgehog!

they're a son/silv/shad fankid essentially LOL

text from the image says:

- being of chaos produced from residual energy left by sonic, shadow, and silver when they use chaos powers - like when u fry something in oil and some bits come off... or like when u boil pasta and the water gets starchy... - the bits eventually merged their shared qualities to form this artificial hedgehog and dropped it in front of silver while he was mid-transition between timelines/dimensions

tl;dr made from Energy Soup created by extensive use of chaos emeralds. a cheerful thing with lots to learn :)

pronouns are probs gonna change but for now it's she/he/they (or basically, generally feminine but prefers masc/neutral terms)

fun facts:

the quills sticking up is not consistent cuz it depends on how much he gives a shit about looking clean-cut on any given day

silver only really used the emeralds in '06 and that one time in the metal virus arc of IDW (if he's used them more than that don't spoil me on it LOL im still getting through the comics) so his influence is not as strong as the other 2. it comes through mostly in personality (generally pleasant, socially inept)

starlight exists in strict juxtaposition against the other hedgehogs because unlike all 3 of them they literally were created for no purpose other than to exist. hence she has a weaker sense of self than silver or shadow and especially sonic. it's fun to think of them raising a kid and having to manually instruct them how to enjoy living

hypothetically has access to chaos powers like her "dads" but since chaos energy is also literally her molecular makeup she basically falls apart if she uses it too much, hence the inhibitors

also i say "dads" but the only one of the 3 who really acts parental towards them is shadow (more on that later)

[nightbutterfly09]

I saw this on my page, and I was like, I must deliver. This is such a good ideaaa 😭

(Im working on three different fanfics, save me TvT)

Thank you @keyhai ��

// I also paid attention to your comment under the post //

How cute~

When Sae arrived at his new home at thirteen the new school, the dorm building seemed huge. Heck, the whole of Spain seemed monumental compared to Kanagawa. The prefecture he knew so well. He couldn't exactly comprehend how he’d be studying, living and practicing here. 

It was hard at first. Getting to know his age group, his new teammates who were all a little older than him. Sometimes he was close to giving up. Occasionally his Spanish teacher had to consol the little boy. That old man was his only hope. The only parent-figure he could keep in touch with. 

The only person who could understand him. Without that stupid language barrier he learned to hate.

All the bullying he received as a child. Just because he is younger and japanese. He learned how cruel the world is.

Everything changed when he saw a taller girl rush across the hallway. A football and a sports bag in hand. Sae scoffed. “She must be late for practice… slacker” or so he thought.

A sense of familiarity hit him. Clueless why. He definitely hasn't seen you in school, nor at the dorms. What he did know, was that she seemed to be much older.

A week later the Re Al football teams got together to say bye to a retiring coach. Sae has learned that it's a custom to show up to the retirement party for everyone who plays in the club regardless of age, time spent there, or whether or not they knew the person in question.

For Sae Coach Emiliano said nothing. He didn't know him, nor did he hear about the old man. Ever. Each group dressed in their respective jerseys gathered around the man. Sae didn't understand how could people adore this Emiliano, if he has never ever heard his name before. Surely if he was an important figure he’d know.

“Do you want some cookies?” A girl looked down at him. Not much taller, just, maybe a tiny bit. Fine, who is he kidding. She was towering over him. 

He saw how you looked at him. It was a gentle gaze. Not one he is used to. He had no idea what you just said. He understood that you asked him if he wanted something. It was above him to know the word cookie. 

“Yo! Y/N El idiota no tiene idea de lo que estás diciendo! El es japones.” //Yo! Y/N The idiot has no idea what you're saying! He's Japanese.// A guy around your age shouted. He didn't need to understand everything to hear the mean tone in between. He was totally looking down on him. Like everyone. “Oh, sorry, then do you know english?” You smiled.

You smiled. 

Smile?

That guy just told you how he is an idiot and all that. But instead of the usual racism and downgrading, you smiled. At him.

He felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes met yours and they lingered for a while. He saw that you were getting nervous by just staring at each other so he quickly had to say something. “Not the best.. but I know more.”

“That's wonderful! Don't listen to Rodrigo, he doesn't know what he’s talking about. One time, he slammed the ball into the coach’s head- “ you laughed. “He got punished for 3 weeks straight.” 

Your laughter struck a chord within his heart. What was this feeling? He didn't mind being with you even if you were speaking way too fast. He did understand what you found funny though.

Maybe there is a hint of light within the world.

~~~~~~~~

Days passed. You two got closer. Started meeting more due to your training regimen changing. The girls team played at the same time with his team, just across from them. 

With his translator in tow they finally arrived to the court. It was time for practice to start.

His eyes occasionally drifted to the other team. You were captivating. You mainly passed the ball around. You also looked to be a midfielder. 

He hates that position. He wanted to be a striker all along. Hell, even his promise with Rin is about being a striker, but the coach thought this would suit him best. “I’ll show him, I can be a stiker if I want to, I’ll hog all the goals” or so he thought. 

But as he watched you play maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe passing it around, knowing who is in the best position is maybe more attractive than taking all the glory.

Plus, a striker has to be loved by all. Which he isn't. Or so he's told. “Sae! Coach wants you guys to watch the girls play. They have a training match in 20 minutes!” His translator informed. He nodded and went to the other court. Not that he wasn't already looking at you.

Throughout the whole match you were captivating. Not only for him but many of his teammates found themselves focusing on you.

That was how he fell in love- With the midfielder position. naturally..

~~~~~~

Days of knowing each other became weeks. Later became months. Even years. Years of staying in contact. 

Just like how silent stares, occasional greetings, shared laughs, smiles, nods at each other made your relationship somewhat questionable.

These stolen moments eventually became stolen kisses. They lasted for a moment in public, but when you started going on dates, sharing food and all of the above it all became clear to Sae.

He fell in love. With his senior.

“This is a joke Y/N” he sighed tiredly as you tried feeding him like a little boy. “Come on! Don't be a party pooper, come, say aah~” 

“I am not a child dumbass!” he scoffed and grabbed the fork. “Eat” as he nudged it towards you.

“Oh come on, you are shorter! You can't feed me!!” What logic even is that… not that it mattered. When you were with each other, making sense wasn't always important. Or so he learned.

“Just was. You live in the past mi vida” he flirted. True, as the years passed he became more attractive. You started looking at him differently. Eventually he was more than a younger student. Someone you should help and support. He became someone you could find solace in. “I do not-” but as you opened your mouth the cake found its way to it. 

It was yummy. The fruits and the cream balanced each other so well. Wasn't too sweet, but not too sour.

He saw how much you liked it and couldn't help but also take a bite. From the same fork. /Indirect kiss- your brain interrupted the moment/

“You know, I used to hate Spain. The language, the city, the people, even soccer for a while.. but maybe it's not so bad afterall.” “Think of it this way, if you weren't here, you’d never know me” you grinned. 

“True, although… sometimes I think that’d be less troublesome” “Stop being mean!!!” You whined.

He chuckled. “Come on, eat the rest of this” he said as he pushed the plate closer to you. “Only if I can feed you!” “No” “Come on! Just one bite!!” You squint your eyes in a pout.

“Fine, but only because I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” he blushed and sighed. 

He bit down the fork you placed to his mouth and slowly leaned back. “How cute~” he blushed. But it's whatever. Your giggle meant more to him than stupid cake. “I am not 13 anymore Y/N.” He retorted and looked down at the cake.

You took a bite from the cookie on the side. Galleta. It was pretty funny to him. You probably didn't ponder about this. Nor did you remember your first question towards him. But to him, that sentence was life changing.

…Well not the cookies, but you get the point.

Coming to Spain was worth it. The hours of studying was worth it. Interacting with others was worth it. Saying bye to his childish self, was worth it.

That's how Spanish lessons became important. How feelings crept up within him. How he learned about others. And about himself. How he fell more in love with soccer. Maybe at the end of the day, the language barrier has one tiny advantage. Maybe being “special” or out of place within a country isn't always so terrible.

The world may have changed at 13. But change, isn't always a synonym for bad.

[bloos-bloo]

Welcome to the circus..

….part 2-

THE CIRCUS CREW HAVE BEEN REDESIGNED CHAT. HOW ARE WE FEELING??

Personally- I feel like these designs live up to the expectations I have for myself when it comes to a circus.. with darker intentions. Instead of bright colors everything is a bit muted- (besides Leshy, he’s a baby)

OH! An important detail I forgot- Notice the bells! :D who has them and who doesn’t.. <3 the bells are veerryyy important!

WHAT IS TOYBOX?? OHHH IM GLAD YOU ASSKKEDDD-

ToyBox is a Cult of the Lamb Circus AU where the lamb (Emery) trapped the Bishops and clears their memory of their previous lives! It’s mainly a Narilamb centric story- but there’s a bit of everyone for everybody to enjoy <3

We got some individual ref sheets too! Don’t mind me yapping about each one.

THIS IS YOUR WARNING NOW-

ToyBox does deal with dark themes like sexual harassment, abuse, trauma, and kidnapping. So if that is something you would rather avoid, I suggest turning away now.

For the individuals- I will be adding a bit of info on their stories so far, their stage names, and just- inspo behind the characters \o/

Going from youngest to oldest here-

Leshy literally has the mentality of a child. He’s the young one out of all of the circus performers. He yearns to be in the spotlight just like the rest of his family, but he’s always pushed aside.

Emery gave him the name “Pipsqueak” because of his size.. He doesn’t know that she caused that. Out of everyone- he’s the only performer to wear bright colors. (Mainly to show off his childish personality-)

When it came to writing Leshy- I wanted to focus on the result of childhood trauma, and Leshy is an embodiment of that. His behavior is to make up of the fact that there’s something clearly wrong- but in order to protect himself, he hides it away and thinks of everything else.

Heket has it rough- her mouth is stapled shut and she’s a greeter?? Girl- pick a struggle. She tries to be open to everyone, but she often has a hard time with it. Her relationship with her family is strong- and that’s all that matters, she just needs to know that they’re safe.

“Nobody.” listened to Heket when she had suspicions. “Nobody” listened to Heket when she raged about Shamura’s injury. “Nobody” listened to Heket when she called out Emery for mistreating her family. “Nobody” listened to her. And that’s why she’s nobody. Because nobody will ever listen. Emery made sure of it.

It’s obvious what I based Heket off of- when it comes to abuse, there’s the ones who take it silently or are forced to be silent. Which was what happened to Heket, she knows what’s going on, but she cannot say it- and even if she did.. will anyone listen to her? Probably not.

Narinder does a little bit of everything- he has no solid role in the circus since Emery makes sure he is near at all times. Sometimes it’s annoying.. oh- it’s so annoying.

Figment- It’s allll a figment of his imagination. There’s nothing wrong in the circus. Nothing at all! And if there was.. it isn’t real, it’s in his head.. Emery always drills that into him.. it’s not real.. these ideas of having another life- it’s fake.

Narinder is very easy to figure out- he’s based on victims in general. How easy it is to fall for manipulation- and easy it is to try and stick around instead of causing anything else.. a sad reality.

Kallamar has a body and they know it. They use it sometimes- though is it desirable? Nope- She often changes her form since she can freely stuff or take out. It helps whenever the gazes get too much.

Minx. A sexually playful woman who often causes trouble. The complete opposite of Kallamar. In fact- she hates the stares, she yearns to have it be drawn away- and it’s not like she tries to bring in the eyes of men. She’s just given outfits to match his routines..

Reason why I associate Kallamar with “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.” They are. Kallamar is not a hoe unlike my other AU- The idea of her is the way women are treated in modern society. Male gaze is horrible- and subjecting a body to such light is just- eugh.

Shamura- the sweet little storyteller who can barely remember their name. They just want to tell their stories and not have to worry about freaking out.

Seeker. They kept seeking for information. They kept digging and digging until it landed them somewhere they shouldn’t have been. Emery made sure they would forget, made sure that they would power off a lot more..

Now, Shamura is very special to me for this AU. A good majority of this AU being surrounded by abuse from aspects I have experienced in life. Shamura represents abuse in general. Just the fear of speaking out because of the backlash from the other, something I know of very well. They dissociate to draw away from the pain- from everything. Forgetting to protect themself.

Emery is the host, the leader of it all. She needs energy to survive- devotion. which- here devotion is given to her through cheers from the crowd. And without performers- she wouldn’t have a crowd.

Ringmaster.. it’s very self explanatory- Emery is in control of it all. Of the entire business and of what happens. Her role doesn’t stop off stage… it never does.

Emery is a character that can’t be forgiven, her actions weigh the amount of positives she could have and it sucks. Cause it’s easy to want to love her- but you can’t because of her history. Doesn’t that sound familiar? She’s basically based off people who know they’re toxic, yet never change.

[bug-slappy]

ive always had the hc that serizawa, as brand new as he can be, is the only esper in all of claw aside from toichiro to catch onto reigens lack of powers. Everyone's, even shimazaki's first assumption is that they cant see reigens aura because hes JUST THAT POWERFUL!!!11!!! HE CAN HIDE HIS AURA!!11! HES OP!

but that doesnt even occur to serizawa at all. his whole world veiw is shattered by a 14 year old he was trying to beat up, and then next thing he knows some blond guy is running past him up the stairs, with a gun that would be completely useless against toichiro, or him, or mob, or any other esper with telekinesis.....

this guy has no powers at all and he thinks hes gonna defeat the president with a toy gun. hes absolutely cooked. and thats what gives him the courage to run up there and protect reigen, finally for the first time in his life using his powers to protect someone rather than hurt them.

i think he had a few moments when he first started working at s&s where he doubted himself and thought "maybe he does have powers and theres something im just not understanding", but those moments are always quickly disproven by reigens obvious utter lack of powers. if serizawa thought reigen had powers, he wouldnt be saving his ass so often.

plus, serizawa had lots of experience with counsellors that lie about having powers to make him feel better when he lived with his mom. most of the time reigen can make a whole crowd of crazy claw members rethink their ways, but mob was the only person who could have helped serizawa. if reigen had been the one to try and talk serizawa down in the tower, serizawa would have seen through him immediately and gotten pissed.

serizawa knows for sure reigen doesnt have powers.. he just doesnt say anything because he thinks it might be rude to point out..

actually a really interesting angle of serizawa and reigen's relationship i dont see talked about much is the fact that, based on the way serizawa acts in confession arc (not wanting to leave reigen because he know's he's defenseless without him), serizawa is fully aware that reigen doesn't have powers. however, based on the reigen manga, where reigen tells tome he doesnt have powers and tells her not to tell serizawa, reigen has no idea he knows

[elainsgirl]

I genuinely don’t understand how some Gwynriels interpret any criticism of them as people being “threatened” by their ship. Maybe they should consider that it’s less about the ship itself and more about their behaviour. It’s that no one has ever been able to join this fandom without being immediately cornered about whether or not they’ve read "the" bonus chapter, or being subjected to some patronizing lecture about how you’re supposed to read it correctly.

It's about the exhaustion of being bombarded with the same handful of cherry-picked lines, completely removed from context. It's about the glaring double standard in how characters are treated. Azriel gets turned into something unrecognizable to serve a narrative. Both Elain and Lucien, who have been integral since the first book and are central to ongoing plotlines, are dismissed as underdeveloped, while outrage erupts if anyone dares suggest Gwyn, a new side character, might not be the next protagonist. Gwyn’s healing journey, which was so clearly focused on regaining the lively and competitive personality that was repressed by her trauma, is misrepresented as romance. It’s just… bizarre.

Some Gwynriels insist Elriel was never romantic (despite the actual text), while others say it ended definitively in a bonus chapter (despite the ridiculousness of that idea). They moralize lust and rewrite moments depending on who’s involved, and they completely ignore clearly romantic scenes if they involve characters they don't like. It creates this alternate reality version of the story that’s bizarre to witness from the outside. And people tend to want to talk about things that are bizarre.

People don’t keep bringing up Gwynriel because they’re threatened. They do it because Gwynriel has turned into a spectacle. And it is not about shipping preferences. The spectacle of Gwynriel is the insistence that actual canon narratives do not exist, and that sweeping canon-defying extrapolations are confirmations of a complete change in direction of the whole story. And that people should just accept this as true when it is just categorically bizarre.

It's not about being threatened. It's about the exhaustion of having someone down your throat for four years while they demand you respect them. It's about being suffocated to the point that you kind of just have to talk about it. In a "what the hell is going on"? kind of way. I remember mutuals who left already in 2021-22, who had been in the fandom for years, because they felt so suffocated and exhausted by this behaviour. And four years later, I'm still here and that is still going on. The fandom was not sunshine and rainbows before Gwynriels, but it was nothing at all like this.

im sorry - they think we’re “threatened” by their fanon ship? LMFAO. Threatened by what. Despite spending time in the ring with his “mate” who would Az think off every night? Elain Archeron. His mate was in danger, went through something so traumatic- what did Azriel do? Leave her with Mor to carry on with his job. Two years. He didnt visit for two entire years, he didnt check up on her. Ask about her. I could go on but you get the gist - no one is threatened by gwy/riel. There is nothing tying these two together. Az could leave training and thats it. He wouldn’t see Gwyn most of the time. Elucien at least have a bond, gwnriel dont even have that. But ofc they’d twist us critiquing them and their behaviour- not only to us but to their own eluciens as us being “threatened”.

The bonus chapter is the only thing that they think gives them some standing, it doesn’t. The same bonus that isn’t reprinted in the special editions, the bonus that over half of the fandom do not know about - but you know whats rlly embarrassing for them? Not a single part of the “gwynriel” bonus was mentioned in acosf. Not the late night training. Not the singing shadows. Not Az and Gwyn becoming closer. Not the necklace. That is how irrelevant it all was, so damn unimportant that in the 300pgs you had left after solstice - Mass didn’t bother to mention any of it once. But ofc they don’t care cause they cant think outside of “spark!” “Glow!”. They can’t enetertain any other possibility or narrative that doesn’t fit what they set for themselves. God forbid, you challenge their takes. At first they’ll try to debate but once they realise they’ve gone through their 5 repeated points, want to know what happens next?

“elriels are like sooooo mean!” “Elriels are just so so toxic.” “Elriels are bullies!” “Elriels always use canon!” Elriels are this, elriels are that.

oh and no one can say anything about precious Gwyn. Nope, she is perfect. She is exactly what they want her to be. Lucien and Elain are irrelevant, Az is toxic, incel and disgusting but ONLY towards Elain - these issues don’t exist with Gwyn, Elain is too undeveloped for a book but perfect, flawless Gwyn has the right amount of development so she will obviously be next. Lucien? He’s irrelevant too, Gwyn is linked to autumn and thats more important then Luciens messed up family. Gwyn will deal with the troves, the prison and koshei - Lucien and Elain need to sail off on a lake somewhere. Etc etc. Gwyn is currently THE most important person everyone else is just there to remain sitting little ducks until Gwyns fabulous story is over.

Gwynriels guide on how to read the bonus correctly: whilst reading the elriel part, keep on chanting “Azriel is toxic” “Azriel is disgrunting” “elain is boring” “elain is manipulative” etc then whilst you finally get to Gwyns’ part - highlight everything. Az chuckled with Gwyn, aww he has NEVER done that before - highlight it. Now.

THIS. Its the fact gwynriels cherry pick what suits them and what doesn’t. They need to”evidence” from all 3 series just to make sense…and yet their arguments are still so terribly illogical. That was one of my biggest turn offs from Gwynriel actually, them acting as tho throughout acosf, Gwyn was crushing on Az which was not the case at all and is such a disservice to her character.

Gwynriels 🤝 contradicting statements which is why it’s hard to take them seriously. Lmfao, like Elain making Az laugh so joyously means nothing to them and isn’t romantic but Gwyn making Az chuckle and snort - is the beginning of a gwynriel romance. Its hypocritical.

Say it louder anon, literally no one is threatened by a ship where the two characters dont even have any romantic interest towards each other - but gwynriel and gwynriels have become something to witness with how desperate they’ve become to convince everyone including themselves their ship is just as much as a possibility like elriel or even elucien. Its like when a kid in your class gets an answer so wrong you just have to put your pen down and wonder how tf they reached that conclusion.

gwynriels have definitely affected the fandom, im sure some are nice but majority are disrespectful, condescending, stubborn etc. They come into elriel spaces and talk about their ship and how they’re right, they’re constantly mocking elriels - Im sure the fandom wasn’t lovely before but gwynriels have turned it more hostile. I dont blame anyone that left this fandom because of them - it’s exhausting trying to see reason with people who believe a bonus holds more weight then the previous 4 books. That a new character we’ve just met is suddenly the most interesting and important then any of the OG cast - Someone said it before, but gwynriels argue with their own version of canon mixed with opinions and biased interpretations- you just can’t logically argue with that.

And if a gwynriel genuinely listened and understood how little a bonus affects the books - they’d see reason.

[talon-dragonbeast]

weird rules, social expectations and Being A Woman

you know, something that really pisses me off about Society (tm) is how normativity is just so mindlessly, happily rewarded, even by the most tolerant of people. specifically (but not exclusively) regarding to gender expression.

i am a woman. i was born a woman, i live as a woman, i am perceived as a woman, and i even identify as a woman. ill admit i also have some gender fuckery going on in here, but my internal identity is, frankly, nobodys business; im happy to be assumed a woman, because i honestly dont care how others perceive me in this regard. but. this doesnt mean that i am happy to do the whole nonsense routine that is required to be considered a Real Woman by almost everyone in this god darn planet. i dont do makeup, i dont like to style my hair, i mostly stopped shaving, and you couldnt pay me to care about clothes.

my mother is always telling me about how pretty i am. growing up, i heard it all the time. you have such beautiful curls, if i had hair like yours i would let it grow a lot longer (thanks, i like it shorter tho). im so jealous of your eyes, they are so blue! (haha yeah, i was born with them). i bet this dress would look so pretty on you, why do you never wear skirts? (they just make me uncomfortable, i like my own clothes anyways). if you wore makeup more often you would look so much more beautiful (i like how my face looks, thanks). you should shave your legs, they look bad like that (you never tell [brother] to shave his legs).

it is infuriating. i hate it so, so much. i am a woman, not a doll to play dress up with. and if i have to pretend to be a human, the least that society could do is to just let me exist in peace! it drives me crazy that all this is even expected. worst part, it is fucking Everywhere.

this christmas one of my cousins got me a new pencil case. it is pink and green, and has some cats and snakes and bugs and moons drawn on it. it is beautiful, and although i wasnt too thrilled about the color, i figured it was cool so i began using it. one of my friends saw me take it out during class, said oooo [name], thats so pretty! and gave me a Look. i dont know how to explain it without sounding crazy, but i swear it was like she was saying, so now you like Woman Stuff! you know what Look im talking about, right? when you finally cave in and do the feminine thing, and its like everyone is so happy that youre finally filling your expected role in life. it is weird as hell. i dont like it.

but like, this is my friend, who supports me being aroace and autistic and IS BISEXUAL HERSELF! something something, leftism leaving peoples bodies when a gender non-conforming person does something that is stereotypically associated with their gender. idk, its a bit like dog training when you think about it for a second. in animal training (and i mean proper animal training, not beating your dog until it stops barking), good behavior should be rewarded, while bad behavior is supposed to be ignored so the animal learns to only do the good behavior. you do the feminine thing, and you get smiles and compliments; you stop doing it, then suddenly gender presentation doesnt matter. and this... training behavior is, of course, mostly unconscious, with its perpetrators unaware that theyre even doing it. if i asked my friend what she meant by that, she would say that she didnt mean anything, she just liked the case. if i asked my mother why do i have to shave while my brother doesnt, she would say that its just how things are.

its just how things are. its how it always has been. its how it always will be. so just shut up, smile, and pretend it isnt happening. pretend youre not being trained like a dog to salivate at the sound of a bell. it doesnt matter, it isnt happening, so why bother thinking about it? dont think about it. stop thinking about it.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

Istg C@tra stans are cry babies

Aint no way Cat's hate bigger than HORDAK'S, like my brother in christ did you forgot 2020?

They can't handle someone saying that C@tra sucks (with reason) and they start crying and whining and "ooOohh liking C@tra's character is so haaardd" dude you have 90% of them fandom on your side what are you even talking about.

Meanwhile Hordak's stans r just there 🧍‍♂️<- them

like they know their fav character is an ass and they just accept that and live on lmao (there's at least 1 person saying that hordak did nothing wrong on a C@tra like vibe but idk?? Never seen 1 of them lmao?) They most of the time just:

A) Ignore the hate

B) debunk some of the arguments

C) "cool" *walks away*

Plus the way people presents their hate is so diff, most of the C@tra's hate ive seen is actually very logical and have good points, you can easily make a post on that vibe with Hordak, BUT NOOoooOOo

Is easier to harass anyone who likes the character 😀

And Im basically glad that a lot of Hordak and Entrapdak fans are older/adults bcuz Im sure SOMEONE would come off of the fandom mentally scarred for life with the scary amount of hate Spop fandom managed to summon.

it's so funny to me when spop stans are like "catra is overhated! unpopular opinion but catra is actually innocent" like no babes, that's a very popular opinion. catra is loved by 99.9% of the fandom. sure, hordak has fans and apologists too but catra is definitely the fan favorite.

and it's even funnier that they call hordak "abusive" or entrapdak "toxic" but then refuse to elaborate. like i'm willing to hear them out if they have something to support their argument. but no, it's just "hordak is a villain so he's an abuser".

and i agree that hordak is not some innocent little baby. he is, just like catra, a sympathetic villain, with emphasis on villain. but it should be acknowledged that while he was a shitty person in general, he was a good partner to entrapta.

“y'all are contributing to colonization, g3nocide and abuse” right, because catra was not a part of any of that. she only tried to end the entire world, that's not genocide! /s

i would have agreed with that particular fan if they were talking about the spop fandom as a whole, and not just hordak and entrapdak fans. like how are you this hypocritical?

i am personally desensitized to the death threats and shit but you're right, if any of the younger audience had seen this, they would have been traumatized.

[vonbabbitt]

just coming in to say that I found tetro pink last week and I’ve been enjoying it immensely. Kamimura quickly jumped to being my favorite character, and that’s largely because.. well

I think his illnesses are done and written incredibly well, and it’s so refreshing to see a chronically ill character that isn’t stereotypically weak/helpless, and that can take care of himself. A lot of people write chronic illness like that’s the only thing about the character- and while that does make up a very large portion of their lives (for obvious reasons), it’s so so nice to see that kamimura has a LIFE outside of that. He’s kind of a skeptic and jaded and aloof and snarky and I love him so much

i was really particular with kamimura's arc because i didn't want it to be taken as the typical "disabled person learns they need to be supported and cant do anything on their own" arc you see from like. people who are trying to be Woke but dont know anything about what its like to actually be disabled

things that kamimura needs (like mobility aids or diapers or medication) ARE taking care of yourself! kamimura sees it more like "if i need these things, that means im weak because i cant live without these like everyone else in the world can", whereas the truth is that by rejecting them to appear independent, he's making himself even more dependent on others because he's doing nothing to support himself and everyone is worried about him

its something that comes from my own experience with disability and im glad its something others can connect with! sometimes its really difficult to accept that caring for yourself and living independently involves actually accessing supports. i think i got my thoughts on the matter out in [Roots] so its a personal favourite scene of mine

[wings-of-ink]

hi lunan.

after reading some older tumblr posts i came across some, who discussed the personality stats. i hope its alright, if i add my thoughts about them, even if the topic is older.

im split on personality stats/bars in IF´s. on the one hand i like that personality stats enables the author to include slight variations for the same choice. e.g. "agree to the plan"; a cautious MC would mention, how it makes sense and its a good plan/\a reckless MC would complain, how they would prefer to simply storm the gates, but admit, that this would be foolish, even for them.

on the other hand i feel that personality stats/bars, which can change during the whole game just adds additional things for the player to watch out. i usually have a character already in mind (+their personality) and often in IF´s i had the case of wanting to choose a specific option, but this would lead to my character suddenly switching their personality completely (e.g. i had a sincere MC; at some point i had a choice, where i teased a strong character, how it would have been easy to carry MC. suddenly my sincere MC turned into a sarcastic one).

i only played one IF, where i really enjoyed personality stats/bars (in other IF´s im more neutral). for the first few chapters you are able to influence your MC´s personality and change it around. after a certain point, the personality gets locked in and the bars turns into descriptions: example => from 65% sincere & 35% sarcastic to "You are usually quite sincere, but are also able to make some jokes from time to time." this way, you have a locked in personality to be used for variation in the text (in this case sincere), while also giving the player enough roleplay freedom to still choose opposite choices. and maybe after some big event, you can offer the player a choice to switch part of their personality.

again, i hope its ok if i share my thoughts about this.

thank you for your answer.

You are totally good, my dear. Even if the topic was hot in my corner a while ago, it's still really relevant for all IFs all the time.

I also appreciate a lock-in personality after so long. Like you, I've had that happen before where the MC shifts harder than I'd like. On one side, someone might like a completely adjustable personality since people can change and become someone new. But that is only good for the player if that's their intent for their MC. This doesn't accommodate, like in your example, the MC merely reacting situationally.

I think for GC, I've found a natural break in where the personality is developing. I had it in mind that not every choice would alter the stats because I wanted to give MCs that ability to react differently to things like danger or stress without changing their stats. People can react differently depending on who's involved and what the stakes are. Sometimes a reserved MC can have a sharp tongue and fangs that they don't hesitate to use when threatened. Sometimes an assertive person knows when they need to use a bit more finesse.

It's a hard balance to strike really since you're juggling immersion, flexibility - but not too much, and many different possible interpretations. That was part of why I debated about trying something that begins as more static (with more unique "flavors"), but is still changeable intermittently. I'd like to go a little deeper than just changing flavor text for personality at times. But, that's something to play with in another project!

Another thing to consider, as I was chatting with another friend about, is MC age. Most IFs feature young MCs, usually in their 20s. This decade of your life can be very changeable and formative and it probably resonates more with the majority of readers. So if an IF featured someone, say, in their 30s or 40s or beyond, do you think the same personality systems might apply and be satisfying?

I think some of that depends on how strong of a sense of self one has formed. For me, my 20s were...a living hell with pockets of joy and small victories. My 30s have been, not easy at all, but I feel that who I really am has finally risen to the surface. There are many things I have broken free of the kept me back in my 20s. I both am the same and not. I am Lunan 3.0, lol. I don't know if that's the same for others, but I feel like most have a firmer sense of self in their 30s that wouldn't change as much (without proper pressure/tragedy). This is something that I want to play with in a future project someday as well.

Anyway, that was a bit of a tangent there, but it's a super fun topic! It'll be neat to see how creators push the personality-creation and integration forward in the future! Thanks for writing in, dear! ^_^

[thebisexualwreckoning]

Assorted thoughts on culture, generational trauma, racism, queerness and where they intersect for me

My family is from Bangladesh. Or they used to be. All of my great-grandparents were born there. At least 3 of my grandparents were born there as well. My mother travelled there on the back of trucks transporting hay. The town, practically the village, my father grew up in, is in Bangladesh.

There's this story my mother tells me. When I was around three years old, we were in a Bengali restaurant in New York and I was so happy to meet fellow Bengalis that I immediately started to speak Sylheti. They gave us a discount for that. called me Khuki and told my parents how nice it was to speak in the language of their home with someone once again.

Another time, another restaurant. This one is in London. I'm not three anymore. I don't speak Sylheti anymore either. They say I forgot because I had no one to speak it with. I don't even speak proper Bangla. It's now Bengali with a dash of Hindi. This time when we enter the restaurant, I don't approach the servers. They approach us and say how nice it is to find a fellow Bengali in the wild. We complain about how we're tired of white people food. My mother wishes she had macher jhol. The servers tell her to wait and bring out a plate of their own dinner. She cries as she eats it. Tears of joy and solidarity.

I'm twelve years old and for the first time, I decide to relearn my culture. I join a summer class, pencil in hand, ready to learn how to read and write all over again. I want to read my mother's magazines, the Feluda comics that she read out loud to me as a child. It paid off, but not in the way I expected, my mother fighting with my father, grabbing hold of my hand two days later as we boarded the aeroplane back to her father's house.

I'm 13 years old, on anti-depressants that I forgot to take some days, neurodivergence diagnosed, and learning more about myself each and every day. I come out as bisexual to my mom but do not tell her about my genderfluidity. Afraid of what she'll think when the daughter she always desired turns out to not be her daughter at all. We call my brother in Canada. He tells us about the people who shout slurs at him in the metro. We do not tell him that we are afraid that someday the slurs will turn into bullet wounds.

I'm fourteen years old, and my father's come to visit. It's his birthday so we travel to his parents' house. more than 4 hours away from ours. They greet us with barbed wire words on my grades, my brother's weight, my mother's inability to be a good wife. We smile through it all. I wonder how they can be so cruel. The people who cared for me when I was a child. The woman who named me now my worst enemy.

I'm fifteen years old now. My Bangla is clearer. Sharp vowels and clear consonants. It will never be rounded syllables of my childhood ever again. I learn of the Bengal partition in school. Learn how people killed each other in the name of freedom. I want to scream, "Amra shobai ek." We are all the same. We share the same culture, the same language but in different dialects, the same history. Stop killing, please. I'm tired of the violence and hatred, I say. This war started before I was born, will it continue after I'm dead as well?

I gathered the courage to google LGBTQ+ laws in Bangladesh today. And I realised something. I love my culture. I love my roots. I love this language, my ancestors, and every family member, even though sometimes I feel like there are too many to count. But I do not love what they have made of it. I saw the words splashed across the newspaper headlines, Anti - Queer laws still in place, Being gay is punishable with a life sentence in prison, a gay man is stoned to death in public and no one does anything to stop it. I do not cry. I've been doing nothing but crying for too long now.

Instead, I'm writing this. I'm writing this to tell everyone that it isn't over. I'm writing this to tell everyone that if I'd been born 413 km to the west exactly, I wouldn't be alive to write this post right now. I'm writing this because I am tired of our stories going untold, buried under layers of propaganda and zealotry. I'm writing this because people think my being Hindu, my being Indian, my being Bengali means that I cannot be queer.

Well sorry to prove you wrong. Because I'm still here. And I'm still kicking. And as long as I'm alive, I'm not going to stop. Neither will the thousands of others like me, telling their stories in a thousand different ways, fighting for their people in a thousand different ways.

So this one is for those still kicking.

We're Here

We're Queer

And we're ready to fucking fight.

[marciaillust]

bro fuck it im workposting. i did illustrations, i storyboarded, i directed. I did many cool things in 2024 and millions of people all over the world saw em. that has to count for something

[inkskinned]

it is all chaos and entropy. the thing is that the chaos and entropy make it beautiful and lovely.

yes, it's true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is terrifying. i have lived through some of the unfairness - i got born like this, with my body caving into itself, with this ironic love of dance when i sometimes can't stand up for longer than 15 minutes. i am a poet with hands that are slowly shutting down - i can't hold a pen some days. recently i found a dead bird on our front porch. she had no visible injuries. she had just died, the way things die sometimes.

it is also true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is wonderful. the sheer happenstance that makes rain turn into a rainbow. the impossible coincidence of finding your best friend. i have made so many mistakes and i have let myself down and i have harmed other people by accident. nature moves anyway. on the worst day of my life she delivers me an orange juice sunset, as if she is saying try again tomorrow.

how vast and unknowing the universe! how small we are! isn't that lovely. the universe has given us flowers and harp strings and the shape of clouds. how massive our lives are in comparison to a grasshopper. the world so bright, still undiscovered. even after 30 years of being on this earth, i learned about a new type of animal today: the dhole.

chance echoing in my life like a harmony between two people talking. do you think you and i, living in different worlds but connected through the internet - do you think we've ever seen the same butterfly? they migrate thousands of miles. it's possible, right?

how beautiful the ways we fill the vastness of space. i love that when large amounts of people are applauding in a room, they all start clapping at the same time. i love that the ocean reminds us of our mother's heartbeat. i love that out of all the colors, chlorophyll chose green. i love the coincidences. i love the places where science says i don't know, but it just happens.

"the universe doesn't care about you!" oh, i know. that's okay. i care about the universe. i will put my big stupid heart out into it and watch the universe feast on it. it is not painful. it is strange - the more love you pour into the unfeeling world, the more it feels the world loves you in return. i know it's confirmation bias. i think i'm okay if my proof of kindness is just my own body and my own spirit.

i buried the bird from our porch deep in the woods. that same day, an old friend reaches out to me and says i miss you. wherever you go, no matter how bad it gets - you try to do good.

[snailfen]

ships can be so fun to talk about publicly i just wish everyone could be about as calm about it as i am. not really as in "everyone is so ship obsessed nowadays they have to ship everyone" but more like its just fun to talk about ships you're actually into, or aren't but you see the appeal, or ones where you don't see any appeal and how you prefer to see them without others taking it personally

[tumblweeds-omegaverse]

random omegaverse thought:

There must be people who experience specific instinct things with indifference or boredom.

Procreative cycle coming up? "Crap, I've got plans this weekend...stupid skip weeks."

Caught an intriguing scent while walking? "But I need to get to work! Shut up brain."

Had a snap response to a distressed sound? "Who was it?! ...right, it's my day off, I can go back to sleep."

Somebody growled at them? "Kid, I'm not a rival, that's my sibling."

Super cozy cuddle session happening nearby? "I'm gonna pass tonight guys, no social battery left, maybe next time."

Group of friends heading out to flirt and check out other singles? "I'm coming with you but only to make sure you all get home safe."

Setting where fated mates or soul bonds or permanent marks are a thing? "Meh. I don't really want one or care if I ever get one."

People in the actual omegaverse would get as bored of their stuff, as we do of ours, you know? It could be interesting to see that kind of vibe in fics. Biological demands faced with all the excitement of paying bills or doing laundry or tying your shoes.

Even if that kind of energy might not drive a plot, it could be interesting to have as a contrast to the people who do have big feelings about them - good or bad.

There's the friends who can't wait til they have a pack of their own, and the one friend who isn't against it but couldn't care less. There's the group in the office who are all about scent compatibility tests and figuring out one's best match and what sprays most highlight it, and the coworker who has no intentions on putting that much effort in. There are parents who hover and protect their offspring by scenting them multiple times a day, and others who don't see what the fuss is as long as it's done in the morning.

...also: packs with introverts who show care by giving each other space. So often, closeness is depicted through physical touch and tactile affection, but comfortable silence is meaningful too. Knowing people are near, but not having to interact until you're ready. Sitting in the same room doing different things, knowing that all it takes is a "hey, look at this" to share what you're up to. People understanding and accepting each other's differing or fluctuating needs for how and when to recharge. Seeing somebody reaching out or sharing space, beyond what's their norm, as a signal of the fact that they care.

[anonymocha]

finally coming out as a dyke in 2023 is realizing i dont need to pretend to simp that Guy just because everyone else in my friend group does