#have you SEEN emo boys

[weallgoalittle-mad-sometimes]

non alternative people when an alternative person looks weird

[rivsisnotonfire]

In this household we are petekey truthers!!!

alexa play bang the doldrums...

[alonetogether]

i want you all to know that if this website en masse gets into superbat due to the new superman movie i WILL be bitchy and i WILL gatekeep like a cunt

[aroaceleovaldez]

noooooo continuity error my immersion is ruined

[boxwinebaddie]

this selena cover is the cd song ever of all time jysk :*

[dragoninahumancostume]

My favorite part of being alive is that I've never felt welcome in any space except for that one year when I thought I was a non-binary bisexual asexual girl when I was 13 :)

[fiveapocalypse]

An essential part of my five interpretation is that he’s emo. That’s like the key thing okay. He is emo. Very emo. Have you seen his hair

[sanjarka]

when i was younger this whole ''no romantic or sexual experience" thing made me feel deeply unlovable and it still does but in a different way. now i've somehow convinced myself that i'm not supposed to desire anyone like that. like it's not meant for me. it's me who can't love now. not other people.

[stardivinefinale-moved]

some people don't fucking know what words mean.

[brionnnne]

Liar's Den WIP [Working Title, Unfinished]

Almost a solid year (Mar 23rd, 2022) since I started writing and editing this thing, and I planned / plan (?) to do more with it, but I'm honestly not quite sure where to go, and in a way, I honestly think it works alright as a standalone, so I'm just going to throw it out there to show that I do, in fact, write. I had fun writing it, at least, and I hope to make something more of it someday, but...?

Wariness is her natural state. Calculating. Observant. Perceptive. Even then, it isn’t very hard to notice that, out of all the seven deadly sins, she had only ever seen six. No mention of Sloth, of Belphegor, was made—seemingly a taboo topic among the brothers. No wonder why, Morgana thinks now. 

“Why are you trying to trick me? I have eyes, you know.” Her expression turns into a bemused smile. “A brain? I may be a mere human,” she makes mystical motions with her fingers, eyes wide and dramatic, before she drops the act with a scoff, “but I know exactly who you are.” Her eyes flicker towards his fingers, blue-tipped nails, which tighten on the door. Another giveaway, Ana observes. She knows by now that Asmo paints all of their nails, but his are chipping; faded. How long has he been here? As long as I have? Longer? She doesn’t ask him. “I’ve seen your portrait, you know? Even if I hadn’t, your fingernails are painted. That might be fine by itself, but your eyes?” She tilts her head, “Strange color for a human. What is that? Purple, right?” Related to Beel? Internally, she rolls her eyes. Obviously.

His hands slacken. He shrugs, trying to appear lax— a nice imitation, or it would be, except the tightness has moved up. The stiffness of his shoulders makes the action slightly less loose than it should be. Interesting, her eyes narrow. He doesn’t like being called out on this. Why, though?

“You caught me,” he raises his hands in a gesture reminiscent of Asmo. It’s sort of … cute, on him. Intentional? Questions she can’t answer yet run rampant. There’s not enough information to infer much of anything, as frustrating as that is—very. As for his lies, she thinks there could be a logical reason behind them, and while his state of captivity makes him look like a victim in some form, his deception speaks against that. Regardless of logic, the hasty fabrication, the stiffness of his fingers and shoulders, makes her have doubts. He’s certainly capricious—just listen to how even toned he sounds now, compared to his earlier panic—but to what extent? Perhaps further sarcasm would be … unwise.

Morgana looks back up, “So what is it that you want, then, if you were desperate enough to lie for it?” She frowns, gesturing to the door that holds him. “Freedom, I assume?”

For the first time, she sees something like a spark in him. Energy that wasn’t there before. 

“I thought I might get your help,” he says, “if I pretended to be human.” She can’t tell whether this is duplicitous or not. Even a close inspection shows no obvious signs. Perhaps he’s just that good of a liar. Perhaps he isn’t lying at all. It could be both. Insertions of truth, twisted to fit one's liking, have always made lying easier. Harder to detect by a casual, or even careful, viewer. She’s only seen a single tell, and even then, being stiff doesn’t always indicate a lie — it can be normal tensity; discomfort. Plenty of things that make her slow to place any defining bets. He’s shown her basically nothing. 

She had never really given further thought to the implications of Sloth on behavior. Acedia, she remembers, is apathetic. Listless. Lack of care. Her eyes track to his hair — messy; bedhead — to his clothes. They’re barely resting on his frame, and not in the sense of weight, but rather, the jacket he wears is nearly falling off. His shirt — plain, white — is a bit more kempt, but only just. It lifts at his midriff, revealing an un-tied pair of sweatpants that dip low on his hips. He wears no shoes at all, but when she peers in, she can see a pair of long boots sitting in the corner. Effortless. Slip-on. Morgana’s eyes find her own slippers, and she shrugs. Understandable, she thinks. Nice, too. The room itself reflects his state of dress. Untidy. Lacking organization. Her gaze falls onto Belphegor again. He seems, as expected, unbothered. It isn’t like she can criticize that; in fact, it appears they share these traits in common. That being said … 

This … probably shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. Her brow furrows. Regardless, the feeling doesn’t leave. It isn’t very often that she can’t get a good read on someone. Being out of her element like that makes her feel uncomfortable. Most people—even the other demon brothers—are easy enough to read at the best of times. Belphegor …isn’t. 

(Asmo tells her that she isn’t, either. Is that what dealing with me feels like to him? Eugh.)

“I can’t break the seal on this …door,” he admits, scowling. Surprisingly expressive, his hands flutter before it. That, at least, is truthful. There’s no hesitation in his words, no tightness of his frame. His emotions are visible, but not overdone.

“Frankly,” she says, unable to tamp down her bitterness, “I don’t know what you expect me to do about that. I have no magic.” This may not endear him to her, but it’s true. She’s been painfully aware of her status since being deposited here. Even with potential, the understanding of theory, all that becomes useless when she can’t even apply it.

“That may be true, but you have pacts.”

Morgana raises her eyebrows. “And you know about this …how?” 

“Don’t get so worked up,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “Lucifer told me.”

She snorts. He is cute. Sort of. Shakes her head. “Humor me, then. If I were to free you,” Ana posits, “what is it that I would have to do?”

“If you made a pact with all of my brothers, that would be enough to break the seal.”

She hums. “What do I get out of this deal— I mean, why should I?” It sounds cruel. He could be innocent, she reminds herself. But it’s a genuine enough question, really. Why risk herself? Mammon’s pact was pure luck, and Levi's was borne of some uncanny trickery. Fooled into believing she had won when she hadn’t. He’d been too worked up to realize, and she was, of course, in no hurry to correct him. She was weak here; having something concrete would be protection. “I don’t even know you.”

“Are you—?” His eyes flash. She has to cradle her face to hide the smile this brings. Thumb and forefinger resting on her cheeks. Her hand; a curtain. Neither his apparent anger nor her amusement lasts for very long. “You’re a human,” he says, incredulous. “Don’t you want power—or something?”

Morgana sniffs, fingers coming down to rub at her eternally stuffy nose, “I don’t particularly care.”

He blinks. “Are you not driven by … generosity?” His words are metered, strained, and pushed through clenched teeth; she suspects the word he wishes to have said was not half as nice as the one he had chosen. He’s being careful. It’s notable that he does seem genuinely curious, however. It’s just a guess, really, but this probably wasn’t how he had expected their meeting to go. And it must be weird to meet a human not simply drawn in by that promise of power, especially a power received so idly. A thing that Belphegor is known for accomplishing at a price; a particularly devious demon—manipulative, her textbooks had warned. She’s not sure she wants to deal with the cost of that, really; power and influence are overrated things, anyway—she wouldn’t deny a level of self-motivation in seeking out pacts like Pokemon cards, but. Power is the least of her concerns. Control is a trivial matter. She simply wants to live unburdened, and to do that, she needs to actually be alive. It’s a simple desire; all things considered. Base. Yet she’s curious—for answers no one else would give, she knows. Who would be so forthcoming? Lucifer? Certainly not. There’s clearly something going on here—this attic room, these spiral stairs, up which Lucifer had told her nothing was or would be—and damn it if she doesn’t want to know why this would be worth lying about; if everyone else was lying to her, too. Did Beel know? It didn’t seem that way, certainly, but she doesn’t really know him, either…

“I can be generous,” she reveals after a moment, “but I’m not going to go out of my way if I don’t need to. Plus,” Ana turns her gaze on him. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”

. . .

Trust. She falls onto her bed, sighing. How fucking complicated. It’s true that his lies had made her wary, but a part of her — an annoying, shoved-aside part of her — wants to help him. That feeling is as annoying as it always is. She’d been working on this part of herself, slowly but surely. It’s uncountable how many times now that her generosity has hurt her rather than helping, but attempting to be so selfish hurts all those good parts inside her, too. Tears them up and crushes them underfoot.

Tonight, it bothers her so much that it even stalls her sleep. Lying. Rolling. Restless. Why do you want to help him anyway? She doesn’t know, and more than not knowing him, her ignorance of herself is infuriating. She should know this. She should understand herself like the back of her hand. She thinks restlessly. She thinks endlessly. She thinks and comes up blank every time. He’s a stranger, Ana tells herself. He might even deserve it.

“Deserve being locked away?” She murmurs, an uneasy frown twisting her face. “With nothing?” Closes her eyes. It was glaringly obvious how little he actually had, after all. No D.D.D., which she’d already noticed early on. Absence from chats. Communication. Healthy things that were necessary. Isolation. Loneliness. One of Lucifer’s ham-fisted ‘punishments’? It doesn't feel right.

Even without trust, even if he did deserve some form of punishment, could she say that it would be this? Could she condemn him? Because that’s what it would be. Damning. Not helping Belphegor would only mean that he would be stuck there—living in those conditions, alone, for as long as Lucifer saw fit to hold him. Her wariness didn't mean she had to be okay with that by default—didn’t allow her to simply turn a blind eye. It’s true, she knows this, but that doesn’t mean she likes facing it.

[featherymainffins]

Kyle Gallner is somehow capable of looking both hot as hell and whiter than Wonderbread bread and twice as milquetoast at the same time. What do they keep doing with him on sets

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[thedropsofblood]

Come on fuck me emo boy

Warnings: Semi-public sex, risky sex, handjob (user receiving), deny of climax, implied prep, both char and reader are in the final year of high school.

As the school's quiet kid, he doesn't have much going for him. His grades are completely average, he doesn't have any social connections, if anything, he's kinda boring. Then how the fuck did he bag an angel like you?

That's probably what the other students think of when they heard of you and him being a couple. But have you ever heard of the phrase "never judge a book by its covers"? Yeah, your boyfriend was a completely different person outside of school.

A closet full of black band t-shirts, tight jeans, leather jackets. A room filled with band posters and a black electric guitar placed neatly in the corner. He was a complete and utter emo. You might as well have two boyfriends with how different he was at school compared to behind close doors.

What was supposed to be an innocent little shopping trip at the nearby mall, turned into a fuck session in the back of his parents' car in the parking lot. You internally thank whoever created the black window tint because without them, you're sure at least three people would've seen you guys by now.

He kept you close to his body as he thrust up into you, gritting his teeth to keep himself from groaning and biting onto your neck. He hated how he had to refrain from leaving any marks on your body, he couldn't bring himself to get you in trouble for his actions though, so he kept his mouth busy by sucking onto your nipple instead.

Your hand gripped onto the back of his neck, the other covering your mouth as the back of your head rested on the window. Pre-cum leaking out and onto his black t-shirt, one of his hands reached down to stroke your cock, his thumb covering your tip right before you could finish.

You grits your teeth, your legs shaking as eyes widened. He had the audacity to continue on, even when he was blocking you from the sweet relief of cumming. It was overstimulating, but god, was it hot coming from someone like him.

You tried to say something but all that came out was meaningless blabbering being cut off by moans and whimpers. His free hand moved to put your leg on his shoulder, he picked up his pace as his breath grew heavier, leaning in to kiss you and greedily drink up your moans like a hungry man.

Right as he was about to cum, he pulled out at the same time as he lets go of your cock, watching breathlessly as your torso and the seat underneath got stained. He leaned in to give you a deep kiss, seemingly happy and content with his relationship with you.

A/N: This was so short and rushed blame my sleepiness, I might do a part 2 on this bc I love the idea of this char sm, also guess who just realized they spelled the original tag wrong all along?

[reignpage]

Help Me Step-Bro!

Content: dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, anal

Step-Bro!Choso came with the new house and new husband. Your mother dated a pretty nice guys for about a year before jumping the gun and eloping. Now you have a whole new family: a new father and two new brothers. 

One of them is an adorable little boy, a little ray of sunshine who’s always eager to play and go on adventures. The other is a grungy emo a year older than you, with facial piercings, a tattoo running across his face, messy ponytails, and a sinful body. 

Step-Bro!Choso likes to walk around the house in just his boxers. Having come from an all-male household, he never felt the need to cover up. And though you’ve told him off so many times since you’ve all moved in together, three months ago, he never seems to remember. 

He leaves his room with ruffled hair and plaid pyjama trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips revealing a V-line leading to a place you’ve been trying really hard not to think about. And it’s so hard to when you’ve actually seen the damn thing, and good god, it’s huge -- he really needs to stop forgetting his towel when he comes out of the bathroom. 

“Sorry sis. I forgot again,” he gives you a sheepish shrug. “Bathroom’s free though!”

Step-Bro!Choso is touchy. He loves to cuddle. He does it with Yuji, with his dad, even your mother. Whether it’s just a side hug or one from the back, he does it with everyone, he even greets with his friends with hugs. But with you…

You swear it’s more than just an expression of familial affection. Your new brother doesn’t need to linger, his hands shouldn’t be gripping your hips, arms should not be circling your waist, pushing your tits up and bouncing them when he lifts you. And he really really shouldn’t be rubbing something hard against your ass. 

Step-Bro!Choso swears he can’t sleep when it’s thundering outside. He’s practically shaking when you open your door for him, and what kind of cruel monster would you be if you didn’t let him in? 

“It’s too loud. Can I stay with you for tonight, again?”

So, you lead him to your bed, letting him climb in behind you. His naked back warming your body, arms holding you tight against him whilst he buries his face into the crook of your neck. It’s his tears of fear that wet your skin and not the open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving there, nipping and sucking until your thighs are squeezing together. 

You feel his cold piercings against your skin -- the ones of his eyebrow, and oh no, the one on his tongue?

He pushes his own leg between yours, and his muscular thigh pressing right against your damp panties provides the perfect amount of friction for your throbbing clit. One of his hands creeps under your big shirt, cupping a tit there and letting the weight ground him. He doesn’t pinch your nipples like you’d like him to, just lets you ride his thigh for however long you need. 

Sleep finds both of you after your dull orgasm.

Step-Bro!Choso doesn’t correct people when they think you’re dating. You’d be shopping in a grocery store, his hand tucked inside your jean pocket, cupping your ass, letting you guide him through the aisles. When an elderly lady coos at you both, calling you a lovely pair, he does nothing but grin and bring you closer to press a kiss on your cheek. 

“Thank you! That’s so sweet.” 

He’ll have a smile on for the rest of the day. 

Step-Bro!Choso insists on teaching you how to swim. Tanning by the pool whilst he and Yuji play mermaids isn’t good enough, he says. So, you dip a toe in, testing the temperature, before completely submerging yourself. He comes up behind you, hands on your waist as he encourages you to trust him. 

“Come on! If I can teach Yuji, I can teach you,” he beams at you, his pinky finger tracing the hem of your bikini panties. “Plus, it’s an important skill to have, sis.”

Trusting him, you let his hands wander — he teaches you how to move your arms by guiding them, his hand presses on your stomach to ensure you know how to steady your breath, and he even holds your head down under water to so you know what your limits are. 

You try very hard to ignore that blush on his cheeks when you finally resurface, coughing and spluttering, and the way he's drawn to your heaving chest. Or the fact that his hands kneading your ass serves no educational function, nor does being topless. But he insists that it’s more 'hydrodynamic', that it helps to streamline you when there’s as minimal fabric as possible. 

“I swear, it’s true!” He says as he cups both of your tits under the water whilst your parents come out to the garden, flicking the tips and making the water ripple.

“What are you guys up to?” Your mother asks, more focused on reapplying sunscreen to Yuji’s face. 

Step-Bro!Choso is a good liar. He replies without missing a beat, “Just teaching my sis how to swim.”

Both of your parents seem very proud, likely pleased that everyone’s getting along. Little do they know, you’re getting along very well, if the hot length tucking itself inside your bikini bottom, rubbing along your cheeks, is anything to go by. 

Step-Bro!Choso is a medical expert. When you complain about a headache, instead of paracetamol and a glass of water, he gives you a hands-on service. He promises that it’s a natural and superior method of clearing one of ailments. And he’s older, so he knows more. Of course. As he’s listing off all the benefits, he’s lying you back on the sofa and pulling your shorts down, panties sliding down your legs. 

And then his mouth is on your pussy, licking and sucking all your juices like a man starved. He thrusts his tongue inside, curving it and allowing you to lose yourself to the pleasure, headache forgotten about. Your hands don’t know where to go but he guides them to his ponytails, humming in satisfaction when you don’t hesitate to pull him closer to your sloppy pussy. 

“God, I knew you'd taste as good as you look,” he mutters against your clit. 

There’s shuffling outside the front door and your eyes dart to the wiggling handle. Panicked, you’re trying to push his face away, hissing at him to let you go because your parents came home earlier than planned. 

Step-Bro!Choso only pins your thighs to the sofa with greater strength and dives into your cunt with increased fervour. He’s practically making out with your pussy, his eyes rolling back whilst he kneels on the floor, worshiping your body like he has no care in the world. 

“It’s okay, sissy. I locked the door and took their keys,” he whines into your clit, the vibrations wringing a silent moan from you, the metal ball on his tongue providing delicious friction. “Just cum before they find the spare key under the plant pot.”

And you do. 

Right as the door swings open, you’re being covered with a blanket, and your stepbrother is wiping his chin with his sleeve and offering to help his father with the heavy groceries, pressing a kiss right onto your mother’s cheek and never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Darling, why are you so flushed?” Your new father asks, his hand pressing against your forehead. 

Step-Bro!Choso yells from the kitchen, “Oh, she said she had a headache. But don’t worry, I took care of it!”

He sure did. And he continues to do every time you have a headache and even when you don’t. Sometimes, you’ll be in the kitchen, looking over the living room where your parents are watching TV, chopping vegetables across the kitchen island. He’ll come to offer his assistance and instead of sorting the boiling pot on the hob or setting the table, he, instead, drops to his knees again, pulls your shorts down, and stuff his face into your ass. 

You blame the wet noises of the pasta that is way past al dente by now when your mother asks what all the hubbub is. 

Step-Bro!Choso sits in the back of the car with you. Your parents are at the front, Yuji is in his car seat beside you, asleep, and your thigh is pressed against your older stepbrother’s ripped jeans. Whilst the two argue about the directions, he throws his jacket over your laps and leads your hand to his hard on. 

When you unzip his jeans and let his cock spring free, your eyes remain on your parents, scared they’ll see the odd placement of the jacket, the way you’re both blushing and biting your lips, and the fact that something is moving up and down, getting faster and faster underneath. 

“What do you guys want to eat?” His dad asks, pulling up to a fast-food chain. 

You reply, “Whatever’s good with me.”

And Step-Bro!Choso whispers in your ear, “My little sister’s pussy is the best taste in the world.”

Because of that, you have to drag his hand under his own jacket and into your panties, ensuring he wastes no time in curling them inside you to poke at the spongy spot that leaves you breathless and writhing. The heel of his palm rubs against your clit just as you thumb at his slit. You moan. 

“What was that?” Your mother asks. 

Step-Bro!Choso laughs. “I think she’s really hungry.”

“Well, you have to be patient because it’s going to take a while.”

He’s kneading your clit harder and faster, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath, desperate to keep the noise down despite how good you’re feeling. But just as you’re about to cum, he slips his hand out and accepts the greasy bag of burgers and fries from his dad and digs in. 

Staring, aghast and all crazy, he ignores your glare and pops a fry into his mouth. He puts on a big show of sucking his fingers clean, his tongue getting deep between them. He groans, “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life!”

Step-Bro!Choso hates your guy friend. You’ve known him far longer than you’ve known your new brother and he’s always been welcome into your home. But for some reason, your usually sweet and kind stepbrother scowls and curses under his breath when he comes over. He even makes sure Yuji doesn’t interact with him, talking about 'stranger danger'.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom mid movie and when you enter, you’re being pushed deeper before the door closes and locks behind you. When you turn to look at your attacker, your vision is obscured by a face tattoo and glinting metal; he kisses you. It’s a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, but so damn good. 

Spinning you around, he pins your front onto the cold ceramic sink, your leggings pulled all the way off and you find your parties being stuffed in your mouth. 

“Don’t like that guy, sissy,” he pouts into your ear, spreading your wetness all over your thighs, almost as if he’s reminding himself that it’s all for him. “Want you all to myself.”

After he wrangles an orgasm out of you with his fingers, your moans muffled by the flimsy fabric of your thong, he’s pushing inside your sopping cunt with his fat cock. The stretch is delectable, it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, spine arching and ass thrusting back into him. 

"This pussy's all I've been thinking about, from the first time I met you," he confesses and it draws out your orgasm further.

Step-Bro!Choso pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail, keeping you arched all pretty for him as he plunges again and again into your pussy, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you cream on his cock in relentless waves, until you’re creating a ring of white at the base. 

"So -ngh- tight! Fuck, sis! Don't clench down on me, gonna cum!"

He can’t keep his eyes off you; your pussy won’t let him go, it’s sucking him back in with every thrust, every ramming and lunging of his hips. And your asshole is fluttering, winking at him, and he just has to thumb at it, tracing the rim.

“Hph, Cho!” You cry out through your panties. 

“Sorry,” he keeps repeating. “It was calling for me!”

You’re fucking yourself back onto him, meeting every thrust, and loving the sting of your scalp as he pulls at your hair. And when he pushes that thumb in, you cum all over his cock. Juices flying, he can only whimper and whine when his orgasm soon follows, his cum painting your walls white and burning his imprints there, marking his territory. 

Whimpering in your ear, he mutters, "Fuck! So good, so fucking good!"

Step-Bro!Choso doesn’t let you catch your breath before he kisses you again, muttering something indiscernible into your mouth, rolling that tongue piercing between you. You break away with a string of saliva, glistening under the light. And then he pecks your lips once last time with a happy hum. 

“You’re such a good sister,” he smiles toothily. And then he’s kneeling between your legs to slurp up the cum dripping from your gaping pussy, cleaning you up before he lifts the leggings back into the place and sends you off into your merry way. 

When you return, the movie’s long finished and your friend is packing up to go. 

“Y’know, I think your brother brought over a girl. They were really loud.” He’s frowning as he steps out into the front porch. “She sounded like a real slut. You probably shouldn’t let her be around your family.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t notice your blush, or the wet spot between your legs. 

He’s probably right; the girl in the bathroom, and in the car, in the kitchen, the living room, and the pool was a real slut. But she doesn’t care, because her brother’s taking very good care of her. 

And when Step-Bro!Choso appears in your bedroom late at night, when your parents and little brother, are dead asleep, you don’t hesitate to spread your legs so he can dive his face between them, licking up the cum that’s still leaking from your pussy. 

Who cares about family when you’re going to make your own tonight and every night from now on?

Certainly not Step-Bro!Choso who’s proposing when you get on all fours, face planted in the pillows and hands spreading your cheeks open for him so he can fuck your ass too. 

Being a big brother fucking rules!

[girlygguk]

CHRISTMAS & CHILL ⋆ 정국

ATTN: all christmas enthusiasts ‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

we’d like to welcome you into the holidays with a groundbreaking, earth-shattering, revolutionary concept that has NEVER been seen before…

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔ a christmas themed mini-series!

it only comes once a year, so let’s do it right! get into your coziest christmas jammies, grab your hot cocoa, cuddle up with your furbabies, and prepare for some tooth-rotting fluff, some hot and steamy smut, and just a tiny sting of holiday angst ✩

this is… CHRISTMAS & CHILL a @lovieku and @girlygguk production

inspired by ariana grande’s holiday EP christmas & chill, with banners crafted by the phenomenal maestro @awrkive ⋆⛸️˖°❅🕯️༘

INTRO ⋆ LOVIEKU

⟡ virgin jk x fem reader, first time, f2l, smut, fluff

you're jeongguk's secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he'll ever receive.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆•̩̩͙꙳⋆

WIT IT THIS CHRISTMAS ⋆ GIRLYGGUK

⟡ drummer jk x secret situationship fem reader, fwb au, angst, smut, fluff

the spine breakers. a name that echoes everywhere. jeon jungkook, the drummer of the world’s leading alt band, has his face on billboards and displays across the globe. he's loved. desired. untouchable. but as christmas - the busiest and arguably most romantic season - approaches, you’re done watching girls shoot their shot with your (not-so) man. this time, you let them know. or, better yet, hear.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆•̩̩͙꙳⋆

DECEMBER ⋆ LOVIEKU

⟡ dilf jk x gf reader, established relo, smut, fluff

being with jeongguk is a gift in itself. this christmas, you'll show him your gratitude. do whatever is on his list.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆•̩̩͙꙳⋆

NOT JUST ON CHRISTMAS ⋆ GIRLYGGUK

⟡ nerdy jk x gf reader, established relo, college au, fluff, smut

he's the first boy you've ever brought home for christmas. jungkook's nervous. you're horny.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆•̩̩͙꙳⋆

TRUE LOVE ⋆ LOVIEKU

⟡ tattoo artist jk x fem reader, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, smut

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆•̩̩͙꙳⋆

WINTER THINGS ⋆ GIRLYGGUK

⟡ jungkook x gf reader, long distance relationship, smut, fluff

it’s jungkook’s favorite time of year and the only thing on his list is you. getting to finally feel you, see you, meet you outside of his computer screen. now it’s happening. and, god, you’re even prettier in person.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆•̩̩͙꙳⋆

[lusalemaart]

Emo vent lad ForShittening study