#he is not always funny but he tries to be funny sometimes even with his stoic delivery

[duhshereadz]

More Arcane head cannons because I can’t stop:

---

Jinx (Powder)

- She has a habit of giving her bombs cute names, like “Boomy” or “Snappy,” and talks to them as if they’re her friends.

- She bites her nails so much that she paints them just to make herself stop, but the paint usually gets chipped after a day.

- She doodles all over her arms when she’s bored, even though she knows it’ll smudge.

- Jinx absolutely hates vegetables, but she’ll eat them if you lie and call them “explosion fuel.”

- She has a surprising knack for sewing and will patch up her stuffed toys obsessively.

- She hums offbeat, made-up songs when tinkering, and sometimes they turn into actual catchy tunes.

- Jinx would totally put googly eyes on her weapons for no reason other than to make herself laugh.

- She hoards random shiny objects and insists they’ll be “important later,” even if it’s just a bottle cap.

- She’s constantly barefoot because she hates the feeling of shoes.

---

Vi

- Vi makes terrible coffee but drinks it anyway because she’s convinced it gives her “character.”

- She’s surprisingly superstitious and always knocks on wood when she feels like she’s jinxed something.

- Vi collects random keychains from places she visits and hangs them all over her belt like trophies.

- She pretends not to care about her hair, but she secretly spends time making sure it’s styled just the right amount of messy.

- She gives people nicknames that have nothing to do with their real name.

- Vi can’t whistle, and it drives her nuts when others do it effortlessly.

- She’s an amazing dancer but will only admit it when she’s had a few drinks.

- Vi always takes up too much space on couches, sprawling across them without a care.

- She secretly loves fluffy, cozy blankets and has a stash of them in her room.

---

Caitlyn Kiramman

- Caitlyn cannot function without a proper breakfast, and she gets cranky if she misses it.

- She’s weirdly good at chess, but she plays so competitively that no one likes going up against her.

- Caitlyn absolutely has a planner and writes everything in it, even things she doesn’t actually need to remember.

- She’s awful at video games and gets super flustered when she loses, which makes Vi tease her endlessly.

- Caitlyn secretly loves cheesy romance novels but keeps them hidden on a high shelf.

- Her guilty pleasure is eating dessert before dinner when no one is looking.

- Caitlyn’s handwriting is ridiculously neat, but she gets annoyed if anyone compliments it too much.

- She’s terrible at telling jokes, but her deadpan delivery somehow makes them funny anyway.

- Caitlyn refuses to wear mismatched socks—ever. It would ruin her whole day.

---

Jayce Talis

- Jayce is a terrible cook and once managed to burn water, but he insists he’s “just experimental in the kitchen.”

- He talks to himself when working, narrating every step like he’s in a tutorial video.

- Jayce has a stash of energy drinks he tries to keep secret because he knows they’re unhealthy.

- He always takes forever to get ready because he’s obsessed with looking polished, even if he’s just going to his lab.

- Jayce is weirdly good at folding fitted sheets, but he keeps that talent to himself.

- He tries to keep plants in his apartment for “aesthetic reasons,” but they always die within a week.

- Jayce collects notebooks but never fills them out because he “doesn’t want to waste them.”

- He has the worst poker face and can’t lie to save his life.

- Jayce has an elaborate skincare routine and won’t go to bed without following it.

---

Viktor

- Viktor sometimes forgets to eat while working, so he keeps random snacks hidden in his desk drawers.

- He’s the type to re-read books he’s already memorized just because it brings him comfort.

- Viktor hums classical music under his breath when he’s deep in thought.

- He’s absurdly good at mental math and sometimes mutters equations when he’s bored.

- Viktor absolutely talks to his tools and machines, even apologizing to them when they malfunction.

- He hoards broken parts or failed prototypes because he thinks he might use them “someday.”

- He doesn’t drink coffee, preferring tea, but it’s always cold by the time he remembers to drink it.

- Viktor sleeps in the weirdest positions, like half-falling off the bed but somehow comfortable.

- He’s lowkey very sentimental, keeping tiny mementos from his childhood in Zaun.

---

Silco

- Silco keeps his surroundings ridiculously neat and loses his temper if anything is out of place.

- He’s surprisingly good at card games but gets irritated when people accuse him of cheating.

- Silco never, *ever* lets anyone touch his chair in the office. It’s his throne.

- He prefers bitter drinks and thinks anything sweet is “a waste of time.”

- He secretly practices his speeches in front of a mirror to make sure he sounds menacing enough.

- Silco keeps a journal, but it’s filled with cryptic notes that only make sense to him.

- He absolutely hates bright colors and insists on everything being muted or dark-toned.

- Silco’s a night owl who rarely sleeps, and when he does, he can fall asleep sitting up.

- He secretly enjoys playing mind games just to see how long people take to figure it out.

---

Ekko

- Ekko is the type to doodle on absolutely everything, from walls to random scraps of paper.

- He always carries a deck of playing cards with him, and he’s amazing at sleight-of-hand tricks.

- Ekko has a sweet tooth and will go out of his way for pastries or candy.

- He has an old, beat-up notebook full of his plans and ideas, but it’s barely legible to anyone else.

- Ekko’s ridiculously good at climbing, treating it like a sport even when he doesn’t need to.

- He likes making little gadgets just for fun, like wind-up toys or tiny flashlights.

- Ekko is a surprisingly good dancer, but he only busts out moves when the mood strikes.

[distant-velleity]

LMAO i lied im answering all these at once. woohoo!

(warning for VERY unreliable narration in certain questions)

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

“That’s kind of personal, isn’t it? Well, good thing you asked me, the most normal person here. Kidding, kidding.”

Yuhua lives with his parents right now. His sister, an alumnus of the school, is away at university. They are a perfectly happy family. There is nothing wrong. Nothing. 

(Yuhua lives with an emotionally manipulative mother and conservative father, and returns to a dysfunctional household that is filled with silence, phone calls, or arguments every day. Of course, he would never admit any of this to anyone but his friends, and even then nothing more than a slight hint or complaint that tells nothing of the bigger picture. Yuhua himself is not in the best mental state as a result, due to placing pressure on himself to perform well so his parents don’t get on his case, and he maintains a thin thread of control on his demeanor.)

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

“She looks kind of lonely… I feel bad. No wonder she’s so into… Oops! That’s not my thing to tell. But I do think she could benefit from some friends.”

The quote is probably self-explanatory of what he thinks (assuming he hasn’t caught her doing anything suspicious, and has only ever seen her pretend to fawn over Azul). He recognizes that she’s always alone, but he’s also like. World’s worst introvert trying to masquerade as world’s worst extrovert, so… he hasn’t (yet) taken any steps to make the first move and interact with her. It probably doesn’t help that it looks like neither of them bother with more than small talk with others.

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

“That guy? …Doesn’t it seem like he’s suddenly got a lot of admirers nowadays? I mean, I can see the appeal—hardworking, intelligent… But I don’t think I could ever date anyone on the student council. Guess those guys can shoot their shots if they want.”

If you couldn’t tell from the quote, he… thinks middlingly of Azul, and has like 0 romantic interest in him at all lol. Of course, Yuhua respects anyone with good grades and good conduct, of which Azul meets all the criteria, but that’s it. I wouldn’t say he ever met Azul so much as he’s heard of him (what with being in the same year and Azul being on the student council), and seen him around. 

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

About Floyd:

“...That guy. There’s no point in associating myself with him.”

(if this is okay) They’ve been in the same class for two years in a row now, purely by chance. Yuhua knows him as the careless, genius lackey of Azul. His disorderly and sometimes disrespectful conduct only grates Yuhua when there’s something that needs to be done, but otherwise Yuhua would be content to let him live his life and let their paths never cross. Even that one time he went into the gym after club activities to practice his lines and saw Floyd practicing his basketball skills non-stop—Even when Floyd puts in the work to pass a test almost effortlessly, then decides the next one isn’t worth the nonexistent effort—Even when Floyd is free to do whatever he wants, his actions and comments constantly broadening Yuhua’s restricted worldview—Even… when…

…even when Yuhua’s nursing something of a hopeless, helpless crush on him. And that’s it. It’s no fairytale love, it’s no novel-worthy romance. It’ll never take flight—Yuhua will take this secret with him to the grave because of that. He knows he’s not enough to catch and keep Floyd’s attention; at most he’s just a classmate who Floyd thinks it’s funny to talk to and annoy sometimes because he tries to look like a goody-two-shoes in a less angry way than Riddle.

“It’s not a crush, because I won’t get that crushing disappointment when he finds out and is disgusted by my very existence.”

About Vizzie ( @twistedwonderlandshenanigans ):

“...She’s got a good heart.”

They’re… friends. Acquaintances. Something. Does he really know how to define it? Now that Vizzie doesn’t care as much about her grades and Yuhua’s just went on to prioritize himself, or something, what was probably a friendship has… not stayed a friendship. He goes on with his reputation-building act, while she does her own thing. Yeah. Yeah—He’s fine with it. It’s what they both want, and he’s not going to interfere with her choices. It’s fine. Right? (He doesn’t want to think about it.)

It definitely doesn’t bother him that now that she’s “fallen off” and protected herself with a poor reputation, she seems… more free. It ABSOLUTELY does not bother him that she’s such easy “friends” with Floyd. It doesn’t bother him that unlike with Floyd, everything about Vizzie’s day-to-day existence and circumstances proves that something is inherently wrong with Yuhua himself. It doesn’t bother him that her everything proves that everything about him, from personality to looks to grades, is inferior and unlikeable. It doesn’t bother him that, because she’s so closed-off now, the unspoken truth is that he wasn’t enough for something like an actual friendship. It. Doesn’t. Bother. Him. 

About Riddle:

“...Oh, that guy.”

Sure, he can respect someone like Riddle. Someone who’s at the top of their class, is on the student council—Yeah, sure, whatever. It’s because of people like him that Yuhua doesn’t try too hard, anyway. It just isn’t fun. It’s not worth his time, to be constantly outclassed. And his attitude, too—part of the reason Yuhua would never run for student council. If he was aware of Riddle’s situation, he’d be more sympathetic, but as things are he just can’t quite stand Riddle’s attitude. 

Let overachievers have their fun, is Yuhua’s opinion. He’s fine to be a middling fish in a small pond while people like Riddle try to be big fish. They’re fellow second-years, but that doesn’t mean they have to care about each other. They probably don’t interact much on a meaningful level because of Riddle’s duties and Yuhua’s opinions, and if they do—it’s Yuhua being polite and saying all the things Riddle wants to hear.

(if you’re willing to establish OC dynamics, let me know and I can add Yuhua’s thoughts here! I just don’t like to add/conceptualize dynamics with canon characters because I’m scared of stepping on toes abkjsdkfgjskfd)

5. What grade/year is your OC?

“I’m part of the worst year, in case you’re wondering. Hehe. Just kidding.”

Aging him up by just one year for this AU— He’s 17, a second-year. 

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

“Goals? Eh… Passing this year with the best grades I can get.”

He doesn’t have any true goals, and it makes him anxious. His main objective is just… passing the school year, staying on good terms with everyone… That’s it. It’s all very short-term, school-related. He doesn’t have enough faith in himself to actually achieve a long-term life goal.

“As for life? Ask me again in, like… a year.” 

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

“...What? This is ridiculous. Do you just accept any kind of evidence nowadays? …No. Don’t answer that. Sorry. But I know I’m innocent.”

Yuhua is counting on others to vouch for him, both for an alibi and for his character; it’s situations like these that are the reason why he’s so intent on networking and maintaining good relationships with everyone. Knowing that his future and record are on the line, he’s absolutely going to plead his case however he can, trying to argue about the evidence, et cetera…

“Isn’t there anyone else who could have been responsible? In fact…”

If he’s ever caught Quartz doing something suspicious, he’s definitely throwing her under the bus now. If people grill him for not reporting it right away, well…

“I was just—scared at the time, you know? I didn’t know what she was going to do to me if I tattled… I’m really sorry, but what matters is that I’m the one telling the truth now.”

This might be one of the rare situations where people see him genuinely lose the easygoing act.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

“Huh? Pockets? What pockets? I didn’t see anything.”

He’ll turn a blind eye, unless there’s a situation wherein he can actually benefit from reporting her. 

“In any case… It’s not my business right now. Let people do what people want as long as it doesn’t affect me, yeah?”

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

“Come on, don’t ask me questions like that. I’m only ever where I should be.”

Yuhua always goes to class, and always shows up on time. He has people he can’t disappoint, even himself. When he’s not in class, he’s (usually) in the drama club room; before classes start for the day, at lunch, and so on.  

10. How are your OC's grades?

“Passable.”

He gets pretty good grades. I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily competitive, nor at the very top of his class, but he tries to stay above “average.” He’s got a natural edge to memorizing and regurgitating information, so getting good grades isn’t hard for him, but… you know. If he tried a little harder…

(No Yan Sim AU) Questions for OCs! + Quartz and other characters' lore

You don't have to do these if you don't want to! You can write and answer how ever you want (3rd person or as the OC)

These answers are just examples and they also give lore to other TWST characters in the AU

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Riddle currently lives with his mother. Because of her influence, he is the strictest in the student council (which consists of the dormleaders.)

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

[You can yap about it here since I already used Quartz as an example in the fourth question]

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Jade is Azul's right hand man. He assists Azul with a lot of student council work and is mostly by his side with Floyd. They are friends from their middle school days and up to their highschool days (although the three of them won't admit it).

Jade found Azul's hardwork and scheming nature very exciting so he and his brother always stayed by Azul's side to see what fun events would happen.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

[They are speaking about Quartz as example]

Floyd: "Who again?"

Floyd doesn't really acknowledge Quartz since she's so quick out of his sights. Genuinely believes there isn't a person named that but is suspicious.

Jade: "Oh, that shy girl? She's a little funny."

Definitely suspicious of Quartz but they don't interact much so he has no other information about her. He probably needs to be more skillful when studying her.

Riddle: "Quartz?.. Uh.. I-I don't recall who that is."

Quartz rarely interacts with Riddle.

Ace: "Ah? You mean that girl who's always so weird? I've seen her watch Azul. Pffftt! Do you think she likes him?"

He notices her sometimes because he thinks her appearance is a little flashy.

Idia: "I-Isn't she one of Azul's admirers?... She's the shy type right? She's a little strange though.. Sometimes she takes photos of me! W-Wait.. Maybe she's into me instead?! EEEKK!! H-HOW SCARY!!"

Completely misunderstands Quartz's actions but he's quick to know how weird her actions are. He stays away from her if Azul isn't present.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

Azul, Jade, and Floyd are all 2nd years (17).

Leona has been held back so he is still 20.

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Quartz wishes to kill Azul 🙏

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Floyd is jumping her.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Riddle is absolutely reporting that! He's calling the cops and everything 🫡🫡🫡

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Quartz is always in class but she'll come right before the bell rings since she was.. busy. She doesn't have a particular place she goes to all the time. She's never in one spot.

Quartz's lunch spot varies because she's always spying but her usual spot is in the courtyard.

Riddle is assigned being a hall monitor so he usually watches the halls when he is able to. He usually eats lunch with Trey and Cater.

Leona is always found napping under trees and skipping his classes. Ruggie manages to find him and give him his lunch from the cafeteria.

Rook is watching you.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Deuce tries, ok. (Awful)

[leadfort]

Fuck it. Bre'uhn/Brian Masterpost. Because he is my primary player character in a text basted D&D Westmarch I'm part of, and I can't believe i havent talked about him yet cause he's the one I actually PLAY the most. Currently lvl 6 psi warrior, started at level 2. Basically. His whole deal is based on the thought that he needs to kill an illithid in order to be welcomed in with his kin in Tu'narath.

Also I wanted to make a very gith looking gith lol and he has since become a lil more unique in his design, but the biggest inspiration initially was the 5:e Volo's guide to monsters image of a githyanki as well as wanting the funny lil 1:e hair style Overview: Bre’uhn is a githyanki who is haunted by extraordinarily bad luck. He wants nothing but complete his rite of passage into the Astral Plane by killing an illithid and bringing its head to his queen. Life seems to have different plans for him as something always seems to go wrong. The ship that would take him sunk. His party left without him. Adventurers has already killed the illithids he went out to get. The hunting party was stopped by an out of season blizzard. Even casually it seems like bad luck is always right around the corner. He's become extremely superstitious and afraid of things that could cause even worse luck. He adorns himself in lucky trinkets in hope that they will counteract his ‘curse’. Now he’s in his 30s, and he is growing more impatient. If he doesn’t get that illithid head soon, he’s going to die from old age.

Personality: Everything you’d expect from a githyanki. He’s impatient, stubborn, proud and blunt. Values efficiency and shows of force. He does have quite a bit of humor, though it borders on being ridicule and mockery. Wants to be logical, but acts based on emotion. Where he differs is his extremely crippling social and performance anxieties. He hates that he has these though unfortunately, him trying to force himself through them causes more flare ups.

He's also extremely expressive and everyone can read him like an open book. He.. also hates this aspect about himself but at this point he can't be arsed to stop it.

Backstory: Grew up in a creche in the Spine of the World that is pretty far up in a mountainous and a harsh cold region. It’s rather close to a small town next to Mirabar. His upbringing was pretty much standard for a githyanki, and he reflects his culture in his temperament a whole lot. While the creche and the town didn’t love each other, they weren’t outright hostile to one another, and it was not super uncommon for githyanki to sometimes show themselves in the town.

Once Bre’uhn was in his early 20s he tried to join several hunting parties in order to find and kill his first illithid to be "properly" allowed into the Astral Plane. However, something always came up or went wrong for himself specifically. He’d always had a bit of bad luck in his shadow, but this is when it really started to mess with him. In his mid 20s he started to believe that Tymora herself scorned him. He didn’t know why, but started to learn more about the istiks pantheon and religions in order to get in her good graces. He even tattooed her symbol into his ribs, a four leaf clover. Just two months after he got the tattoo, he got into a barfight. In typical githyanki fashion it soon escalated to a knife fight and he stabbed one of the other patrons. The four leaf clover was slashed in the process and Bre’uhn soon found himself in prison.

“Luckily” enough, the man he stabbed did not die, which simply meant that Bre’uhn was not sent to be executed. In hindsight, Bre’uhn maybe would have preferred this… As he then spent six years in prison. Six whole years where he was not able to search or find any illithids. His prison mates also didn’t know how to pronounce his name, thus gave him the nickname “Brian”. As an extra kicker, once he got out of prison the creche where he grew up had completely relocated. None of the townspeople knew where they all had gone (and it's not like the githyanki would've told em), but it seemed they had all just packed up and left three years ago.

Still, he’s determined to find an illithid and that takes precedence over searching for his own kin. A few years into his search, he stumbled across a fortune teller. They told him that his chance to ‘prove himself’ will come when he least expects it. Bre’uhn, fully believing the fortune teller, took this to mean that if he is actively searching for illithids, he will not find them. If he expects them, he will ‘jinx’ it, and thus they will not show themselves.

----

The game then picks up where he is ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN there is a mind flayer colony deeply imbedded in an abandoned mine outside Mirabar. He has rigged this whole cave with explosives, but as he sets up the few last barrels of smokepowder, he slips on the powder as a bright portal to Waterdeep suddenly sucks him up. ... and spits him out, crashing in the middle of the Waterdeep Market. He is quickly punched to the ground as he tries to attack people in his confusion and told about the strange rifts and portals that are opening around Faerun. And now, he is here, still on his quest to bring a single 1 (one) head to Vlaakith. Sure, there's literally a permanent opening to the Astral Sea above him all the time (thanks rifts...) But going there without his tribute is IMPROPER.

Trivia:

Oral fixation - Likes to chew on blades of grass or picks. Nibbles on his lip ring.

Very expressive face, which he doesn't like but he cant help himself.

Obsessively collects luck trinkets because you never know.

As a githyanki, he's not against murder and violence. But he started to curb his behaviour since he is afraid of going to prison again.

Since he's convinced his bad luck is the cause of a god, he is well versed in gods and religious practices. Moreso in that he's ready to fight them at this point.

Midlife crisis. Extremely afraid of growing old and he dyed a patch of his hair because he found white strands.

He got the tattooes in prison, which represents his wish to be amongst the clouds on the back of a red dragon.

Other Thoughts: Bre'uhn is aware that his 6 years spent in prison with humans, dwarves and a half-orc for company has changed the way he acts and talks quite a lot. This is cause for his anxieties since he is worried that even if he were to complete his rite of passage, the other githyanki would find him too different to let him back in. This results in him avoiding other gith at all costs because he doesn't want it confirmed... which tenfolds his anxieties when he's forced to talk to one. (And he is no stranger to panic attacks).

He scoffs in the face of zombies, owlbears, hags and black dragons and has not a single drop of fear for them. But seeing another gith from 30 feet away has his bones crumble.

Thank you for readin!

[ryllen]

Fun with zayne ☃️🎶🎵.°

[specialgradefckr]

AWHHHH ty for the tag!! i know i've got soooo many wips i wanna see from you heheheh... omg god i STILL have to check out some stuff XD life really does get away from you sometimes

i'll pass on the tag to @eevwrites and @infinitatis-ink i know you bitches got stuff in drafts. show us the goods. gimme. sample.

hhhhh... the forbidden texts... some of which have gone untouched for like. an entire year almost.

but i have some BESPOKE lines in some of my drafts. i swear to god. some of these are absolutely WILD sjhdflghdg i still love them even after months and months~

from my final heatwave fic, omega!gojo getting sex ed entirely from porn:

Satoru had always liked the idea of getting knotted. Like, what omega didn’t? You were his best friend, and you could confirm you liked the idea, too. The two of you had talked all about it – about everything, once you’d both presented and helped each other out through your first heats. The moment you’d reluctantly shown him your collection of knot toys, he’d ordered some for himself. You had to wrestle with him to keep him from borrowing one to try out, complaining that you didn’t trust him at all to sanitize it properly, and then there was that one time you and he were both in heat at the same time- Anyways, Satoru knew he wanted to get knotted. He just hadn’t found the right alpha to do it with yet. But now he has one, and now he’s finally going to get knotted, like he always wanted. So why, when Suguru finally grinds against his ass, does he feel ice in his gut? He tries to hide how he stiffens up but Suguru notices. Fuck. Didn’t it hurt if they didn’t fuck when they got hard? Like, in the porn, the alpha stepbrother always begs his omega stepsister to help him out just this once, and she agrees because she knows that his knot will be painful and hard for hours if he doesn’t cum inside some hot omega pussy. (Listen, he’s not proud of that one. He’d only clicked on it in the first place because the stepsister looked like… someone he knew.)

this fic i started in like. may of last year or something wild. it's such a fun idea, it's SO full of funny moments:

“This is what I looked like in high school. We dated a whole year, you know, I can prove it. The pictures are still up on his profile.” Piercing, bloodred eyes dart from the picture, and back to you. Fair enough. You looked like crap in high school, and you definitely look a lot better now. “I must have had a pretty fun personality, no?” His mouth opens up, but before he says anything, you put your face right up in front of his, eyes locked, smiling deviously. “Or I must have been a complete fucking freak in the sheets.” He barks out a laugh, and you know you’ve got him. Foot in the door. “You’d suck my dick to get a date to this stupid reunion?” Sukuna didn't take you for that sort of woman, but the teasing question falls from his lips so naturally. “I would suck your dick to make Satoru Gojo feel inferior,” You correct. Where have you been all of my life?

and this one is another super fucked up delicious wip of mine:

“Yo! Suguru!” He calls out cheerfully, dragging either twin by the hair. Their mouths are duct taped shut. “These are yours, right?” “Which one do you love more?” His eyes shine a painful white-blue. Like glacial ice in the sunlight. Suguru's breath leaves him. “What?” “Nanako and Mimiko, right? Which one do you love more? You can keep that one, and I’ll kill the other.” Ice in his lungs. His breath. He had never. Never imagined that Satoru would. “They’re innocent – they’re just girls – ” “Your girls killed two women. They’ve got two lives to pay for their crimes with, but out of respect for our long friendship, I’m letting you keep one. Isn’t that nice of me?” “Two monkeys?” He snarls helplessly. “Monkeys to you. To me, they were women. And I say that killing a woman is a crime worthy of death. Choose now or watch them both die.” It’s not a bluff. Suguru can feel him gathering his cursed energy, he can curse faster than Suguru could even dream of stopping him.

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[tillman]

one daaay i will put my stb era toxic yaoi thoughts into a coherent form and by that i mean an incoherent mess of a comic but know i do genuinely think about them constantly . they were always worse .

[termagax]

re: "good girl" i think they say it once randomly as a joke and its just one of those things that gets him wayyy more than they expected it would. so now its their secret weapon and they use it very sparingly and every single time he gets super embarrassed about it but it works ill tell you what.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

mused on some thesis about how billions uses Indignity to illustrate that something someone does has failed / gone wrong in one way or another, and how the way this punishment is an Emotional one means that it can't land if the character just doesn't Feel that punished by it, or at least doesn't like attribute the supposed failure to something inherent enough to them to particularly stew on it, see for example people heightening/escalating their efforts to embarass someone if even that person doesn't Seem to sufficiently externally react in embarassment. winston able to truck along while (a) consciously crafting or maintaining some persona, of eternal and irrefutable dignity or whatever else is associated with "merit"/status, isn't much of a priority, when to him his skills speak for themself even though to others this is about their own merit in recognizing independently if winston's skills Happen to have use, and putting him down if he tries to speak to that anyways, and (b) he's also just able to move along from L's handed to him, whether he thinks it was warranted (like that he'll accept it doesn't count if he only thought it but didn't say it) or not (why can't you count to loyalty), when even if this resilience To How Others Treat Him isn't exactly peak realistic, that he thinks of himself in such a way that he doesn't need to be striving for some paramount official status, or think he's defined by never failing or indeed never possibly able to be seen within a "wow undignified / embarassing" framework so long as this winningness is recognized, or so long as anything is anything, is sure feasible enough.

but anyways thought about it like this thesis is just "i am cringe but i am free" like yeah that works

[relicsongmel]

Just spent over an hour searching for the static Ho-oh in the overworld and suddenly Ryuji taking literal years to reunite with his family makes sense to me now

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ adore me, mark your territory !!

ᝰ.ᐟ after having to endure locker room conversation since his blue lock days all the way up to his pro days, yukimiya realizes that if he wants to show you just how serious he is about his thoughts on his relationship with you, he needs to make his mark on you. ( fem!reader )

pairing kenyu yukimiya x reader word count 3.6k content contains corruption kink/innocence kink, loss of virginity (both you and yukki), first time, creampie, breeding kink, slightly manipulative!yukki, you two attended the same private catholic high school, mentions of purity culture, coercion, very naive reader, talks of marriage, dark(ish) content kinktober masterlist

To love someone is to know them. 

You love Kenyu Yukimiya with all your heart; you know his hopes and his dreams, his fears and the tiny voice in his head that serves to either goad or encourage him. The two of you grew up together, attending all the same Catholic private schools up ‘til he went pro fresh out of high school graduation, and you decided to attend a tiny, private all girls university. 

You know that he’s kind and funny, much more outgoing and adventurous than you. You know that he can be gentle, and that he chooses to always be gentle with you. You know that he loves you just as much as you love him. 

But while distance makes the heart grow fonder, perhaps it’s the distance that has caused this newfound unfamiliarity between the two of you.

“Kenny, I don’t… I don’t understand.” You’re lying down on your painfully small twin-sized mattress in your dorm room. Kenyu’s on top of you, his body hovering over your own. He gives you that familiar, comforting smile of his as he asks you gently (your Kenyu’s always so gentle with you), 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Of course we do.” You say softly. Your arms are by your side, and you’re playing with the frills on the oversized comforter of your bed. Your whole entire room still screams girl. Yukimiya finds it endearing; he finds everything about you so damn endearing. Your floral quilts, and the stuffed animals he’s won for you from claw machines and unfairly rigged carnival games. Your fluffy comforter, and the way you always love to wear dresses, even when it’s just to attend a lecture. 

And your unwavering innocence. 

Everyone knows that Catholic private schools aren’t as pristine as the parents of the students like to claim it is, but you’re the only one who remained devout. The only one who genuinely stayed true to the lessons taught. You didn’t drink, you didn’t smoke, you didn’t sneak out. The only parties you attended were birthday parties chaperoned by a trusted adult and held in the early afternoon. You always followed the dress code and never tried to get away with folding the waistband of your school-issued skirt to make it shorter, like some of the other girls did. Hell, Kenyu had to literally ask your father for permission to date you before he asked you out. 

And while Kenyu’s always been on his best behavior, it’s not like he’s unaware of the world. He’s not naive like you. And that’s okay. One of you has to know enough to lead the other; Yukimiya’s more than happy that he’s the one taking on that role. 

The thing is, Kenyu truly does love you. It’s why he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to force you to go further than what you think you’re capable of, than what you think you’re allowed to go. He ignores the hard on he gets every time you two make out, the way your hips sometimes move on their own, grinding against him with no thought to strip out of your clothes and let him finish. You’ve been together since the first year of high school, and now you’re in college, and he’s playing professional soccer, and he loves you, and he still hasn’t even seen your pussy. Honestly, his closest friends tell him he must be a saint. 

But the talks in the locker room, the snide comments from his least favorite teammates, the jokes and the teasing and the mocking, condescending tones — gotta protect Yukki’s ears, can’t let him Mr. Private School hear this, as if he’d even know what we’re talking about; damn virgin — all of it is chipping away at his pacifist, mild-mannered demeanor, revealing the feral, greedy egoist that lies underneath. 

You had been so excited to hear your beloved boyfriend was flying down to your college town this weekend, just to see you! Your roommate’s out on a holiday with her parents, leaving the dorm room all to yourselves. In your cute mind, this just means more room for the two of you to hang out.

For Yukimiya, it means he has no more obstacles to get in the way of him fucking you for the first time. 

“And you know what two people who love each other do, right?” He’s still using the same pacifying, soothing tone he always uses when he’s trying to calm you down. When you skinned your knees and cried from the sting of the alcohol wipes used to clean the cuts, he had used this voice on you. When you cried at the airport because he was leaving the country to meet the team who paid an exorbitant amount to have him on their starting lineup, he had used this voice on you. Right now, you can’t understand why he’s using this voice on you. You’re not hurt; just confused. 

“Kenyu, wh-what are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about making love, [Name].” One large palm is rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thigh. The movement causes the thin fabric of your sundress to rise up. Yukimiya’s never touched you down there before. You don’t know why his touch feels so good, but you do understand what he’s talking about now. 

“But Kenny—” Your voice is reduced to nothing more than a nervous whisper, almost as if you’re scared someone is listening in. “—we can’t. That’s for married couples.” 

Well, if it’s any consolation, Yukimiya’s always planned on marrying you. 

He kisses your forehead, his hand never relenting from its position on your thigh. Your dress remains lifted up at an angle on one side. He can see part of your cotton panties; plain and white. If he moves his fingers up a few more centimeters, he could tug at the waistband of them. 

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve been thinking…” His hand travels from up your thigh to rest on your hip. The one side of your dress is now all the way up, and his thumb rests on the thin waistband of your panties, rubbing reassuring circles to get you to remain calm underneath him. “We’ll get married soon, anyway, right? I love you so much that I need an outlet to show you just how much I love you.” 

“Married? Soon?” Your eyes widen. You find yourself daydreaming about marrying Yukimiya, starting a family. Yukimiya’s smile stretches wide across his handsome face. His sweet girl, he knew you’d be putty in his hands after he mentioned that. 

“Of course.” He kisses you on your lips sweetly, his hand never leaving your hip. “And I want to give you all the love a husband has for his wife. Won’t you let me, [Name]?” 

Kenyu’s always been handsome. You have a collection of all his professional photoshoots, and you know that he has a bunch of fangirls from just his looks alone. It’s so unfair of him, really, to give you that imploring look of his. You can’t say no to Yukimiya, and you think you never want to.

And so you do let him. 

Kenyu’s quick. With the speed he normally reserves for on the field, Kenyu’s mouth meets your at the same time his other hand grips your neglected hip. Now both of his hands are bunching up the fabric of your dress, pulling the skirt up to reveal your simple, plain panties. 

“Mmph.” You moan into the kiss. This is a bit different than what you two normally engage in; somehow, everything feels a lot heavier, headier. You can’t seem to think straight. All you can focus on is chasing after his lips, matching his hungry pace. 

The heat radiating off the two of you is enough for Kenyu to separate from you momentarily. The lens of his glasses are fogged up, and he grins at you, satisfied at the progress you’re making, before taking his glasses off and setting them neatly on your nightstand. 

And then he’s back to kissing you passionately again. You’re lost in the pleasure of his kisses, unknowingly bucking your hips up, not knowing why your body is craving friction, for some attention, down there. Your hands reach up to grip the front of Kenyu’s shirt, tugging at him, trying to bring him closer. You’re getting desperate, and he finds it so cute. 

“Lift your arms up for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your lips, and your head’s too hazy for you to properly register his request. He repeats it, still as gentle as ever with you, and this time, you manage to comply. 

“Fuck.” You don’t hear Kenyu curse often; he says it’s impolite to do so in front of his girl. He breathes out the word, and you feel shy all of a sudden as his eyes roam over your body. He tossed your dress to the side unceremoniously, and because the dress itself had padding, you decided not to wear a bra. You’re laying on your bed, nothing to protect your modesty besides your cotton panties. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. The only girl I see.” He praises you, and you don’t feel too shy anymore. 

“K-Kenyu—” You look up at him, all doe-eyed and sweet. You’re pressing your thighs together, drawing his attention to the plush of your thighs, the way hiding in between your legs is your special place that only Kenyu will be allowed to see, to touch, to taste, to love. “What do we do now?” 

He leans down, whispering in your ear in his familiar, kind voice, “Now, you lay down, and let me show you how much I love you.” 

You love Kenyu so much, you think it should be impossible for your heart to have so much room for him. You know Kenyu must feel the same way, but never before has his love for you ever felt so overwhelming. Kenyu pries your thighs apart, forcing you to open your legs for him, but you didn’t know showering you in his love meant that he was going to take his fingers and rub against the mound in your underwear. 

“W-wait, Kenny!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs, but he’s too big, too strong. He blocks the movement, keeps you nice and spread for him. “I—” You don’t know what to tell him, and you don’t know how to explain why there’s a tiny puddle gathering in the thin fabric of your panties. Sometimes, you feel funny and this starts to happen, usually after a long makeout session with your boyfriend. 

“You’re so wet for me, [Name].” He almost sounds in awe, staring down at your covered pussy almost as if in a trance. The pace he’s using is rather slow; he’s content, for now, with just stroking his fingers up and down your covered slit, fascinated with the way he can watch you slowly drench through the cotton. The wet spot only continues to grow; he bets he can get his fingers damp with your arousal soon, and he wouldn’t even have to take your panties off to do so. “Do you always get this wet for me?” 

You want to cry, and you can even feel the tears welling up in your eyes. He looks up, instantly stopping his ministrations, his concern written all over his expression. “Hey, hey.” He shushes you, peppering kisses all over your face. He’s not stroking you anymore, but his large hand is cupping your pussy, the heat of his hand encasing your special place. You’re practically throbbing against him, your cunt aching and hungry for his touch. He just has to get you to open up for him, to understand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to get wet right here for me, you know that?” 

You sniffle, unsure if he’s just placating you. “Really?”

“Really.” His smile is so gentle, his tone so soothing and reassuring. He’s back to grazing his knuckles across your cunt, enjoying the way the fabric keeps on getting damper. “It means your body is happy, and it lets me know that you love me as much as I love you.” 

His other starts to tug at your waistband, dragging down your panties until he’s pulling them right off. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down and stares at your pussy for the first time. Your folds are glistening, your little clit peeking out at him, begging for him to suck on, to rub against. 

“Cute.” He tells you, tracing a finger curiously against your slit, the tip of his index finger so close to entering your clenching, unbreached hole. “I’m going to make you feel really good now, okay, [Name]? Tell me, have you ever played with yourself down here?” 

“Wha-?” You’re confused, appropriately so. The boys and girls were separated during sex education, but you remember your teacher drilling it into your heads that under no circumstances should a young girl ever touch herself. You had been confused at the time, confused as to why anyone would ever. You’ve been taught that only your husband should ever touch you right there. But Yukimiya loves you, and he’s going to be your husband, and now you’re starting to think you know why girls may want to touch themselves. You’ve felt this heat in between your thighs before, this mysterious hunger for something, but now you’re feeling it tenfold. You shake your head, too choked up to speak. 

“No? Not even like this?” You don’t expect Kenyu to insert his finger. The intrusion is foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. Your walls instinctively clench around his digit, and he has to remind himself to breathe, to remain collected, to take things slow so you can enjoy yourself properly. “You’re clamping down on just one finger.” He breathes out, curling his finger, moving it against your walls. He brushes against a spongy spot inside of you, one that has you jerking up, a shocked, pleasured moan escaping from your parted lips. “That feel good?” He asks, before adding a second finger, both of them bumping against that same sweet spot. 

Your legs feel like jelly, and you nod weakly. It does feel good. Too good. So overwhelmingly good that a foreign, euphoric sensation is taking over you. You can’t seem to control your body, and you can’t stop the flow of cute, pleasured mewls flowing from your mouth, and you manage to scream out a warning to Yuki. “S-something is—” 

A clear stream of liquid spurts out of you, splashes onto him, soaks your cute comforter. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Your walls are too sensitive now, but throughout the whole process, Yukimiya never stops thrusting his fingers in and out of your inexperienced cunt. His eyes are wide, but the gleam in them is sharp, hungry, calculating. “I didn’t even get a chance to mess with your cute little clit. You came just from penetration?” He finally removes his fingers, examining the way your juices are dripping off his digits. “You didn’t just cum, you squirted.”

You turn your head, trying to bury your face in a pillow so he can’t see the embarrassed and debauched expression on your face, but he takes his dry hand and forces you to continue looking up at him.

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart.” He coos, sucking at his fingers obscenely before releasing them from his mouth with a pop!. “It means you’re perfect and all ready for me.” 

Kenyu knows that his cock is the first cock you’ve ever seen, and he’ll make damn certain that it’s the only one you’ll be seeing for the rest of your life. There’s no frame of reference for you to use, but you don’t think that men should be so big. When he frees his dick, making a show of squeezing tightly at the base and pumping it, showing off to you, you swallow hard. 

He taps the head of his cock against your swollen, needy clit, teasing the both of you. He’s losing all sense of restraint, and even rubbing the underside of his cock against your glistening folds, trying to slick up his cock so it’ll be easier to glide into your soaked cunt, is enough to make him want to cum. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained, the gentle tone hanging on by a thread. “We’ll be making love for the first time. Aren’t you excited?” 

You nod. Excited and nervous. His cock much larger than his fingers, and maybe he should have prepped you more, but you came so easily. He always knew you were perfect for him. Pleasure is so unknown to you, the tiniest taste of it is enough to take you out. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

He holds your hand and kisses you to distract you from the sting of his cock breaching your virgin cunt. You gasp into the kiss, pain registering in your mind first, but Yukimiya is quick to take your breath away, to swallow up any potential protests that might have come. He keeps on kissing you, his fingers intertwined with your own, and he’s pushing himself as deep as he can go. He only lets up from the kiss the second he’s buried to the hilt, and you greedily swallow up the oxygen you’ve been deprived of. 

The feeling of a hard cock inside of you is foreign, but your body clings to his length. Unlike his fingers, with its dexterous ministrations that had you keening and squirting when he brushed them against a special spot, his cock fills you up, stuffs you full. Your cunt is greedily sucking him in, and when he whispers that he’s going to really start moving now, it’s not just one spot that he’s hitting.

You’re not sure what’s happening to your body, but it feels like Yukimiya is wringing out pleasure from you from every angle inside of you. 

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good for me, sweetheart. Such a tight pussy, so wet, so warm.” The heat encasing his cock is nothing like he’s ever experienced before. The wet warmth of your pussy is so inviting, so intensely pleasurable, that Kenyu doesn’t think he’ll be able to last. Cumming so soon might be embarrassing, but it’s not. Not when it’s his sweet girl’s pussy that’s begging for his cum. 

You wail out his name, your legs reflexively encircling around his waist, locking him in, keeping him close to you as you cum again. This orgasm is practically ripped out from you, your cunt way too sensitive, the repeated battering of his cock drilling into your hole too much for your inexperienced mind and body to handle. 

“Kenyu, Kenyu, Kenyu!” When you say his name like that, it makes it hard for him to not immediately bust a load inside of you. Gone is the gentle expression from your boyfriend’s face; in its place is something feral, dark. 

When he pulls out, he sees your white cream coating his cock. When he thrusts back in, he hears the lewd squelch of your wet, overstuffed pussy. It’s enough to drive a man insane with lust.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grunts out, and your head struggles to remain straight, to not loll to the side and let yourself be used. You look up at him, but your eyes are glassy and your mind seems to be in a far away place, so far gone, so fucked out. “We’re going to get married soon. So it’s okay if I get you pregnant right now, right?” His bare cock fucking your virgin pussy raw. He’s going crazy. “I’m gonna fill you up, get you all nice and bred for me. Make you my wife, make you a mommy.” 

The domestic daydream makes you tighten up around him, even though your body is too weak to cum again. That’s alright. He’ll just have to cum enough for the both of you. 

“Hang onto me, sweetheart.” And you do. Your legs are still wrapped around him, but you weakly raise your arms, holding him close to you. He starts pounding at your pussy, his unrivaled speed and strength turning you into mush. You have to dig your nails into the muscled skin of his back, feeling like you’re on the edge of a cliff, about to crash. 

“Fuck, I’m about to put a baby in you, love. My sweet girl, my sweet wife.” He kisses you, messy and sloppy, and he stills. The aggressive thrusts stop, and you realize why. 

There’s a new heat entering inside of you; hot spurts of his cum are pouring into you, and he only moves his hips a bit to plug you up further, to make sure none of his seed can trickle out of you. 

You’re about to lose consciousness, your brain fried from pleasure and exhaustion. All you do is weakly mumble out his name before the world goes black.

You think if this is what making love is, you love love.

“Holy shit, Yukki.” Isagi gapes at his shirtless teammate. 

Yukimiya glances up, about to pull his jersey over his head. “What?” 

“What the hell happened to you?” 

“Hm?” He asks, before turning to try to examine his back. Across the pale muscles are thin, red scratches, fading slightly from the time it’s been etched onto his skin by your nails. He smiles serenely, his mild-mannered attitude ever present. “Oh, this? My fiancee likes me close to her at all times.” 

[vampcubus]

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui & wives, poly obamitsu, tanjiro kamado, inosuke hashibira, zenitsu agatsuma.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, big spoon coded reader cus i said so, wholesome fluff, cuddling n snuggling, polyamory (tengen & obamitsu's parts), kamaboko trio aged up as per usual.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— A teddy bear in the shape of a man and enthusiastic to be used as one! As a Hashira, Kyojuro is often kept away for days and weeks at a time, so he makes the most of every moment you spend together.

— Kyojuro's not happy unless he's got his arms full of his favorite person, so you can expect him to seek you out the moment he arrives home.

— If you’re a civilian and he finds you in the kitchen, he’ll drape himself over you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck and lavishing it with smiling kisses, rugged hands settling on your hips.

— Kyojuro wants to be cuddled to sleep and truly can’t bear to be parted from you, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets in the summer months. And if he has obligations, he tries to wake up a little early so he can have a few minutes of cuddle time with you before he’s whisked away. You don’t even have to be awake for it, he just wants to hold you for a little while <3

— He started out as a big spoon but converted into a little spoon when he discovered what it felt like to be properly held. He’s no more content than he is when he’s got his back pressed to your chest and you’ve curled yourself around his broad frame. 

— He likes it best when you rub his belly when his eyes are too big for his stomach, always easing a bit of the discomfort <3

— Kyojuro is comfy to lay on, with two perfect pillows for you to rest your head on (his pecs <3). His muscles are quite soft when relaxed, and the way his heart stutters when your cheek rests on it is so cute.

— Kyojuro feels safe in your presence so he’s very prone to falling asleep on your shoulder or with his head in your lap. With his workload and inconsistent sleep schedule, he’s often a cuddle session away from nodding off. Particularly so when you start playing with his flaxen hair, it’s like his off-switch 🤭

— He’s a bit of an oversized lapdog and’ll climb into your lap every chance he gets. As far as he’s concerned, that’s his seat. It looks funny to outsiders if he’s bigger than you, but he hardly cares, all too eager to get all comfy in your lap and tell you about his day.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 & 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Big, tough man too cool to cuddle? No sir. Tengen is a touchy lover and raises a brow when you try to sit anywhere other than his lap, like why aren't you in your assigned seat? 🤨

— Pulls you flush against his side every chance he gets, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders. You often get a companion wet kiss to the cheek to boot just to see you scrunch your face up and wipe his spit off your cheek >:(

— His wives are just like him– Suma especially who practically hangs off of you with those big doe eyes, clinging onto your arm during outings as a group. Between Tengen and Suma, your hands will never be lonely and you'll certainly never be cold. Those two are space heaters and can't keep their hands off their partners to save their lives.

— Makio is easily flustered by affection but ultimately craves it, even if getting her to admit it is like pulling teeth. A hopeless romantic at heart <3 She’s a big spoon and overheats easily, so she prefers to linger on the edges of the cuddle piles. She’ll smack your thigh if you move around too much with an annoyed grumble. She can be such a meanie sometimes 😔

— Hinatsuru doesn’t mind holding or being held, she just wants to be close to you. Though generally more soft-spoken than Makio, Tengen, and Suma, her affectionate touch translates her love for her partners so clearly. Often rubs soothing circles over your back, rests a comforting hand on your arm, and pets your hair while you cuddle.

— Tengen likes to talk when you cuddle, prattling on about his or your day while rubbing your side or back mindlessly. Most times, he talks you to sleep or vice versa, considering what a busy guy he is before retirement. Sometimes you’ll get caught up in deep conversations about your past lives, silly theories, or ping-pong flirtatious banter until you can barely keep your eyes open.

— Tengen likes it most when you and the wives crawl right on top of him, all to eager to be living furniture for his beautiful spouses while you all gossip and giggle to each other.

𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 & 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

— Dare I say the clingiest partners ever?

— Obanai hesitates where as Mitsuri openly throws herself into your arms at every opportunity. Just be patient and take things slow and he'll follow Mitsuri's example. It’s a subtle shift, maybe he leans his head on your shoulder to test the waters, unable to meet your eyes. He melts if you wrap an arm around his shoulders and rub his arm, eyelids drooping as he relaxes further against you.

— Mitsuri is a cuddle bug in every sense of the word, like a tiny, purring kitty rubbing its body against your legs when you come near. You swear she chirps like one too, especially when her affections are met with a head pat or tender kiss.

— Obanai won’t say it, but he likes it when he’s in the middle, tucked safely between his two favorite people. The three of you spend many long hours this way, just relaxing in each other's embrace before your obligations call you away from the cuddle puddle– with no shortage of complaints from your lovers (Obanai’s longing wistful look as you go is just as painful as Mitsuri’s whines)

— Their clinginess only worsens as your relationship progresses, I’m afraid 💀 Obanai has a death grip comparable to a boa constrictor, especially when he’s in a deep sleep.

— I have a vivid image in my mind of Mitsuri having to use her insane strength to pry his arms off of you and scooch herself in your place so you can pee in the middle of the night, barely able to stifle her giggles. (Obanai is very much this meme)

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— Touch starved but doesn’t know it, and is also unintentionally touchy. Until he isn’t. Until his touches seem all too intentional, never without meaning.

— Cuddling with you is one of his favorite activities and he’ll even schedule official cuddle time if you let him, so you never go without the comfort of one another’s arms for long. He’ll even decline plans if it’s the wrong time of day…

“Sorry, I’d love to, but it’s almost four and I always cuddle with my partner around that time.”

— And no it’s not negotiable. What if he was late, or missed it and hurt your feelings? No no, he’s far too considerate for that.

— Besides, he misses cuddle time the most when he’s out in the field, miles away from your warm embrace. You can tell he’s missing you in the letters he sends home, commenting about how it “ sure is cold out here,” though the longer he goes without the less subtle he is, rephrasing how he misses you in every paragraph. Can you really blame him? He truly adores you so it’s hard to be away from you :((

— Prefers to be the little spoon but ultimately will be happy no matter how you’re cuddling. (I expand on little spoon Tanjiro in this post <3)

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Instinctually touchy and yet so unused to cuddling. Inosuke doesn’t know much about positive affectionate touch so he tends to squirm out of hugs and gets a little anxious when you hold him still too long, much like a dog would. He asks you what you’re doing, voice a little softer than normal, cheeks a little pink beneath his mask.

“Cuddling you?” you reply, equally confused by his reaction as he is to your affection.  “Well stop it. It feels weird,” he huffs, and you comply, albeit a bit disheartened. You can’t help but be curious about his rejection, so you push past the sudden awkwardness of the moment to inquire about it. “Feels weird how?” “I don’t know! It just does!” he snaps defensively, a little frustrated, an emotion you can’t help but mirror. But then you relax, reminding yourself to be understanding. It must show on your face though, because he follows you around until he’s sure you aren’t mad at him. Your understanding nature is something he’s still getting used to as well.

— Take it slow with him if you can help it, form positive associations with touch, and then try again another time and he’ll be more receptive <3 REALLY receptive after a while, like before you know it you’ve got a stage 10 clinger on your hands 😭 

— Especially if you start sleeping together, cus he likes to cover you with his whole body as his way of protecting you while you’re in a vulnerable state.

— However, he will get bitchy if he catches you taking naps without him there to cuddle up to you. Like just say you don’t love him 😔 You’ll wonder why he’s giving you dirty looks and the cold shoulder all day, yeah it’s cus you didn’t immediately come find him to nap. Traitor.

— He associates cuddling with sleep so he’s prone to nodding off, and if you guide his head to rest on your chest and massage his scalp? He’s dead to the world, snoring and everything.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You cannot pry this man off of you and I mean it. He was clinging to you before you were even an item, often to your leg, your kimono, your hand, wherever he can reach. If you reciprocate once, he’ll keep coming back for more of it. So touch starved it’s pitiable, and he’s smart enough to know that looking pathetic earns him sympathy.

— That said, he’s taken aback if you initiate cuddling, almost unable to fathom being desired. It’s only then that he gets a little shy, chuckling nervously as you take him into your arms. Doesn’t know what to do with himself.

— Zenitsu isn’t picky about how you cuddle, just that you’re touching in every way possible. Tangles his legs with yours, wriggles as close as humanly possible, and holds your clothing in an iron grip.

— Oftentimes he looks so blissed out when he’s wrapped up in your embrace, eyes half-lidded or drooping with sudden sleepiness. You’re just so comfortable, and comforting, and beautiful and aaaa before he knows it he’s muttering all these things to you.

You awaken slowly to a considerable weight on your chest, squinting with your eyes closed you feel around blindly and find the familiar shape of your husband sprawled out on top of you. You sigh, recognizing his snores and a smile tugs at your lips despite it being tough to breathe. Your palm rests on his back, bunching in the thick fabric of his hoari. Your eyes finally crack open, the morning light illuminating your fully-dressed partner. Must’ve been a long night, you mused to yourself, able to picture a half-asleep Zenitsu stumbling into bed so clearly in your mind. Though even his unconscious alter-ego tended to seek you out. You turn, shifting Zenitsu onto his side. He stirs, but only slightly, immediately tucking his head under your chin with a grunt. “Don’t go,” he murmurs in his sleep, most likely to a dream version of you and a fondness warms your chest. “Stay.”

[rainbowsmagicandshit]

Headcanon that when Merlin started working for Arthur, he didn’t know what over half the names of things were—not only the parts of armor, but also just things around the castle and noble/city life—so he’d just make up names for them. When Arthur would ask for something, he’d have to describe what it was he wanted if Merlin didn’t recognize what the thing was by name, and then Merlin would go “oh, you mean the (weird name he came up with)!” and go get it. It always frustrates and annoys Arthur, and he tries to correct Merlin every time. Merlin eventually does learn the names of most of the stuff but still calls everything by the names he came up with because he knows how it annoys Arthur. Arthur still tries to correct him sometimes, but after a few years has accepted that Merlin’s not gonna stop and is doing it on purpose. Arthur will sometimes ask for something and Merlin will “correct” him with “you mean the (wacky name he came up with for it)” and Arthur rolls his eyes throwing something at him or cuffing him over the head as Merlin ducks away with a grin to get what he asked for. Eventually it gets to the point that Arthur adopts Merlin’s names for things without really realizing it. It just saves time. It gets to the point that Arthur will be talking to his knights or some noble or royal and he’ll end up using Merlin weird name for something. No one will know what he’s talking about and ask him to repeat himself. He does and they still look at him confused. He goes to explain what he’s talking about because he’s used to doing so with Merlin, and halfway through his explanation he realizes he called it Merlin’s stupid name and clears his throat and calls it by it’s proper name, a slight blush on his cheeks. No one calls him out on it or says anything to his face because he the prince and then the king, but Arthur stil complains to Merlin about what happened and “this is all your fault!!” while Merlin is grinning and laughing until Arthur has enough and throws something at him.

I just really want these two to have a language together. We get them having “prat,” “dollophead,” “cabbagehead,” etc. but I want it to extend to random objects too. Arthur adopts Merlin’s insults in canon and throws them back at Merlin occasionally, so I wanna see them do it with other stuff also. I think it’s be so funny and cute. Showing that Merlin really has a big impact on Arthur even down to the vocabulary he uses—changed irrevocably forever after. No longer the arrogant prince but the king Merlin made him, using vocabulary from the people rather than just the nobles and royals, setting him apart from his predecessors.

[taeyongdoyoung]

that's a warning

summary: your professor's age is not a problem to you. and neither is his dark secret... pairing: professor!chan x uni student!reader genre: dark academia, vampire!au, smut warnings: professor/student dynamic, age gap (unspecified), mentions of toxic friend, descriptions of blood, kissing, biting, eating out, blowjob, daddy kink (who's surprised?), ddlg implied, size kink, unprotected sex, forbidden relationship, insecurities, danger kink author's note: this is based on a dream i had + inspired by railway, obviously. read at your own risk 🥵 too many references to the song's lyrics in bold, sawrryyy word count: 3k

The moment you set your eyes on Professor Bang, you know that you need to have him. You've never felt an attraction so intense, so overpowering, so sinister in its obsession. You are willing to go to any lengths to get close to him. Even if it kills you.

It starts off innocent, almost childlike. The way you stay after his lectures to ask him silly questions (you know the answers to) about the homework. Sometimes you ask him about the location of other lecture halls (even though you've been to them hundreds of times). Sometimes you go to his office hours just to be alone with him (even though you are perfectly confident in understanding the study material).

At first, Chan accepts your incessant flood of questions with an easy-going smile. If he's being honest with himself, he likes the attention. It's been a while since someone's been that interested in talking to him. Especially someone so…young. Most students usually avoid his intense stare. He's been told it's far too intimidating. He tries to be welcoming to everyone but he's not sure he's doing a good job.

But as the semester nears its end, his patience wears thin. You always get full marks on your assignments and quizzes so he doesn't understand why you are constantly asking for his "help". And he's certain you know your way around the university better than any other student. You're always on time and your homework is flawless 100% of the time. So, he really doesn't get it. Are you messing with him? Is it funny to you to joke around with a poor old lonely professor?

Chan's decided he's had enough. And this time, when you catch him alone after the lecture, he's going to confront you.

"Cut the act," Professor Bang scolds you directly. "I know you know the answer to that question. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what, Professor Bang?" you ask innocently, while batting your eyelashes.

"Pretending you're dumb. It's obvious you're a top student, so why are you always asking me stuff?" he grunts and pins you down with his intense gaze you're so addicted to.

Hell, you've never felt more terrified. It excites you.

"Don't you know already?" you mumble quietly. You want to look away but you're trapped in his beautiful dark eyes. So you don't.

"Is it fun, messing with an old man like me, huh? Is it some stupid college dare?" Chan asks, his insecurities getting the worst of him.

"You're not old," you insist passionately. "There's no dare. I just…like you."

"You…like me?" he repeats in disbelief.

You nod furiously, trying to convince him of your sincerity.

"But…why?"

"What do you mean why? You're so smart and handsome and sometimes even cute. I like…how you explain stuff like you don't think anyone is dumb, you're so patient and…warm."

Huh. Warm? It's been a while since someone's used that word to describe him, Chan thought.

"You do realize we could both get in trouble if…" he can't even believe he's even considering this. "If we were to…pursue something outside of the university walls?"

Fuck it, he said it.

"I know. I won't tell anyone, I promise," you are desperately grasping at straws as you find yourself so close to the one thing you've ever wanted more than anything.

Professor Bang shakes his head.

"I'm not asking you to keep it a complete secret. Just…if you choose to share it with people, be careful who you trust."

"I understand, Professor, I'll be careful," you promise.

"And…call me Chris or Chan or something," he shrugs. "When it's just us two."

God. It's really happening.

"Let me take you out to a restaurant," he offers suddenly. "Tomorrow evening?"

"That sounds amazing!" you grin excitedly.

Your first date with Chan arrives and you are so happy you feel like you could die. You don't wanna jinx things so soon and don't tell anyone where you're going.

"You look stunning," he compliments your dress as he pulls a chair out for you.

"Thank you so much, Chris," you smile and take a seat. "You look absolutely dashing, as always."

He chuckles but doesn't respond rightaway.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just…I don't hear that much. Especially not from beautiful young women such as yourself."

"You're surely joking?" you frown. "Anyone would kill to be in my shoes right now."

"You're too kind," Chan replies, not seeming to believe your words and you decide to drop the subject. For now. "What would you like to drink?"

"Hmm…maybe some red wine?"

"Good choice," he smirks. "And food?"

"I'm really into pasta these days!" you squeal with excitement.

Chris orders for the two of you, making your heart flutter for the hundredth time. He's just…so dependable.

Till the food arrives, you busy yourselves with getting to know each other better. Outside of the university walls, it turns out you are both passionate about things other than academic endeavours. And with each glass of red, it becomes easier to share stuff about yourself with him.

As the evening nears its natural conclusion, Chan insists on paying the bill for the food and drinks.

"Now I feel bad," you pout adorably, clinging onto his arm for support, because all the wine made your legs slightly unstable. "Let's go for coffee!"

"I don't…really drink coffee," Chris confesses shyly.

"Tea, then! Please, I don't want to go home just yet. This night is so perfect, I don't want it to end."

"Okay, okay," he agrees easily.

You lead the way to one of your favourite cafés. This time, you excitedly pay for the warm beverages.

"It's snowing outside!" you marvel at the pretty snowflakes falling, illuminated by the street lights.

"Good thing we're all cozy and inside, then," Chan chuckles.

"Yeah…" you smile softly. "I really like you, Chan," you admit.

"I know, you said that a couple of times," he shakes his head, amused.

"Yes, but…you didn't say anything. Do you like me, too?" you inquire self-consciously.

"I do like you. You're very clever and funny and obviously super pretty."

"Really?" you blink furiously to stop yourself from tearing up. You don't get to hear something like that by someone you admire so much. Someone who inspires you to be as diligent and hard-working as him. Scratch that. You don't get to hear words like that very often. It sometimes strikes you how badly you need to be acknowledged for your efforts.

"You must know that."

"No, actually, I don't," you smile sadly. "But it's really nice of you to say it. True or not."

Chan stretches his hand out across the table to hold yours.

"Hey. It's true, okay?"

"Guess I'll stick around to find out, yeah? And maybe I'll help you believe it, too," you suggest.

"Maybe. I'd really like that."

And stick around you do. The next semester, Chan is no longer your Professor, so you don't have to worry so much about getting in trouble with the university's authorities. Eventually, as things start becoming more serious, you decide to share the news about your boyfriend's identity with a few of your closest friends.

Luckily, most of them are super supportive and happy about your relationship. They tell you that you've looked happier recently and are pleased to finally know the reason. There is one friend, however, who is completely against.

"I don't approve. You can't date him," she outright says.

"Can't? Excuse me?" you become aggravated. You've had some fights in the past, situations when she's been jealous of you hanging out with other friends and has done some toxic stuff behind your back. So, her reaction doesn't come as a complete surprise. But still, it sucks that she hasn't outgrown this kind of pettiness.

"He's like…too old for you. And the fact he was your Professor is just…gross."

"How can you say that? You've never even met him."

"Then, let me meet him."

"Why would you meet him if you've already made up your mind?"

"To make sure he's worthy of you, duh."

"That's my call to make. Not yours."

And with that, you leave. This is just…too much. Later, you talk to another friend about this situation to get a second opinion.

"Nah, fuck her. I mean, it's your relationship, she can't dictate how you feel or who you're seeing romantically."

"Right? That's exactly what I've been thinking."

"It sucks that she said those stuff but maybe you're better off," your other friend shrugs.

"Yeah…For the time being, I'll distance myself from her. If she starts acting like an adult, only then will I consider letting her back in."

"That's totally valid," your friend agrees. "Take your time and look after your mental health."

"Thank you so much. I knew you'd get it."

"Always!"

Soon after that, you hang out at Chan's place and you decide to talk talk to him about the falling-out with that toxic friend.

"Well, technically, I am too old for you."

"The fuck you are! Are you taking her side?" you cry out passionately.

"Hell, no! I'm just saying…you could find any college guy your age and…"

"No, shut up, Chris!" you shake your head, refusing to entertain such an idea. "I don't want anyone but you!"

"But I'm dangerous for you," Chan sighs. But you can't believe that. He's been nothing but kind and accepting in the short time you've known each other.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"You'd think I'm crazy if I told you," he grins somewhat devilishly. "It'd be better if I showed you instead. But then, I'd have to kill you."

"W-what?" you stammer, his behaviour totally unlike the gentle guy you're used to seeing.

Suddenly, Chris grabs your wrist and starts pulling you somewhere.

"W-where are we g-going?" you ask helplessly but he doesn't respond. He's too strong to fight him back so you just try to keep up with his speed and follow him down the stairs and into the basement. Where you'll find answers to questions you didn't even know you were supposed to be asking.

When he unlocks the door, you are greeted with red. A lot of it.

"What is all this?"

"Come on, sweetheart, I thought you were smarter than that," Chris chuckles.

"It's…blood banks," you state the obvious, feeling dumber than ever.

"Wow, you don't say," Chris replies sarcastically.

"Why…why do you have all this blood in your basement? Is it like a…kink thing?!" you gasp in shock.

"No, darling, it's not a kink thing," he laughs, the idea incredibly amusing. "Take a guess."

"Are you a serial killer?" you try to think of a logical explanation.

"You're too realistic," Chris sighs. "Think…something you never thought possible."

"You're…a vampire!" you exclaim triumphantly.

"Bingo," he confirms unenthusiastically. "So, your friend was correct to worry. I am too old for you. And bad for you. I never should have let this go so far."

You shake your head.

"N-no, she's not right," you disagree. "I don't care."

"You don't care?" Chris tilts your chin up, facing you directly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to restrain myself from sucking your blood dry?"

You gulp nervously but refuse to believe he'd actually do that. Especially considering he hasn't done so already…

"Why did you become a Professor surrounded by so many humans if self-control is so hard for you?" you push back cleverly.

"It's never been a problem for me to control my thirst. Until you."

"Then, why did you let me get so close?" you inquire.

"Because I was weak…And lonely. I shouldn't have let you in."

Your eyes tear up with emotion.

"Are you saying you'd be happier without me?"

"Happier?" Chris scoffs. "No, I wouldn't be happier. But you would be safer without me."

"Fuck that," you argue. "I am safe when it's just you and me. Knowing you're a vampire changes nothing about how I feel about you."

"Then, you're even more insane than I am," Chris sighs, unable to deny the growing tension between you two.

You kiss him roughly to prove him right, digging your fingers into his soft hair. He kisses you back just as hungrily, incapable of letting you go.

Yes, he may be dangerous for you. But so are you. Willingly pursuing him, not running away from him despite knowing the truth.

He grabs your hair and pulls back, exposing your neck.

"Last chance to get out of here. That's a warning," Chris whispers darkly.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you grin, completely trusting him.

Even if he was your Professor, even if he is way older than you than you initially thought, even if he is a blood-sucking predator, there is no one else you'd trust so unconditionally, so irrevocably.

"What if I hurt you?" he asks, a hint of worry making his dark eyes glow with warmth.

"You couldn't," you insist and close your eyes, tilting your neck. "You can bite me, if you want."

"You're crazy," Chris repeats.

"I trust you," you speak your thoughts out loud.

And this is his breaking point. He attacks your neck with his sharp fangs, not wanting to hold back any longer. The bite stings but in such a sweet way you would be happy to go, if this was your fate…As he drinks from you, you weakly wrap your hands around his neck for support, needing him to ground you. Just as badly as he needed one taste from your delicious blood. If your blood is what Chris needs for survival, then he will surely be your undoing.

Somehow, against all reason, Chan manages to detach his fangs from your neck.

"Fuck," he caresses your neck, smearing the blood all over your porcelain skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you murmur dazedly. "I'm okay."

He holds you close, kissing your cheeks and trying to clean up the mess he made.

"Let's get out of here," Chan suggests and lifts you in his arms, carrying you back to the coziness of his place.

"I don't mind," you reassure him. "You being a vampire, that is. I love every part about you. I love...you."

"You…love me?" Chan gasps in surprise.

"I do, I love you," you say once again for good measure.

He doesn't say anything, just kisses you again in disbelief. You hug him tightly, finding so much comfort in his arms. Whatever you've heard about vampires doesn't apply to Chan. He's radiating so much warmth you feel you could burn.

"Hold on tight," he warns and you grip the headboard top rail for dear life, as Chan makes sure to show you blood is not the only thing he's interested in drinking.

As he laps up your juices greedily, you find yourself on the verge of losing your sanity. Your hands give out and you let go of the bed's railings and opt for burying your fingers into his curls once more for support.

"Chris, please, please," you cry out, not even sure what you're begging for. For him to stop? For sweet release? It doesn't matter, as long as he stays with you.

Soon enough, your prayers are answered and you start seeing stars floating in the middle of the room.

"Did I kill you already?" he laughs upon seeing your reaction.

"Try harder," you tease him, even though you are already so gone.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Chris shrugs.

He takes off his jeans and stuffs your mouth full with his giant cock. You try to babble something but it's no use and your helplessness only turns him on more. You hug the back of his knees and let him fuck your throat as he pleases, even though you don't have much of a choice in the matter. Your vision is cloudy with tears and you can't even ask for mercy as his cum starts flooding your mouth. If you thought him drinking your blood was overwhelming, this is on a whole 'nother level of dizzying.

Once he's done using and abusing your throat, he pulls his cock out, smirking at you from above.

"You okay, sweetheart? Still alive?"

"Y-yes, d-daddy," you manage to croak out weakly.

Chris shakes his head in amusement upon hearing the sudden title.

"Then, I guess Daddy's gonna have to give ya a rough ride so you'll forget your own name, huh? How does that sound?"

"More, please," you plead desperately and he makes good on his promise.

He enters you without another warning and you can't keep your screams inside.

"G-god, y-yes," you moan.

"God isn't in this room, darling," Chris cackles maniacally. "The devil, however…"

You kiss him again because he's talking so much your brain can't keep up.

"S-so b-big," you cry.

"Yeah? Too big for my little girl?" he teases you.

"N-no. P-perfect. You're perfect," you insist stubbornly.

Chris fucks into you with supernatural stamina and you are grateful for that because even though you want to, you aren't able of keeping pace with him. Instead, you are happy to just hold onto him and focusing all your energy into…well, not passing out. You're so wet for him that his enormous size slides in and out easily, satisfying both of you with the intensity of the feeling. At last, you cum together, overwhelmed by the passion and affection you feel for each other.

He collapses on top of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. You welcome his weight like he's a giant blanket, comforting you.

"Don't wanna let go of you," Chan murmurs cutely.

You stroke his hair once more with a gentle touch. How is this man who has so many more years of experience still such a cute boy, desperate for tenderness?

"Then, don't. I'm all yours to keep," you chuckle weakly.

"That wouldn't be very productive to our academic future," Chan complains.

"It's okay. I feel like we've both earned a little break," you point out.

"From university? Sure. But when it comes to us two…I need no break. No brakes."

"Nicely said," you giggle, ready for another round on this train that never sleeps.

The End

[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.”