#hes cringe and emo to me i love him

[highoncatfood]

[potatobugz]

yeah we turned your boyfriend into shadow the hedgehog. sorry

[sysig]

Oh he is So baby (Patreon)

[ilynpilled]

At what point did Jaime become your favorite?

live sonoa reaction

[woozi]

THIS FR HAD ME CHOKING AGAIN AND THE FIRST PERSON I THOUGHT OF WAS YOU 🤣😭😭

ALSO HI 😭😭 I bring cookiessss for theeee 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪 nom nom nom nom 🫶🏻

[todayisafridaynight]

When I started Y7 I felt so bad for Masato getting treated so poorly by his gf because I would've eaten him out without hesitation

god you and me both brother

[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.”

[sweetsilveryrevenge]

smashing head into drywall rage misery rage misery I know I want to tell him in person but I am such a chronic fumbler I'm praying things go okay

[noxtivagus]

ALPHINAUD'S SO CUTE 😭

[mothfulhansel]

I thought of a silly where emo Sanji and Zoro becomes frenemies as kids and Sanji sorta replaces Kuina being Zoro's rival that he can't beat. But they eventually get separated and still meet again in the future when Sanji joins the straw hats, but now their skills are equal This idea grew like a tumor in my head and made me think of a whole AU where Sanji is born emo n everything, but still meet and joins the straw hats regardless, he is cold blooded and kinda emotionless, perhaps even a little insane, but not necessarily evil, and he was taught his whole life that what he was was a good thing, but after joining the straw hats he is punished instead of praised for the first time for being mean and cold blooded and doesn't understand exacly why at first, but with time he gains humanity and emotions and starts becoming the original Sanji, pretty much like an inverse and wholesome version of the doomed yaoi angst where Sanji goes insane and Zoro has to kill him, man that single little thought of Sanji and Zoro as kids just fucking around snapped on me so hard i thought of all of this in less than 30 minutes. And i really like the view of Sanji all sad and awkward after doing something bad that he thought he was supposed to do but then finding out that was not right and looking like a dog after it's owner yelled at it for chewing their slippers

I'll also be using all my previous emo Sanji headcanons on this one where hes just kinda cringe and as his ideals colapses he just become some kinda jekyll & hyde typa shit. Also his hair changes colors very quickly rather than just slowly and realistically growng a different color, and if hes feeling bipolar and swap personality alot throughout the day it makes stripes on his hair

Some other hcs i have about him is that he doesn't smoke and do use his hands in battle, actually he loves fighting with blades, he also thinks cooking is mid but still does it and very well just so they don't go out of food and a good nutrition. On a normal Sanji AU he would still smoke occasionally and evict using his hands in combat out of instinct (idk he forgot hands can be useful in battle too) idk what anyone says emo Sanji is basically my son at this point. Thinking of wether in this AU, Sanji's sibblings will be normal or modified because him being the only one who was successfully modified also sounds cool, to be honest i don't care a LOT about the lore here, i am more mesmerized about the dynamic itself so anyone can interpret the lore however they'd like. Lastly forgive me for my unusually long rambling, i am so normal about Sanji having an evil and emo alter ego

[elysiaheaven]

"Pure Insatiablity"-[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓-𝟏] 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐆.𝐍 (Yandere) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓)

Words:6078

Genre: Yandere

Summary: It’s been almost eight months now, hasn’t it? Eight months of being wrapped in this obsession, this love that’s taken root so deep inside you. Eight months of loving him—so much it hurts, so much it feels like you're suffocating under the weight of it.

And when you stare at the screen, when you think about that character—the one your fans can’t get enough of—what you really see is him. Your love. Your darling. The one you’d do anything for.

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Obsessive behaviour, Lovesick, Blood, Violence, Crazy! Your daily dose of cringe! (He's crazy ><), (Reader is obsessive in love with him) Mentions of disturbing poetic lines?

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I KNOW IT'S BAD I'M SORRYY!!

I think you’re getting a little too in love...

C'mon! Tell me what you want. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Are you going to kill me? I've got a knife right here. Or are you kissing me, darling? How much do you feel?

Oh, you're so pretty when you're rotten and mine. I think you're divine.

Oh, Writer… How’s your relationship with the infamous butcher?

"Bad," you whisper under your breath, eyes glued to the blank page in front of you. The clock ticks, the hours pass, and nothing. Not a single word for days. And it stings, doesn’t it? Because your book—it’s your baby, your obsession—your masterpiece. It was an instant hit, loved, adored, and devoured by everyone who touched it. Fans left comments, raving about how perfect it was. Especially… him.

The e-emo killer. Your devil, wrapped in leather and shadows, blood-stained hands that still look so gentle. They called him cruel, twisted—yet oh, how they love him. Adored him. Fawned over him. The simps flooded your inbox, begging for more of him. That beautiful, wicked boy who haunted their dreams.

And let’s be honest—you love him too, don’t you?

After all, isn’t he just a reflection of someone else? Someone you know all too well?

Didn’t you mold the character from your darling’s essence? That man you can’t stop thinking about, the one who holds your heart in one hand and your throat in the other? The one you’d bleed for, die for—kill for?

Ah… you’re getting a little lovesick, aren’t you?

It’s been almost eight months now, hasn’t it? Eight months of being wrapped in this obsession, this love that’s taken root so deep inside you. Eight months of loving him—so much it hurts, so much it feels like you're suffocating under the weight of it.

And when you stare at the screen, when you think about that character—the one your fans can’t get enough of—what you really see is him. Your love. Your darling. The one you’d do anything for.

Isn’t that the truth? Isn’t that why your heart races, your fingers tremble when you write about the killer’s knife, the way it gleams in the dark? Because you imagine him—your love—doing the same to you, don’t you?

After all, isn't that why you can’t look away, can’t stop thinking, can’t breathe without feeling like you need him more than air?

Ah, calm yourself, love.

Eight months in, and look at you…

You want him. God, you want him so much it hurts. It’s like a sickness, spreading through your veins, consuming every inch of your soul. It’s the kind of need that claws at your heart, gnaws at your bones, turns your very breath into poison if he’s not near.

How did it get this bad? How did it go from quiet glances to full-blown obsession?

It started small, didn’t it? Little things—his voice in your ear, the calls, the games, the way his fingers brushed against your skin. The way he’d laugh, low and dark, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He’s always known, hasn’t he? How to bend you, break you, make you his.

But it’s more than that now. It’s an ache, deep in your chest, that never goes away. You crave him. You crave the way he looks at you like he sees every part of you—every ugly, twisted piece of your soul—and he loves it. You crave the way he owns you, how his presence alone makes you tremble, how just the thought of him drives you mad.

You can’t stop thinking about him. He’s there in every corner of your mind, lingering, waiting, watching. And you want him to watch. You want him to see every broken, desperate part of you. You want to lay yourself bare before him, beg for his touch, for his gaze, for his breath on your skin.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? But oh, you’d fall to your knees for him. You’d give him everything. You already have.

You think about him late at night, when the world is quiet, and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart pounding, heavy and relentless. You imagine him with you, his hands on your neck, his lips hovering just inches from yours. You’d let him take you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but his name carved into your bones, his scent burned into your skin.

You want him like fire. Like a storm. You want him with the kind of madness that doesn’t make sense, that drowns you, suffocates you in its wake. Every breath you take without him feels empty, incomplete.

He’s in your blood now, a part of you, and nothing will ever be enough. No touch, no kiss, no word will ever fill that void.

And the worst part? You love it. You love this sickness, this hunger, this desperate, gnawing ache. Because it’s him. Because it’s all for him.

He could ruin you, break you, destroy everything you are, and you’d thank him for it.

Isn’t that what you want? To be his? To be consumed by him, devoured until there’s nothing left of you but the pieces he chooses to keep?

It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? This love, this madness, this obsession. You, the writer, trying to put words to something that can’t be explained. Trying to capture this wild, violent need that swells inside you every time you think of him.

But how can you? How do you describe something so raw, so feral? How do you put into words the way your heart skips a beat every time you hear his name? The way your entire world tilts on its axis when he’s near?

You want him. Need him. More than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

And you wonder… Does he know? Does he know how deep this goes? Does he understand that you’d do anything—everything—for him?

You think he does. You think he knows exactly how far you’ve fallen. And that’s what makes it so beautiful.

Because you’re not afraid of falling.

You understood him so much! Yet, you still...wanted him..?

The thing about Ronin is that his love is a poison wrapped in sugar, sweet to taste but deadly beneath the surface. He treats the same, as if they’re fragile toys in his hands, waiting to be bent, broken, and reshaped into something more. They’re not people to him—they’re puzzles to solve, games to play, and he plays them masterfully. Not out of cruelty, though. No, Ronin’s twisted mind justifies it as something deeper, something almost… noble.

He believes, with every fiber of his being, that he’s doing what’s best for them. That through the trials, the manipulation, the pain, they’ll emerge better—stronger. In his distorted way of thinking, he’s saving them, guiding them through the fire so they can burn away their weaknesses and be reborn into something new, something better. It’s not just a game to him—it’s a transformation. A test of endurance, of strength, of who they really are underneath it all.

This is how he shows his love. Not with tenderness, but with torment. He pulls at the strings of their souls, slowly unraveling them, watching them fall apart, believing—hoping—that by the time he’s done, they’ll thank him for it. That they’ll see what he sees: a person made whole again, remade into something that can survive in his world.

he’s doing the same with you, thinking that they’ll understand in the end, that this suffering is love in its purest form. To Ronin, it's not just affection—it's salvation.

It’s not enough for him to possess them; he has to break them. Only then can he feel secure in his love, believing they’re exactly who they’re supposed to be. That’s the only way he knows how to love. By tearing them down, by forcing them through the darkness… he thinks he’s giving them a gift.

A gift wrapped in shadows.

It’s been six days.

Six agonizing days without him. No messages, no calls, not even a single “Hey.” He’s not replying. He’s not talking. He’s … online tho. Why? Why is he doing this to you? You want to see him, you need to hear his voice again, but there’s nothing. The silence is eating at you, clawing at your insides, making your mind spiral.

Control it. Control yourself, you keep telling yourself. They don’t need to see it. They don’t need to know how much this is wrecking you. But it’s getting harder to hide. Everyone’s worried. Even they’ve started to notice how quiet you’ve become. How different you are without him.

Except for Ronin. He doesn’t care. He never does. In fact, with that stupid ego of his, he’s been trying to make you jealous these past few days. And you can feel it—every little jab, every smug comment—it’s uncanny how well he knows how to hit your nerves. But no matter how much Ronin gets under your skin, it’s not him you care about.

It’s him.

And it’s not just Ronin. V and Angel have been suggesting things, too. Methods to… fix things. One of them even had the audacity to suggest separating from him. A clean break. “Maybe it’s for the best,” they said, as if they understood. As if they could possibly know how much you need him.

But you hate the idea. You despise it. The thought of being separated from him—it’s like a knife twisting in your gut. You thought he wouldn’t want that either. He wouldn’t, right?

But to your shock—right there, in the middle of the voice chat, without any hesitation, he said it.

“Yeah, I can stay away for six weeks. That’s fine.”

Six weeks. You could barely process it. Your heart stopped. The number felt like it was mocking you, taunting you. Of all numbers, six? It was so… him. The devil’s number, the one he always played with. You almost smiled, almost thought it was cute—almost. But there was nothing cute about this. No, this was pure torture.

How could he say that so casually? Like it didn’t even matter. Like he wasn’t tearing you apart inside.

Because you need him. You really need him. And you thought—no, you were certain—he needed you too.

But here he is, agreeing to stay away. Six long, suffocating weeks without him. How are you supposed to survive that? How are you supposed to breathe, to think, to function without him? He’s your everything, your entire world, and now he’s just… gone?

You hate it. You hate every second of it. Every second without him feels like a lifetime, a slow, agonizing descent into madness. And you can’t help but wonder—what if he doesn’t miss you like you miss him? What if this is easier for him than it is for you?

But no—no. You know he feels the same way. You have to believe that. He’s just playing his part, the devilish role he always slips into so easily. After all, isn’t that what he is? Just a stupid guy who roleplays as the devil. That’s all, right?

But then why does it hurt so much? Why do you feel like you’re unraveling, coming apart at the seams without him?

And without him, you feel like you’re losing a part of yourself.

Six days. Six weeks. Six months. It doesn’t matter. Time feels meaningless when he’s not around, when you can’t feel him, can’t hear him, can’t touch him.

You miss him.

To help you cope, the entire server of serial killers—now your closest group of buddies—created a separate group chat. One without Ronin. It was for your own good, they said. To keep you distracted, keep you sane, while you waited for him.

Angel didn’t want to include Luca or Feli, though. You knew why. They’d just gotten into a relationship, and seeing them happy together might upset you even more. The jealousy would gnaw at you, and Angel, despite her sharp edges, was too considerate to do that to you.

So now it’s just you, Angel, Misaki, and V—the four besties. Well, they’re worried, no doubt about that. You can feel it in every message, every forced joke. Everyone’s trying to keep things light, but the concern bleeds through.

Just like Vince said… it’s destructive and toxic, right? This obsession you have with Ronin. But then again, Feli said it best—it’s not just toxic. It’s all three. Passionate, chill, horrific—a twisted cocktail of emotions that you can’t escape from. It’s suffocating, it’s addictive, and you know it.

But it’s so you, isn’t it?

Angel—the elegant femme fatale.... Some even say she’s a cannibal just for fun, and she plays along. She’s the type that captivates hearts effortlessly, pulls you in with a glance. If you were with her, maybe you could’ve seen the light, stepped away from this madness. Maybe you’d be happier, calmer… safe.

But no. Your heart is too far gone. Your ideals have shifted, haven’t they? Now you’re lost in the darkness, enthralled by your own version of the seven deadly sins.

Misaki, the cute, chaotic mess. The drunken assassin for hire, always too hyper for her own good. She kills with a smile, pays her rent with blood money, and somehow makes it seem so… effortless. But beneath all that bubbly energy, you know she’s just trying to survive, like the rest of you.

Then there’s V. Rigid. Just. Moral, in his own twisted way. The boomerang uncle who believes in his heart that his justice comes through killing. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch, and somehow, that moral code of his feels strangely comforting. Like if you were ever to lose yourself completely, he’d be there to rein you back in. Or at least try to.

They’re all on the call now—talking, laughing, trying to pull you into the conversation. But you’re not really there. Your heart isn’t. You nod, give half-hearted replies, but all you can think about is him.

You just want Ronin. Already.

Their voices blur together in the background, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. That silence. Six days. Six weeks. Whatever. It’s driving you insane. You need him, need his voice, his presence. No matter what distractions they throw at you, nothing fills that void he left behind.

You sigh deeply, staring at the screen. They don’t understand. They can’t.

Everyone is talking at once, their voices flooding the call, trying to drown out the quiet chaos in your mind. Misaki’s high-pitched laughter cuts through the noise first, followed by V’s calm, grounding voice, and then Angel’s teasing but kind remarks, all woven together in an attempt to cheer you up.

V, always trying to keep things steady, eventually turns the conversation towards your writing. “How’s that new book coming along?” he asks, the one he’d helped inspire, no less. “The story about that ‘good man who kills for justice.’ I thought you had a pretty solid start.”

You blink, snapping back to reality. The new book. Right. The one with the protagonist who’s supposed to be a "good man" who kills for justice, fighting against corruption with a moral code as rigid as V’s. You want to write it, you really do. But every time you sit down to start... your thoughts drift. To him.

But you can’t help it—your mind wanders back to Ronin. The story might be about someone else, a character of pure moral code, someone who kills for justice like V had imagined. But all you see, all you feel as you try to write, is him. Ronin, with his smirk, his chaotic energy, how he gets under your skin and stays there. He’s nothing like the character in your new book, and yet, he’s the only thing you can think about.

He’s your muse, your obsession—your devil incarnate. And you almost laugh at the thought. Isn’t that just who Ronin is? A creator of chaos, a devil in your head, inspiring you even when he doesn’t mean to. A part of you is frustrated—he doesn’t even fit this new story, but somehow, he’s taken over anyway.

But you sigh, leaning back in your chair. "I... I just don’t feel inspired right now." You don’t want to admit it, but everything you want to write seems to tie back to Ronin, no matter how hard you try to focus on something else. He’s in everything you do, like an ever-present shadow.

Angel’s voice cuts through. "Of course, you’re not inspired. You’re too clingy right now, and it’s all because of him. You’ve gotta let it go for a bit; otherwise, it’ll just boost Ronin’s ego, and you know he lives for that."

You can’t help but chuckle weakly at that. She’s right—Ronin would love knowing he’s got you wrapped around his little finger, knowing you’re craving his attention this much. But you don’t care. You want to be wrapped up in him, and the thought doesn’t bother you one bit. Still, you don’t say that out loud. You don’t want to admit to everyone how deep your feelings run for him.

Instead, you steer the conversation somewhere else, tossing around random comments and joking with them. Misaki pipes up, practically bouncing in her seat as she talks about her latest commission. “So, get this—I nailed the shot perfectly. One kill, clean. And with that, rent’s paid for this month!” She laughs, but you can hear the relief in her voice.

You can’t help but tease her. “Next month’s going to come around quicker than you think, though,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

She whines dramatically, clutching her head. “Noooo! Don’t remind me! I’ll need another commission soon or I’m doomed!” Her pout is cute, and you laugh despite yourself. Misaki’s a mess, but she’s your mess (friend!).

Angel snorts. “I feel that. Work’s been tight, but I’m okay for now. Barely.”

Then there’s V,. “I’ve been busy taking care of my birds lately. They’re a handful,” he says, the warmth in his voice clear. He pauses for a moment before adding, “Still... I respect you. Always have. You’ve got this pure heart. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Ronin mess that up for you. Him trying to make you feel like this—it pisses me off.”

You smile at that, appreciating his words. But deep down, you can’t help but think, Pure? Is that really what you are anymore? After everything with Ronin, after letting yourself fall so deep into this twisted, all-consuming love, are you still that pure-hearted person V thinks you are?

Because honestly... haven’t you already started slipping? Saving parts of yourself just for Ronin?

Angel’s voice breaks through the light banter, her usual teasing tone softened with concern. “I’m worried about you,” she says, her words pointed, cutting through the surface-level chat. “This thing with Ronin… it’s not good for you.”

You don’t respond, just sit there silently, staring at the screen, your mind lost somewhere far from the conversation. V, ever the protective one, comes to your defense as usual. “Come on, Angel. They wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he says with a sigh, glancing at you. “Right?”

You don’t say anything, and V’s expression darkens just slightly. The silence weighs heavier than your words could. “Look,” V adds, more serious now. “If you ever killed anyone for Ronin, if you ever did it for some guilty pleasure, it’d be your first and last. Because I would kill you myself.” His voice is firm but caring, like a friend! trying to protect you from something you might not even see coming.

You snap out of your daze for a moment, glancing at V. “I just won’t let you,” you reply quietly, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. There’s a defiance in your voice, but it’s laced with that lovesick longing. You’d do anything for Ronin. And V knows it.

Misaki, sensing the tension, tries to shift the conversation. “So! Uh, anyway, I’ve been thinking about getting a new place, but the rent’s—”

You cut her off, your mind too focused, too fixated on one thing. “What’s Ronin doing?”

Angel sighs heavily, her frustration barely hidden now. “He’s fine.”

But it’s V who answers. “He’s fine without you,” he says bluntly, though there’s a softness in his tone like he’s trying to prepare you for a blow. You flinch inwardly, but you manage to keep your face blank, pretending it doesn’t cut as deep as it does.

You sit there, frozen, but V doesn’t stop. “He’s… happy. I think he’s gone off to kill someone again.” His voice is cold, almost detached, like he’s telling you a fact that doesn’t matter. “Maybe you’re the only one who’s serious and clingy in this relationship.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you can feel your heart breaking, shattering into tiny, irreparable pieces. But you force a smile, the kind that barely reaches your eyes. “It’s fine,” you say, your voice trembling just a little. “It’s perfect. He’s perfect the way he is.”

But your eyes betray you. They’re wide, filled with that twisted, lovesick devotion, like you’re drowning in your feelings and don’t even care. In your head, all you can think about is sinking deeper into Ronin’s world, letting him consume you completely, until there’s nothing left of who you used to be. You want it. You want him. You want to lose yourself in him, no matter how much it destroys you.

You sit there after the call, the silence enveloping you, but your thoughts still swirling around Ronin like a storm you can't escape. You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you open your laptop, telling yourself you’ll work on your book, like they told you. But your fingers hover over the keys, your mind already somewhere else.

“I just feel… fuzzy about him,” you had told Angel earlier, trying to explain this maddening, obsessive feeling in the pit of your stomach. But she’d only laughed, though not unkindly.

“Even I wasn’t this bad,” she’d said, smirking like she was trying to make light of it. “Maybe your love is just too strong.” Her attempt to cheer you up had actually worked, even if just a little. You had smiled, a tiny flicker of warmth in your chest.

“Cheer up,” she’d added. “And get back to your story."

“Yeah,” you had murmured, not really listening, already thinking about Ronin. Already missing him.

Now, sitting alone with your laptop open, you try to follow her advice. You start typing, the title of your story staring back at you, but… it’s not the story you’re supposed to be writing, is it?

You start typing, but the words don’t match the character V had wanted—the noble killer with a rigid moral code. No, the character that comes alive under your fingers is someone else entirely.

He’s dark, dangerous, with a wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes are sharp, burning with mischief, and his laugh… God, his laugh. It’s him. It’s Ronin. You can’t stop yourself from writing him into the story, from turning him into the devilish figure you can’t tear your eyes away from.

And you? You slip into the story, too. Not as a secondary character. Not as an observer. No. You’re his love interest. The one who falls into his arms, who sinks into his darkness willingly. You let him consume you, wrap you up in his world of danger and chaos because you crave it. You crave him.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first. The words just flow out of you, like a love letter disguised as a story. A love note for Ronin. Each sentence is a confession, each scene a reflection of how deeply he’s burrowed into your mind, into your heart. It’s raw, it’s messy, it’s everything you feel but can’t say out loud.

You type and type, not caring that you’ve completely derailed from the plot you were supposed to follow. The good man who kills for justice? He doesn’t exist in your world right now. There’s only Ronin. The devil. The one who owns every corner of your heart, no matter how much he tries to push you away.

Hours pass, and by the time you stop typing, you realize you’ve written pages—an entire chapter, maybe more. But it’s not the story you were meant to write. It’s yours. It’s your obsession, your madness, poured out into words.

You sit back and stare at the screen, feeling both exhilarated and exhausted. You know you should be working on your real book, but part of you can’t help but smile at what you’ve created. It’s a mess, but it’s yours.

Angel sighed, pushing her hair back as she leaned over her phone, eyes narrowing. "V, why didn’t you tell them about how Ronin’s been acting? He’s not even talking to me, and you're just… brushing it off?"

V, sitting , didn’t answer right away. Instead, he smiled—actually smiled—something he rarely did, the corner of his lips curling in amusement. "I wanted to see how they were," he said with a shrug, his voice calm. "And you know what? They’re fine. I’ve been keeping an eye."

Angel didn’t seem convinced. She crossed her arms, a frown pulling at her features. "I’m worried, V. I mean… did you see them? They seemed slightly crazy—like, lovesick, obsessed. I’m telling you, I'm worried about them, I don't know...Suddenly I don't want to become whatever the hell we are."

V’s smile faded slightly, but his expression remained soft. "They’re not that type, Angel. You know them. Yeah, they’re obsessed with Ronin, but they haven’t done anything reckless yet." His tone grew more serious, though. "Ronin hasn’t corrupted them… at least, not completely."

Angel chewed her lip, her fingers fidgeting over her phone before she made a decision. "I’m just gonna text him, just to make sure he’s there," she muttered, quickly typing out a message to Ronin.

Moments passed before her phone buzzed, and Ronin’s reply popped up: Devil’s here!

She sighed in mild relief, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. "Of course… that’s typical Ronin."

But before she could relax, V picked up , sending a message to Ronin with a more pointed tone. "I’m not as patient as Angel," he said as he typed. "If you don’t start talking, there’s going to be consequences." He hit send, leaning back, expecting some sarcastic response.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with the exact same reply: Devil’s here!

V blinked, his brow furrowing as he stared at the screen. Angel glanced over, her own phone vibrating with a second, identical message from Ronin. "Wait…" she muttered, frowning. "Isn’t that…?"

Misaki, who’d been quietly sipping a drink, glanced at her phone too and snickered. "Guys, that’s his automated reply prank! He’s done this before!"

For a brief moment, the group shared a collective groan and laughed it off, realizing they’d all fallen for one of Ronin’s infamous tricks. He had a habit of setting up automated responses, just to mess with them.

But then the laughter died down as the realization settled in.

Angel glanced at her phone again. "Wait… if it’s just an auto-reply…" Her voice trailed off as her stomach dropped.

Misaki, the first to speak, sounded nervous now. "Uh, so, where’s Ronin?"

V realized. "Well, I guess he's just as clingy as them. God, I'm gonna kill him."

Your thoughts too clouded by the constant, gnawing ache inside you. You can’t shake it, can’t stop thinking about him. Ronin. The only thing that occupies your mind as you walk out the door, moving through the streets like you're in a trance.

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself wandering Uptown, your steps naturally pulling you toward that one alley—the one they call Purgatory. It’s notorious, the kind of place everyone avoids, where even whispers of its name send shivers down spines. The Butcher’s territory. People have seen the aftermath here—limbs and pieces of flesh strewn like discarded trash, blood painting the graffiti-splattered walls. It’s grotesque, macabre.

But to you? It’s something else entirely.

You call it your love birth!

It’s twisted, isn’t it? You can’t help the smile creeping up on your face as you step into the dark, narrow space. This is where it all began. Where you had your first kiss with Ronin, right here in the heart of chaos. The same place where bodies had been ripped apart, left to rot. That’s where you became his fallen angel.

The memory washes over you like a wave—his hands on your face, his lips crushing against yours with that devilish intensity. You still remember the taste of copper in the air, the blood that stained his hands… and the way it didn’t matter. Not in the slightest. That was the moment you knew—there was no going back. You were his, no matter what.

Your heart races as you walk deeper into the alley, your eyes scanning the area with that lovesick expression. Every corner, every shadow, you search with a strange kind of yearning. Maybe he left something behind. Maybe some small trace of him remains, something he forgot—something you can cling to.

You know it’s irrational, but your mind can’t help it. You want him. You need him. Every thought, every breath, is consumed by him. You’ve become addicted to the way he makes you feel—alive, wild, free. And now, without him, you feel like you’re floating, untethered, falling further and further into the abyss.

You walk slowly, your fingers brushing against the walls as you pass by, half-hoping you’ll stumble across something—anything that could be a sign from him. A discarded cigarette, a drop of blood, some trace of his presence that would prove he’s been here.

But the alley is silent. Empty.

Still, you don’t stop. Your heart beats faster the further you go, your mind racing with the memory of him. His voice. His laugh. The way he pulls you into his world, his darkness, and makes it feel like home.

By the time you reach the far end of the alley, your eyes have glazed over, filled with that lovesick haze that you can’t shake. You’re lost in it, drowning in the feeling. You want to see him, to feel him again, to fall deeper into that sinful connection.

You pause, standing still for a moment, the weight of the emptiness settling in around you.

He’s not here.

But God, you wish he was.

You freeze when you hear it—a faint, metallic scraping sound echoing through the alley. The unmistakable drag of a crowbar. Your heart skips a beat, and a rush of adrenaline floods your veins.

It’s him.

Ronin.

The sound makes your pulse quicken, your body tensing in anticipation as you spin around, trying to catch a glimpse of him. You begin to move, searching the shadows, desperately scanning every dark corner of the alley for any sign of him. Your heart pounds as your breath catches in your throat. He’s here. He has to be.

But then, the sound stops. Dead silence.

Before you can react, a sudden force slams into you, pushing you hard against the cold, graffiti-stained wall. Your breath is knocked out of you for a moment, and you barely register what’s happening before a strong arm wraps around your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground. You gasp, your heart racing, your body pinned between the rough brick and the figure in front of you.

And then… his lips crash into yours.

Ronin.

You melt instantly into the kiss, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The intensity of it, the hunger—it’s like he’s claiming you all over again, pulling you back into his orbit. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you up, his body pressing hard against yours.

When he finally pulls away, his breath hot against your skin, his voice is low, teasing. “Seems like you were pathetically sniffing around for clues, weren’t you? Like a lost little puppy darling?… so desperate to know if I was here.”

Your eyes flutter open, your head still spinning, trying to gather your thoughts, but they slip away in the haze of his presence. You can’t think straight, not when he’s this close, not when his scent fills your lungs, and his lips are still so dangerously close to yours.

You try to speak, to explain, to say something, but your voice catches in your throat. The words never come. He smirks, seeing your struggle, and presses a finger to your lips, silencing you before you can even attempt to respond.

“Shh,” he whispers, his tone dripping with amusement. “No need to talk, Darling. I know exactly what you want.”

Your body trembles, love-sick and overwhelmed. It’s like your whole world is centered around him, every fiber of your being drawn to him in a way you can’t control. You’re drowning in him, in this moment, and you can’t help but feel exactly what he’s accusing you of.

Desperate.

You don’t care about anything else. You just want him.

Your fingers clutch at his jacket, and your body leans closer, your lips parting as if to say his name, but no sound escapes. You don’t need to speak—he can already see the longing in your eyes, the way you’re losing yourself in him.

“Haha...” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear as his lips hover near your neck. “So love-sick…I did it all Didn't I?"

Ronin sighed, leaning his head back slightly, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "That fucking V," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as a low laugh escaped his throat.

You blinked, still trying to catch up with the intensity of the moment. "What… what did V lie about?" you asked, your voice soft and shaky, still lost in the feeling of him so close, his presence overwhelming.

Ronin’s laughter deepened, the sound dark and teasing as he looked back down at you, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "He told me you were completely normal," he said, the grin spreading across his face. "That you didn’t even miss me." His fingers grazed your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of exhilaration surging through you. "He told you that?!" you gasped, eyes wide. "He said the same thing to me! That you were fine without me, that you didn’t care!"

Ronin’s smirk grew more sinister, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "So much for his precious 'justice.' Lying straight to both our faces," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "Maybe V thinks it’s all for the 'greater good.'" He rolled his eyes, clearly unamused by the thought.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Maybe," you teased with a grin, "he thought he was saving us or something." But before you could continue, Ronin’s hand shot up, gently pressing over your mouth.

His voice dropped lower, the playfulness fading from his eyes as he leaned in closer. "Stop talking about another guy when you’re with me."

You froze, instantly obeying, your hand instinctively covering your mouth, the playful teasing evaporating as you felt his gaze burning into you. The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrilling, electric charge through your entire body.

He chuckled at your reaction, clearly satisfied by the way you instantly silenced yourself for him. His other hand gripped your waist, pinning you harder against the wall as his eyes trailed over you, dark and hungry. "Now," he said, his tone softening into a more sinister purr, "how much did you miss me?"

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. "A lot," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I missed you so much… I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. It even messed with my writing… I just kept thinking about you, obsessing over you—"

His grip tightened, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Obsessing, huh? Sounds like you’ve been going full yandere on me." He chuckled, his fingers brushing through your hair as he leaned in closer, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Say it," he commanded, his voice dropping into that dangerous, addictive tone. "Say that you love me."

Your heart pounded as you looked into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze swallowing you whole. "I love you," you whispered, breathless, the words slipping out like a confession. "I love you… I love you…"

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing as you kept repeating it like a broken record, your voice desperate, lovesick. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Ronin let out a low, mocking laugh. "Pathetic," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. "To think that I like this." He watched you, entertained, as you kept whispering the words over and over, your voice trembling with devotion.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke. "Keep your attention on me… forever. Don’t even think about anyone else. It’s me you belong to. Got it? Darling?

Your heart felt like it might burst as you nodded, utterly consumed by the intensity of his words.

Ronin chuckled darkly, his lips finally crashing against yours once again, sealing you completely in his world. There was no escape. There never would be.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hello!! Love your writing. Not sure if you are doing requests, but ANYTHING Logan Howlett x Plus Size reader would be awesome 💗🤩

fem!plus size reader, wc: 582.

a/n: THIS IS SICKENINGLY SWEET OH MY GOODNESS. maybe this may seem out of character to some people, but in my opinion, I think logan is a big ol' softie.

cw! mentions of knarly injuries and stitches + mentions of a needle.

Okay yes, Logan might be brooding, and emo and mysterious but God forbid that you actually get hurt, because this man would lose his shit (in less than dignified words).

Let’s say metaphorically you go out on a mission and when you come back, you’re a little worse for wear. You already know by the time you make it to the clinical room Logan would have raised hell on his path there. 

You have a few seconds of silence as you sit down on the medical table before you cringe at the sound of Logan’s voice booming down the hall. Jean gives you a look and all you can do is sigh exasperatedly.

You love him, you really do, but your head hurts and so does your side, which has been gracefully exposed to the open air, a less than preferable gash ripped through your skin. You’re trying really hard not to look at it - or even think about it - rather focusing on the Wolverine who’s now glaring at you.

“The hell happened?” 

“Wow Logan, I can really feel the love.” 

He gives you a look that makes the next bite of sarcasm die in the back of your throat. Instead, you replace it with another fruitless sigh.

“Big nasty metal thing,” You say with a wave of your hand, “‘Was just throwing shit at people and I got hit with a nice piece of shrapnel, but I’m good.”

“Good? You call being cut up like that good?”

“I really don't want to fight right now, Wolvie.” You pinch the space between your eyes. He softens ever so slightly at the intimate nickname and it doesn't take a mutation to know that the extra presence of your peers wasn't needed.

“Just let me stitch you up and I'll leave you guys to talk.” Jean says, already tweeding the thread through the needle. You wince, sparing a glance at the redhead before reaching Logan's eyes once more.

“This is going to fucking suck.” You grimace. 

Taking the hint, Logan walks and hops onto the bed as gently as he can so as to not jostle you. He doesn't speak when he takes your hand in his, squeezing it ever so slightly in a show of alliance. 

When Jean gets started you force yourself not to look, turning your head to bury it in Logan’s burly shoulder, breathing in his cigar scent stained flannel. It’s comforting to say the least, and it’s the only thing keeping you from passing out. The worst part was the numbing needle really.

“Alright, I’m done.” She says, slipping the medical gloves off and throwing them away. 

When you make eye contact with her, she gives you a knowing look. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The room is silent for a moment before he speaks. “What were you thinking?” It’s a petulant grumble, and you smile fondly. “It wasn’t like I actively tried to get myself hurt, you know.” 

He sighs, and pulls away from you so he can cradle your cheek. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day, you know that?” 

You laugh out loud, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his. “I guess you’re just going to have to keep up with me then, old man.” You tease. He smirks, “Old man? Really?”

“Mhm.” You nod with a grin. Logan places a sweet, long peck onto your lips.

“Maybe I’ll just handcuff you to the bed.”

You snort, “I’d like to see you try.”

[finelinefae]

everything with you

synopsis: a simple, true kind of love

word count: 7.1k

contains: fluff, angst, cancer, brief mentions of sexual assault, allusions to domestic violence and a toxic relationship, normal people/one day vibes, boyfriend harry

a/n: posting this here because i love it so much and i was feeling emo. also have been away for a week so haven't had much time to finish writing things I'm still working on (there will be a soft girl sunday post tomorrow don't worry and i am also working on a tattoo h blurb as well !!)

. . .

October 1st 2017

Harry and Y/N met during freshers week at University in 2017. 

"Should we make out?" 

They were standing in a closet now after meeting just ten minutes ago downstairs. 

"M' names Harry," Harry spoke, sitting on the couch and looking down at his first drink of the night. He wasn't much of a drinker but also feared missing out or being seen as unordinary - at university, drinking felt like it was deemed ordinary. 

Y/N blushed, her cheeks pink from the humidity in the room and the fact that a guy was talking to her. She pulled down the sleeves of her dress to hide her shaky hands. She noticed she stuck out like a sore thumb with how she decided to dress, her long sleeves and knee-length skirt juxtaposed with every other girl in the room. 

"'M Y/N." She responded. Harry nodded, sheepish and awkward as he tried to think about something to say. 

They were sitting side by side, looking out at the other people dancing to the music that echoed through the house. "What do you study?" Y/N managed to ask and cringed at the question. Was it normal to talk about school at a house party?

"Music." He nodded as Y/N tried to think up another question despite already asking one. "What about you?"

"English." She said and an awkward silence fell between them. 

Harry eventually turned to look at her, lips parting at the natural beauty even just from looking at her side profile. Her hair was in waves that fell down her back and he thought her dress was pretty too. She had a tiny bump on the bridge of her nose that led to her plump, cherry red lips. 

She felt his gaze on him and turned her head, catching his eyes and looking down from embarrassment. He was beautiful like a living, breathing adonis. His eyes were a sea glass green and he had chestnut brown curls on his head. 

"It's a little loud in here don't you think?" Harry spoke, his voice seemed closer to her now. 

Y/N looked up and looked around at the crowd of people, "Just a little." She said, 

"Do you want to go upstairs?" He wondered if maybe it would be easier to get to know her in a quieter setting.

Y/N followed him upstairs, wondering whether he knew where they were going and if he knew anyone else at the party. She had only just met him and despite his awkwardness, her trust issues were too much for her to just relax around him. 

He opened the door and pulled her inside, "Um...Harry?"

He nodded, already guessing what she was about to say and looking down at her, "We're in a closet." He stated. 

"Yeah." She whispered, her heart racing at the close proximity. 

"I don't live here." He tried to hide his embarrassment. 

Suddenly, Y/N burst out laughing, the entire situation was something she didn't see coming and she couldn't help but laugh at the predicament. It wasn't too long before Harry began to laugh along with her, the both of them standing in the closet in hysterics. 

When their laughter quietened down, Harry looked down at Y/N. His demeanor changed as he admired her as she bit back a smile. "Should we make out?" 

Her lips parted, "U-Um-I-I've never been kissed before."

"Me neither." He murmured, he wasn't even sure why he asked, he just felt like it was something he should be doing being at a freshers party. 

Y/N thought about it for a second, she gulped down her nerves and looked at his lips before looking at him again. "O-okay." She nodded. 

She'd never been kissed but neither had he, so neither of them could complain it was a bad kiss. She thought it'd be better to kiss him now to get the firsts out of the way. 

"Okay." He released a shaky breath and slowly leaned forward. 

Y/N stood on her toes the closer he got to her, their breaths echoed around the room as their hearts raced at the same time. The tension was thick as their lips were closer to touching. It seemed strange that the first person to touch her lips was a man she had met just ten minutes ago. 

Harry reached for her hand, brushing his fingers against them and feeling how soft her skin was. Her eyes fluttered shut when he felt his fingers run up her arm, a path of goosebumps arising. Her nose rubbed against his and her eyes fluttered shut when his fingertips touched her waist. 

She had the urge to press a kiss to his jawline as his fingers danced across the skin on her arm, "Harry," She whispered, her head resting on his shoulder. 

 Everything she was feeling right now was exactly how she thought she'd feel if someone kissed her and yet their lips hadn't even touched yet.

His lips brushed against hers and eventually, she leapt up into his arms and pressed her lips to his, arms wrapping around his neck. She whimpered at the sensation of his tongue tangled with hers, her entire body felt as though it was on fire as he continued to touch her. She tugged on his hair like her hands had a mind of their own and he released a guttural groan which made her tummy flutter with excitement. 

If they were to continue, she was curious to see where things would go next but her curiosity was killed when the door opened and they pulled away from each other. 

"My bad." Someone chuckled and closed the door again. 

Harry was breathing erratically, looking down at the floor as his mind whirred. 

"I should go." Y/N was the first to talk and before he could even reply, she opened the door and left. 

February 20th 2018

Harry was late for class but he was in no rush to get there. In fact, he hoped the seminar would be over by the time he got there so he didn't have to answer any questions. He hated talking in front of people. 

He decided to take a longer walk to his seminar, going in a direction he had never gone before and hoped he would get lost along the way. 

As he pulled out his phone to change the song he was listening to, he ended up bumping into someone else. "I-I'm sorry," He immediately crouched down and picked up the books on the floor.

"I-It's fine, don't worry about it." A delicate hand touched his as they reached for the same book. 

His head perked up when he registered who the person was, the voice was the last thing he heard before he went to sleep every night. "Y/N?" He spoke before he could stop himself. 

She looked up at him, he noticed she looked different to when he had first met her. The light in her eyes looked dimmer and she seemed more on edge than when he had first met her. 

"Harry?" She smiled, standing up. 

"It's good to see you." Flashes of their first kiss came to mind and he quickly brushed them away. 

"How's the first year treating you so far?" She tucked her hair behind her ear. 

"It's been... good." He was lying but he wouldn't tell her that, not when he felt the need to impress her. 

"Oh I'm glad, we should-"

"Y/N!" Y/N stilled, her head turning to look past Harry's shoulder. Her sudden change in expression made him turn to see the person who had caused it. 

A man stood waving his hand in the air in the distance, he looked slightly older than both Harry and Y/N. "Who's that?" Harry looked at Y/N.

"T-That's Shaun." She muttered, holding her books tightly to her chest. 

"Is he your boyfriend?" He hated how the question tasted when he asked it but wanted to know. 

"Yes." She said, his heart was hurting but he tried his best not to show it. "I should get going."

She walked past him but he called her name before she managed to get away, "Here," He took out a pen and wrote on the front of the page of her notepad his number, "In case you need me."

She smiled but it didn't meet her eyes, "Thank you." 

He watched her as she walked away and didn't start to walk again until she walked around the corner. 

He couldn't help the gut feeling that was definitely going to need his number whether she wanted it or not.

May 15th 2018

Harry had finished his last music exam and stood in his dorm room, packing his room up since his mother would be picking him up tomorrow afternoon for the summer. 

He knew other people were out partying and enjoying the fact that the first year was over but he was too keen to get home. University hadn't treated him nicely and that was just the way it was for him. 

He hadn't made many friends besides a few in his music class, even then he wouldn't really consider them friends, mostly just people he spoke to now and then. He hadn't been to a party since the first week of freshers nor did he really want to. 

"Fuck." He murmured to himself when he could hear the vibrations of his phone ringing. He rummaged through the piles of items he had created whilst packing and eventually found his phone under a pile of clothes. 

The number was unknown but he picked it up anyway. 

"Hello?" He frowned, waiting for a response from the unknown caller. 

"H-Harry?" He stood straight and held his breath when the voice he hadn't heard in a while was talking to him on the phone. "I-It's Y/N."

I know. That was what he wanted to say but instead waited for her to carry on speaking. He wasn't sure as to why she was calling him now since he had given her his number three months ago. He spent the first few days waiting for a call from her but was always let down. 

"U-Um, I know we haven't spoken in a while b-but I really need you to come g-get me." She was on the verge of tears as she held the phone to her ear, waiting for him to say something.

Harry cleared his throat, "Are you okay?" He asked, concern in his voice as he walked to the door. 

He waited for a response, "No." She sobbed, "I'm at a party outside campus on Melville Street and I don't know anyone else." 

He stumbled over his belongings as he pulled his shoes on and tugged on his jacket. "Hey, don't worry. I'm on my way and I promise I'll be there in five minutes." 

"O-Okay," She whimpered, "Thank you...Harry." 

He ended the call and raced down the steps to the front door, running out and making his way to Melville Street where he knew all the parties were held throughout the year. He could already see a mass of people at one particular house at the end of the road and could only assume it was the house Y/N had called him from. 

He pushed his way past the other students, apologising as he did so but making no effort to stop himself from getting to Y/N. He ran up the stairs and opened the door to each room, ignoring the screeching from teenagers making out and wanting him to leave. 

Eventually, he got to the end of the hallway and faced a closet door. He slowly put his ear to the door and heard the sniffles and cries of someone behind it. Carefully, he pulled the door open and looked down to see Y/N, crying into her knees as she curled up into herself. 

He closed the door behind him and crouched down in front of her, "Hey," He whispered, not wanting to frighten her. 

She looked up, cheeks tear stained and makeup smothered which she tried to wipe away with the back of her hand. "You're here." She whimpered and wasted no time in leaping forward and wrapping her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. 

This was the last thing he was expecting to happen tonight but he didn't stop from holding her tightly in an attempt to squeeze the pain out of her. Sometimes people just wanted a hug and he just so happened to be the only person who could give that to her right now. 

"What happened Y/N?" He looked her in the eye and was brought back to the first time they were in a closet together. He wished he could go back to that time or at least be with her now under different circumstances. 

"It's nothing." She wiped away her tears as best as she could. 

"I don't think you would have called me of all people if it were nothing." He cupped the side of her cheek and noticed a bruise under her eye. His heart fell out of his chest when the worst-case scenario came to mind, "D-did Shaun do this to you?"

He didn't need an answer from her because the look on her face was clear enough to tell that he was right. Y/N began sobbing all over again, "How long Y/N?" Harry asked, firmly. 

She didn't answer, "Y/N, how long?" 

"Since February," She confessed in a whisper and hid herself away from him. 

Harry felt an incredible urge to walk out to find Shaun and release every ounce of his rage onto him but he also knew that wouldn't do anything to help Y/N at this moment. So he took a deep breath and placed a gentle hand on Y/N's shoulder. 

She looked up with wide, teary eyes and tried to crack a smile, "Let's get you out of here." 

She laughed breathily, "What? You don't like being in a closet with me anymore?"

He couldn't seem to find it in himself to laugh with her, "Not when you're like this Y/N."

She loved the way his voice sounded, she had been thinking about it ever since she first kissed him in the closet. Maybe that's why Shaun treated her like he did because she was lying in bed with him and dreaming about someone else. 

Harry walked out of the house with Y/N under his arm, shielding her away from the party. "Do you have anyone who can pick you up from your dorm?"

Y/N looked down at her shoes, embarrassment filling her, "I-I moved in with Shaun, he didn't want me living with the other girls and he's in his second year so..."

"Fuck." Harry said, eyes wide. 

"Yeah," She laughed, pitifully. "Feel free to name me an idiot for the next few hours."

Harry sighs, "I'd never call you that Y/N. Sometimes we make mistakes when we're cast out into loneliness by others." 

They carried on walking in silence. Y/N wasn't sure where they were going until they got to Harry's accommodation. "We'll have to sleep here for the night." 

"A-Are you sure?" Y/N was nervous, wringing her hands together. 

He didn't reply as he led her upstairs to his dorm where he knew everyone else was out getting drunk. She stepped into his room and was surprised to see the piles on the floor. It was amusing and sad to see. Each pile seemed to represent a different part of him, parts she knew nothing about, and yet he was the first person she thought about calling when she was in trouble. It felt like a cruel trick, she relied heavily upon strangers to lift her up because it was easier than being seen as weak by the people she deemed most important. 

"I've been packing, m' mum's picking me up tomorrow. It's a bit of a mess." He begins picking up things from the floor, underwear and pages of sheet music. 

"You play guitar?" She was still standing by the door.

"A bit, piano mostly." She notices the keyboard at his desk. 

"You can take the bed, I don't mind sleeping on the floor." He stands, not sure how to act with a girl in the room, especially a girl he thought about before he went to sleep.

"Why can't we both sleep on the bed?" She wondered, kicking her shoes off. 

"Y-Yeah," Harry gulped, "W-Whatever makes you comfortable." 

Y/N and Harry sat side by side on the bed and were immediately brought back to their first interaction. Except this time they didn't have the noise of the party to fill the awkward silence. 

"He didn't rape me, Harry." She whispers out of nowhere, she was crying again and he hated it. 

"I never thought he did." He lied, he did think that.

"I-I'm not that desperate." 

"I never said you were." 

"Shaun was good to me and then... I've never been in a relationship before. I didn't know how it was supposed to go." She confessed.

"I know," He knew she needed to talk about it but he also knew she didn't particularly want to. 

"Right." The sheets ruffled beside him and he looked over to see her lying on the bed with her back facing him. Her shoulders were shaking as she cried into his pillow.

Harry didn't know what to do. He wasn't good at comforting people or talking to people or being around people but he couldn't live with himself if he just sat there and watched her cry. He twisted his body and placed a hand on her shoulder. He noticed her flinch slightly but in a blink of an eye, she turned around and buried her face into his stomach, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his shirt. 

Harry did nothing as he ran his fingers through her hair and just let her cry for the next hour. 

"Harry," Y/N whispered in the dark, the both of them lying side by side flat on their backs. 

"Yeah." He whispered back.

"I wish I didn't leave the first time." Her confession surprised him. He thought he was the only one who thought about their kiss daily. He often thought how they'd be today if she were to have stayed. 

"Me too." He said and felt her pinkie hook around his. 

They fell asleep after that. 

June 20th 2018

It was summer and Harry was in Italy with his family. 

"Harry! Lunch is ready." His mother called from the patio as he sat in a hammock with his guitar. 

He lugged himself out of the hammock and felt a vibration in his back pocket. 

Y/N: I hope you're having a good time x

He bit back a smile, feeling giddy with the fact that she had messaged him in the middle of the day even though they'd been texting on and off since the summer began. 

Harry: Yeah it's been alright, too hot for my liking.

He held his breath as the dots began to appear as she typed out a reply.  

Y/N: Why am I not surprised? x

Harry: I've been working on a few songs whilst I'm out here though

Y/N: I look forward to being the first to hear them x 

Y/N smiled as she looked down at her phone whilst she sat in the back room on her break from working at the supermarket. He had told her once he'd never played a song before to anyone, not even his mother. She asked him if he'd ever play something to her and he immediately replied with three letters. 'Yes'. 

Y/N worked for the rest of the day and finished her shift at three thirty. She had to pick up a few things before she went back to her house where she was living with her mother and grandmother. 

She went to check the time on her phone but ended up seeing a message from Harry. 

A gasp escaped her lips when she noticed it was a voice note. It was a long time since she had heard Harry's voice. 

She reached into her bag for her headphones and pulled out the tangled mess. Suddenly a crackling sound and the heavy rain pouring in the background began to play. She waited until she could hear the gentle strum of a guitar and Harry's voice flooding her ears as he began to sing. 

There was something so comforting about his voice and a part of her felt ignited by the pure vulnerability in his voice as he sang. "Sorry, okay bye." He mumbled at the end of the voice note. 

She laughed and immediately began to type out a message. 

Y/N: It's beautiful. 

Harry: I miss you Y/N.

Her heart stuttered from the simple text message. 

Y/N: I miss you too Harry. 

July 20th 2018

"Here let me take that for you." Harry grabbed her bag and slung it over his shoulder, "I'll show you up to your room.”

"It's...big." Y/N looked at the home Harry had in Italy with his family. 

He chuckled, "You could say that."

He was in awe that she was here with him in Italy. He had invited her out when she told him she'd never been abroad before despite having a passport. After asking his mother, he bought her a cheap flight over to the Amalfi Coast and set up the guest bedroom, buying her candles and things from the nearest grocery shop.

"Do you love her?" Anne smirked whilst she stood at the door with her arms crossed, watching her son put face masks into what would be Y/N's bathroom drawer.

"No," He shakes his head. "No, I don't." 

"Okay." She said but wasn't assured by his answer.

Harry placed her bags on the double bed and gave her time to take in the house. "Is your mum home?" She wondered. 

"No, she and Astrid went to the market," Harry said.

"I can see the sea." She looked past him, out the window. 

"That's funny, since you arrived all I can see is you." He whispers, looking into her eyes. She didn't have to tell him she agreed because he already knew. 

Things between them had changed over the last month and they both knew it. Since Harry sent the song over to her, things between them were different. They spent the majority of their nights sleeping late and having deep conversations over the phone. Harry now knew more about her than anyone ever did and she knew even more about him. 

They hadn't kissed since the night they first met and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't think about it still. 

"Harry, come down and help us with the groceries!" His mother called from the kitchen. 

Y/N followed Harry down the steps where his mother and sister were. "Harry!" Astrid squealed, the six year old leaping into his arms. 

"Hey, Astrid." He smiles, putting her down afterwards and walking over to his mother. 

"Oh goodness, you must be Y/N! Harry has told us so much about you." Anne grins and goes over to hug Y/N. 

"It's nice to meet you," Y/N spoke, shyly. 

"Hi," Astrid grinned, one of her teeth missing. 

"Hi Astrid, it's nice to meet you." Y/N grinned. 

"You're pretty." Astrid hides behind Harry as she speaks. 

Harry and Anne laugh, "Why don't you take Y/N down to our beach? It's a wonderful day outside." 

"Sure," Harry nodded, putting the milk in the fridge. 

Harry led Y/N back to her room so she could get dressed into her bathing suit. "You don't have to come with us if you don't want to. You're probably tired."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Y/N asked, pulling out her swimsuit from her backpack.

"I want you to be everywhere." He smiles softly. 

She bites back a grin, "Give me a second." 

Harry walks back in once he puts his swim shorts on and halts his movements when he notices Y/N standing in front of the mirror putting suncream on. Her hair was tied back and she had removed her makeup from her face. She was wearing a black, one piece swimming costume. He could see the curve of her hips and her breasts and watched as she applied sun cream to her bare arms and legs. He didn't want to stare too long but he couldn't help but revel in the beauty of her. 

"I'm ready." She smiles, covering her body with a towel. 

"Cool." Harry gulps. 

. . .

"It's cold." Y/N shivers when she walks further into the ocean. 

"It feels good." Harry smiles, walking out into the sea. 

They stood facing each other in the middle of the ocean. "Your family seems nice,"

"They're alright," He couldn't stop looking at her. 

I really want to kiss you right now. He thought but tried to contain himself.

"Have you written any more songs?" She asks. 

"A few, I was inspired you could say."

"By who?" She wonders. 

Before he could reply, a wave knocked into them both. Y/N lost her balance and slipped underwater but Harry just managed to grab her waist and hold her before she was able to drift away. 

They both started laughing, Harry's hands were on her waist the entire time as they smiled at each other. 

"Are you going to kiss me?" Y/N wonders, Harry's breath catching in his throat, "At the party you had the same look in your eye when we were in the closet."

"Do you want me to kiss you?" He asks.

"I always want you to kiss me, Harry." She says. 

He scoffs, smiling, "You can't say that you know." 

"Why not?" She bites her lip.

"Because then I'll just have to kiss you all the time." 

"I always want you to kiss me, Harry." She whispers again this time in his ear, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. 

Harry shakily exhaled and leaned his head forward. He had thought of this moment for months since the first time they met and he didn't think it would happen for a while. Y/N had told him all the things Shaun had done to her during their short relationship and he knew it would affect her for a while once they had broken up. 

She kissed his shoulder, the saltiness of the water on the tip of her tongue, before she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. 

Harry whimpered like he had been in desperate need of her this whole time and he was finally getting what he wanted. His hands were everywhere as he tried to hold her in the ocean, she pushed his wet hair back and cupped his cheeks. 

"Y/N," He whispered over and over again, "I'd never be like him, I hope you know that."

She said nothing, just smiled and kissed him again and again and again and again. 

August 3rd 2018

"Do you think I'm a good writer?" Y/N asked, her bare chest pressed against Harry's as she finally caught her breath from opening up to him in a way only he was allowed to see. 

"I think you're a wonderful writer." He hums, releasing her hair from her messy ponytail so he could massage her scalp with his fingertips.

"Really?" She smiled up at him, he felt a tight feeling in his stomach at the sight of it.

"Yes." He kissed her sweaty forehead.

"I think you'd be a good musician." She played with his fingers. 

"Thank you." He wasn't sure what to say besides that. He knew she had faith in him, sometimes too much. 

"Harry," She started. She moved to sit up, she was naked and slouched over but it didn't phase him one bit, he liked seeing her naked, it was possibly one of his favourite things. "Y' know you're my best friend right?"

"I know that," He nods. "You tell me every day."

"I think I might be in love with you." She confesses, a sigh of relief escaping her.

"I know I'm in love with you." He admits, he'd never told anyone he loved them besides his mother and sister but with Y/N it felt different. He felt as though he was opening a part of himself that had always been locked and only she knew how to open it.

"So we love each other?" She crawls over to him, falling beside him and lying on her back, her head lolling to the side to look at him. 

His hand goes to her tummy and he rubs his thumb up and down, "We love each other." His hand slowly creeps lower. 

"Can we have sex again?" She asks, biting her lip.

He loved the way her cheeks flushed when she spoke about doing intimate things with her. Her eyes would turn a darker shade and the hairs on her arms would stand on end. 

"Y'never have to ask." He murmured and kissed her everywhere.

January 30th 2022

Harry and Y/N moved in together when they graduated. It was an easy decision and they didn't regret it one bit. 

"Morning baby," Harry hummed, kissing her shoulder and handing her a mug of coffee. She was wearing a shawl and a lace bra with his boxer shorts and he made sure to take a mental picture of her right this moment. 

"Morning handsome." She whispered, tired and achy from being at her computer for a second day in a row. 

Y/N was a writer or at least trying to be one. She was currently signed to a literary agent and was attempting to get a book published. She'd been spending the last few days going through the edits she'd been sent from her first draft. 

He placed two hands on her shoulders and rubbed his thumbs into them, massaging her shoulders and easing some of the tension. "I'm going to the studio today, wrote a few songs last night." 

"You did?" She grinned, her head turning to look up at him, "Will I get to hear them first?" 

"You know you will. You always get to listen to them first you know that." He chuckles, leaning down to kiss her. 

He rubbed his thumbs under her tired eyes as he cupped her cheeks, "Get some sleep darling, please." 

"Can I have a kiss first?" She pouts, her eyes gazing up at him.

He snickered and kissed her the same way he did when he first met her, leaving her in a daze as he left her in the kitchen and walked out of the house to get to the studio. 

"I think I want to marry her," Harry spoke aloud, his friend Mitch turning to him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I want to marry her." 

"Good for you, man. She's good for you." He gives him a friendly pat on the back. 

Harry drove home with a memory stick sitting in the passenger seat of his car. He also had an engagement ring in his back pocket that he picked up on his way home. It was cheap and fake, costing him just thirty pounds, but he planned on buying her a new one when he sold some of his demos to other artists. 

When he walked through the door, he noticed Y/N was no longer at her computer. He walked into the lounge and saw her passed out on the sofa, a loaf of bread was on the coffee table with a tub of butter and a knife stuck into it. 

He sat down beside her, and she stirred. "Hi baby," He stroked her hair out of her face.

"You're home." She hummed, grabbing his hand and holding it to her chest with her eyes still shut.

"Come to bed, my love." He keeps his voice down when he speaks to her. 

"But I want to hear your music." Sleep weighed heavy in her voice. 

"Y' can hear it tomorrow darling, let's go to bed." He picks her up and cradles her in his arms as he carries her up the stairs. 

"Love you," She whispers as he lays her in bed and covers her in the blanket. 

"Love you too." He grins, lazily and crawls into bed next to her, holding her tightly. 

September 16th 2024

He's never felt pain like this.

"Where is she?" He gripped onto her mother's shoulders, looking at her with pleading eyes. 

He had rushed to the hospital, cancelling his show last minute since he was touring with the band he had written songs for. They invited him at the last minute to be the opening act for their show and he accepted despite his homesickness and desire to stay with Y/N.

"Mr Styles?" A nurse approaches with a doctor beside her. 

"Is she okay? What's going on?" He was tired before he got the phone call but now he was wide awake and wasn't planning on getting sleep anytime soon. 

"Mr Styles, we're going to need you to take a seat." The Doctor places a hand on his shoulder but he brushes it off, growing frustrated. 

"Please, just tell me what's going on." 

A sigh leaves the doctor's lips, "Miss Y/L/N has had to have emergency brain surgery."

"W-What?" He froze, unsure how to process it all.

"We found a tumour in her brain that we've had to remove, the cancer is still there but-"

He blocked out the doctor's words after that, all he seemed to hear were the words 'surgery' and 'cancer'. Y/N had cancer. 

"C-Can I see her?" He had tears rolling down his cheeks. 

"She's asleep but you can go in and see her." The Doctor nods and turns to the nurse, giving her instructions. 

Everything blurred and moved in slow motion as he walked down the corridors to Y/N's room. He couldn't believe what was happening and whether or not it was real but the pain coursing through him was enough to tell him that his life had taken a turn for the worst. 

"We'll leave you alone." The nurse nods. 

Harry saw Y/N lying in the hospital bed with wires coming out of her and a bandage wrapped around her head. 

"No baby." He shook his head, "No, no, no." He walked forward and fell to his knees in front of her. 

He gripped her hand and squeezed tight, sobbing as he tried to think up ways to help her, to trade places, to take all the pain she was feeling and consume it himself. 

"You'll be fine," He whispered, kissing her cheek, "You'll be okay." All the while twisting the cheap engagement ring he had given to her before he left to tour. 

It wasn't the most extravagant engagement but it was perfect for them. Harry had taken Y/N camping for the first time but they soon realised they both hated it. It didn't help that it was pouring with rain and the tent had a hole in it. 

So, they ditched the tent and bought a cheap motel room. They had dinner at a restaurant opposite the petrol station where the food wasn't too good but they had to beat soft serve ice cream. 

Harry asked the question after they had sex in their motel room. A tangled, sweaty mess and in a haze, he just blurted out the question to which she immediately said yes and broke down crying because she loved him so much.

Later on, Y/N woke up in the evening with Harry sitting awake beside her. 

"H-Harry," She mumbled, her eyes fluttering open and close. She was very tired. 

"Hey darling," He crouched down in front of her so he was eye level with her, "M right here."

His voice always soothed her, since the very first day they met, "I'm sick aren't I?" She tears up. 

He slowly nods his head, "But you'll get better."

She wasn't so sure.

December 1st 2024

"Can we go to Italy to get married?" Y/N asked, sitting at the windowsill with a book. She was wearing a headscarf over her hairless head as the sun shone through the window. 

Harry thought she looked beautiful.

"I thought you wanted to get married here at home?" He wondered, they both wanted something simple so planned their wedding reception to be at their house in the back garden. 

She placed her book down and stood up on shaky legs. She was getting thinner the more they did chemotherapy, sometimes she could barely hold her head up from exhaustion but she was fighting her way through it all. 

She climbed onto Harry's lap who was sitting at the table writing music. "I want to go to Italy for Christmas and get married."

Harry chuckles, "I don't think people will be happy if we do all that last minute, it'll cost a lot too." 

She shakes her head, a cheeky grin on her face, "I just want it to be us two." 

He thought about it. He knew how much their families meant to the both of them and how important it was for them to be there but he couldn't lie if he said the thought didn't tempt him.

 "What about our parents?" He asked.

"Well I assume they'd be upset for a while but they'll get over it. We can have a party in the back garden just like we originally planned." She snaked her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, he could tell she was getting tired. 

"When would you want to leave for Italy?" He wonders and she knew she had persuaded him. 

"Tomorrow." 

December 3rd 2024

They got married where they kissed on the beach. 

Y/N was rushed to the hospital in the evening. 

May 22nd 2025

Harry was alone. 

He stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie and tried his best not to get emotional. 

He hadn't seen her in a while but he hoped she was giving him some reassurance wherever she was.

"My boy," Anne walked in, wearing a sleek dress, "You look so handsome." 

She adjusted the lapels of his suit and cupped his cheeks, a bittersweet look on her face, "They're waiting for you." 

He nodded, glanced one last time at the mirror and exhaled. 

People were already standing in the pews of the church, some were already crying as he walked to the end of the aisle. He turned around and took a heavy breath, his hands shaky. 

"You've got this," Mitch whispered, reassuringly. 

Suddenly everyone stood up as the music began to play, waiting for the love of his life to turn the corner. 

Y/N beat cancer on Harry's birthday this year. 

He cried tears of joy and they celebrated by ordering two ice cream cakes and eating them both with just two spoons and Mamma Mia playing in the background. 

They decided they wanted to get married again with a proper ceremony since their wedding in Italy was slightly tainted by the fact she had to go to hospital. Their mothers were also adamant they had another wedding they could actually attend. 

He held his breath when she walked out in a beautiful, white dress. It was a tight fitted, mermaid dress with an open back. She was adamant about having a tight fitted dress so she could see how bloated her belly got with the buffet they had for the reception. With the chemo, she couldn't stomach a lot of food but now all she wanted to do was eat and Harry loved it. 

His eyes began to water as she walked down the aisle on her own. She didn't want anyone to walk her down the aisle because she didn't like the idea of someone giving her away. No one was giving her away because she had always been Harry's right from the beginning.

"You may now kiss the bride!" Everyone cheered as the Officiant announced it. 

Y/N leaned forward and smiled, tears down her face, "Should we make out?" She whispered. 

"Most definitely." Harry smiled and it was the happiest he had ever been in his life. 

October 1st 2027

Welcome to the world, little Matilda. 

You came into this world with sun beams coming out of you and we haven't seen the rain since.

Your mother is currently asleep and I haven't got the heart to wake her up. She never ceases to amaze me with how strong she is and I've promised her months of rest since all you seemed to do was wake her up in the night with your tiny toes and little fingers pressing against her belly. 

I've loved your mother for ten whole years now and it just adds to your perfection that you were born on the day we met. 

On the day we met, I was awkward and shy and hated people which makes no sense since we were at a party. I had no intention of meeting your mother but she was there and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. 

Don't worry Matilda, you are half your mother and will be just as pretty as she is. 

She was my first kiss, the first person I opened up to and the only person I wanted to spend my life with.

Except now we have you and my world before these ten years seems non-existent. 

I love you Matilda and no matter how much I say I love you, I will always love you more than that. 

You have my green eyes and your mother's little nose. I can already tell you have the imagination of your mother because you were grabbing at my fingers last night and making noises with a smile on your face. 

I promise to raise you with as much love as I have given your mother and I know your mother will love as hard as she loves me. Our house will be filled with nothing but love for you Matilda and I hope you hold onto that and carry it with you wherever you go. 

You will always be the light in our lives from now on my sweet Matilda. 

"Is she awake?" Y/N murmurs, eyes still shut.

"No, she's sleeping." Harry looks down at the little girl in his arms. 

"I can't believe we made her Harry." She smiles, cheeks pink, reminding him of the time they first met. 

It did amaze him how the person they created together was a product of their love. He didn't really think it possible to hold love in his hands until he held Matilda for the first time. 

"I love you, Harry." She whispers, holding his hand. 

"I love you too." He sighs, feeling utter bliss.

He would do it all again, he thought, the ups and downs and in-betweens, he'd do it all. 

Everything with you. 

[djs4nddisc0s]

toby headcanons? :) sfw or nsfw I just live for him 🖤 thx!

sighhh Toby… sighh my submissive and breedable malewife…🙁🤍🎀

Of course, thank you for requesting<3! (All other asks in my inbox are being worked on btw! Remember, these are my personal headcanons, you’re allowed to disagree and these also won’t relate too much to canon. Kinda ‘realistic’. Not proofread.)

Toby Rogers sfw and nsfw Hc’s!

(SFW)

Starting off with his looks I deff agree with how shatteredankles draws him. (their art is so😻)

His style is like midwestern emo but with a bit of grunge

I like the hc of him being German, but I think he grew up in Colorado

However his mom still used the language, culture, food and stuff like that in the household

He has a small cabin in the woods that he lives in (sorry no slendermansion this time)

TERRIBLE trust issues due to his past

Craves physical touch but also is scared of it thanks to ole daddy-o🤓 (ew cringe)

That being said he loves giving physical touch but since he can’t feel pain it’s hard for him to know if he’s hurting you

He may not be able to feel pain but he can feel other sensations like pleasure or little tingles (he can bc I say so, fight me)

Smokes every once in a while but only weed

Picnic dates.

If you do your makeup he’ll watch you with all the wonder in the world

Has even let you do it on him a few times

Pretty possessive, you’re the only person outside of his sister and mother that has been so understanding and loving, the thought of you leaving terrifies him

Whenever you go out for groceries or with friends (which sadly is rare due to his attitude towards it) you have to text him with little check-in texts to ease his nerves

(NSFW)

About 7.5 inches

HAPPY TRAIL MEOOOOW😻

He used to jerk off like a teenage boy in the middle of puberty

Once he met you (before dating) he would continue to do so but just to you

Pictures, voice recordings, even on call with you a couple times

Finally once you two started dating he could try the real thing

FEM! “F-Fuck… your pussy feels f-fucking amazing..!”

MASC! “Such a g-good boy- shit! So good”

HE IS A SWITCH AND YOU CAN NOT PROVE ME WRONG‼️

Mommy/Daddy kink no questions asked

I feel like most of the pastas would have a thing for chasing you through the woods to catch you right there and ravish you right where they caught you… just silly thoughts😋

He’s deff be open to trying anything you like if it makes you happy

However he wouldn’t want to hurt you too bad if that’s what you’re into

Light degradation on both parts

Fucking AMAZING at giving head, you’ll be seeing stars

If he’s bottoming he can either be the most obedient you’ve ever had or he’s a pain in the ass brat.

I feel like even though he can’t feel the pain from edging/overstimulation it still gets him worked up

Pull his hair while he’s going down on you it lets him know he’s doing good

WHIMPERS🔥

If you’ve edged/overstimulated him too much he’ll either take control or start begging so pretty for you

Will do the same back as punishment if you kept going even if he begged

Tying your hands behind your back and PLOWING into you like it’s the last time he’ll be able to

Remember when I said he was possessive, yeah jealous sex comes from that

Also remember the makeup thing? Mascara running down your face turns him on more

Sighh I love my gf he’s such a fucking loser freak☹️

(I hope you enjoyed<3!)

[rrcenic]

if they had tumblr on the lotf island simulator bc silly :))

🐚 thechief Follow

God I love him so much. Every time we kiss I feel so alive.

🔥 csharpmf Follow

cringe

🐚 thechief Follow

…this is literally about us

🔥 csharpmf Follow

OOOH FUCK I DIDNT READ THE USERNAME

#SORRY BABE OMFG #PLS FORGIVE ME WE CAN HAVE A PARTY W MY HUNTERS ON THE BEAJCH

(9 notes)

🦎 helloitssimon Follow

found a ton of these beautiful leaves and made a flower crown!!

🦎helloitssimon Follow

so. piggy has informed me that the rash on my arms and head is due to the posion ivy ive been wearing for a week.

#everything itches :,(

(23 notes)

🐷 number1ralphstan Follow

Greetings and salutations! This is my first official Tumblr post. My name is Peter. I use primarily he/him pronouns but do not mind they/them.

If you’re a supporter of J*ck or The H*nters DNI!!! I am a Ralph supporter!!! You choir boys make me sick!!!

I have asthma and I am gay. If you insult me, or call me fat, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

If you are anti-Ralph, I’m not afraid to call you out as the CONCHPHOBE you are!

Lastly: DO NOT CALL ME PIGGY. IT IS NOT MY NAME

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

lmaoooo kys piggy

🐷 number1ralphstan Follow

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

#I AM SO ANGRY RIGHT NOW #YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF #tw h*nters #tw conchphobia #tw j*cks tribe

(341 notes)

👬 sam-and-eric-the-twins-alt-account Follow

#we’re personally more ralph-leaning #but not picky

(15,326 notes)

🔳 mulberry-boy-deactivated

t hebeasty i know it’s there i lnow the hel p help theyre is a beastie pleas

😭 PercivalWemdeysMadison Follow

hey op are you ok

😭 PercivalWemdeysMadison Follow

OP WHAT DOES THIS MEAN PLEASE

#I AM AFRAID

(40k notes)

🤡 sillybillymaurice Follow

brooo my homies @xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx and @csharpmf were talking about their kill streaks and i said “do you play on an open server or a private world” and they just looked confused 😭😭😭 like bro did. were. were you not taking about minecraft????

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

🙂

🤡 sillybillymaurice Follow

girlie help?????

#ur so silly like wtf

(12 notes)

🔥 csharpmf Follow

bro check out this fire art i whipped up this afternoon 💪💪💪 nothin much just a quick doodle 💪💪💪

🐷 number1ralphstan Follow

Hey OP. Maybe do some research on famous art before attempting to plagiarize the Mona fucking Lisa. You disgusting credit thief.

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

maybe you should learn what a joke is lmao

(31k notes)

🐚 thechief Follow

This is your daily reminder to take care of yourself! Drink water and eat some pig! AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DONT LET THE SIGNAL FIRE GO OUT!!!

🔥 csharpmf Follow

…i forgor

🐚 thechief Follow

ISTFG

#literally so pissed /srs

(2,176 notes)

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

i am #strong. i am #emo. i listen to #mychemicalromance. i am #dark

*lifts black hair off face, revealing black eyeshadow* i cannot feel love. i care about no one. because i am #EMO!!!! /srs

🦎 helloitssimon Follow

:(

🐺 xX_RogerTheHunter_Xx Follow

no!!! don’t be sad- *bites black lipstick covered lip and glances away* i… i love you

🦎helloitssimon Follow

:)

🐷 ralphsnumber1stan Follow

Oh my God. And you call ME cringe.

#no hate on Simon even though he’s a weirdo #but Roger is like a different breed of freaky #tw h*nters #tw j*cks tribe #tw conchphobia

(865 notes)

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Charlie: “This is the worst idea we’ve ever had.”

Vaggie: “Do we have a better one?”

Charlie: “Give up before I burn down half of Pentagram City??”

Vaggie: “That’s plan B, babe.”

Charlie: “It’s gonna be plan A for Already Happening at this rate!”

Vaggie: “Look, I don’t like it any more than you do-”

Charlie: “THEN SWITCH WITH ME!”

Angel Dust: “Said the bi lady to her lesbian lover.”

Charlie: “I’M NOT LOVING THIS! Why can’t I be the on who has to do the fake date thing!? At least I’ve dated guys before! Once!!!”

Vaggie: “Because-”

Alastor: “Ha ha HA… My dear, I’m afraid I DO prefer living, amusingly enough~”

Charlie: “Then keep the touching. To a MINIMUM.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, the whole point is to trick people into thinking I’ve double crossed you so they’ll tell us about how they wanna double cross you. It’s not really going to work if the one selling you out is… you.”

Charlie: “But this is stupid- no one in their right mind is going to look at YOU and think ‘now THERE’S a woman who would date a MAN!’”

Angel Dust: “Biphobia~”

Husk: “Still fucking true.”

Vaggie: “Charlie c’mon- If you were a dude I’d date you.”

Charlie: “You’d figure out how to still be lesbian about it, trust me.”

Alastor: “Now there’s a thought! I COULD do my best impression of a lesbian, if that would help with the immersion?”

Vaggie: “What, like. Wear a pin?”

Charlie: “I do NOT need this situation to be in any way believable! The structural integrity of our HOTEL does NOT need me feeling this is even slightly more real.”

Alastor: “But our foes do require enough to be fooled by, I am afraid.”

Angel Dust: “Well that’s this plan out the window…”

Vaggie: “I can’t picture you as a lesbian.”

Angel Dust: “He’s not giving guy fucker vibes either, toots, bein’ fair.”

Husk: “It’s just fucker. In a platonic, shitty way.”

Alastor: “And you would know, hmmm~?”

Charlie: “Can’t we just dress me up as someone else?? Put me in a glamor, or-”

Vaggie: “No one is gonna hear you talk and not know who you are."

Charlie: "RRRGH."

Vaggie: "Which I love, by the way. Along with everything else.”

Charlie: “Well what if I just don’t talk! You- you could be into the silent, brooding types!”

Vaggie: “If I’d met you during the emo phase then yeah sure. But Alastor's the one who knows these assholes-”

Angel Dust: “WAIT go back- her WHAT phase!?”

Charlie: (SQUEAKS)

Vaggie: “Em… emoticon. Her. Emoji era.”

Angel Dust: “She was emo??” (at charlie) “YOU WERE EMO!?!? With the hair dye an’ the dead roses and shit????”

Charlie: “I was a TEEN! Kinda!! I was, barely through my first four decades of life-!”

Vaggie: “And dealing with a lot.”

Charlie: “-the whole ‘oh all of creation hates your home and you and everyone you love’ thing was starting to sink in, as well as all the, the murder and stuff happening just outside our house-”

Vaggie: “The hair dye made her happy so shut up.”

Angel Dust: “Oh we GOTTA get you back in your emo duds someday, Charlie Chip! This is GOLDEN!”

Alastor: “What, my dears, is an emo phase?”

Husk: “Angry at the world and making it the world’s problem by staying in your fucking room with the lights dim as fuck, turning it into a 3D model of all your psychological hang-ups and listening to tortured screams and shit.”

Alastor: “Ah. A lovely Saturday afternoon. I DO enjoy those.”

Everyone Else: “…..”

Alastor: “?”

Angel Dust: “Alright. So he’s maybe got some teen girl vibes goin’ on. That’s a start ain’t it?”

Vaggie: “….maybe we could say I lost my soul to him in a bet or something.”

Charlie: “Don’t even JOKE about that!!!!!”

Husk: “Fucking copycat.”

Angel Dust: “Copy what, Mr. kittens?”

Husk: (hisses)

Alastor: “Now now, Husk. Play NICE.”

Husk: “…you got it, boss.”

Alastor: (pats his head) "Very good."

Angel Dust: (CRINGING)

Charlie: "Alastor- could you um, maybe not??"

Alastor: "Hmm? Not what, my dear?"

Vaggie: "Oh you fucking KNOW what, pendejo." (glares) “Fuck the fake soul selling. I’d probably kill him if he talked to me like that.”

Alastor: “That MIGHT put a damper on our budding relationship, ha ha!”

Vaggie: “Touch me and you WILL die.”

Alastor: “Oh ho! A long distance romance I see!”

Vaggie: “That’s not convincing anyone either. You hold still, I’ll, ugh.” (grimace) “Touch your arm or something.”

Husk: “Eugh.”

Angel Dust: “Basic house rules.” (shrug) “Maybe it’ll work?”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

Vaggie: “Charlie it’s just for one evening-”

Charlie: “No. Just, just let all of hell plot against me! It’s fine.”

Vaggie: “Babe that is so not fine.”

Charlie: “It’s fine!!!”

Husk: “Carpet’s on fucking fire.”

Charlie: “Shit. Alastor- I need you to step away from Vaggie before I burn the hotel to the ground, starting with you.”

Vaggie: “Hot.”

Angel Dust: “Siiiiimp...”

Husk: (smirk)

Alastor: “I suppose disguising me as a FLAMING lesbian would be a BIT much.” (steps away) "Better?"

Charlie: (hugging vaggie) “Further please, Alastor. Further. A, a little more? Mm- no, further than that…”

(many steps later)

Charlie: “Juuuust a few more steps…”

Charlie: “Okay! I think I can finally be comfortable with this!!!”

Vaggie: “He can’t hear you, sweetie. He's half way across the hotel.”

Charlie: “Oh.”