#if it's worth doing it's worth doing right 😤

[nevesmose]

I have to change the tense of a story when it's about 90% done. Aggrieved Waluigi noises.

As it is now it's just a bit blah and presenting it differently will a) give me a chance to try something new and b) hopefully tie in better with the kind of atmosphere/literary milieu I'm trying to evoke. And c) still let me pull off the twist ending I'm feeling smug about.

Third person past ➡️ first person present it is then!

[diniidjarin]

dreamed i was in a sector of the oldest house that had phased in from the outside world with modern tech and internet access and everything, and in some downtime between fighting the hiss i slapped together a short song about the ennui of it all and posted it to tumblr. #shitpostingontheclock. and a couple bureau alerts later i come back to my puter and the track is doing numbers, slur song style. it's getting downloaded for money. it's getting coverage. next time i check it's getting a cover by adele. i am in so much trouble for releasing an image of a hiss node to the world wide web as the album cover

[si3rren]

Say It Again

enhypen masterlist

my wattpad story - ༒︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄 - 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ༒︎

tutor!yang jungwon x fem reader | academic romance | slow burn | fluff & smut | language learning setting | jakey lowkey setting the reader and jungwon up

wc: 10k (buckle tf up chat)

ALSO I LOWKEY HAD GOOGLE TRANSLATE TAB OPEN FOR THIS 😤

warning: soft boy energy, praise kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy rubbing, grinding, hair pulling (gentle), light choking (consensual), dirty talk (Korean & English), penetration, emotionally earned romance

summary: You weren’t looking for help—just trying to pass your Korean class without failing. But when you’re assigned Jungwon, the quiet, brilliant top student as your tutor, things begin to shift. What starts as awkward pronunciation drills and tense corrections slowly turns into something warmer. He notices things others don’t. He teaches with his eyes, his voice, his hands. And as your fluency grows, so does the tension between you—until one night, a phrase whispered too close opens the door to something deeper. Something neither of you saw coming. Something worth saying again… and again.

⟡.·:*:·˚₊✧༚ ⟡.·:*:·˚₊✧༚ ⟡.·:*:·˚₊✧༚ ⟡.·:*:·˚₊✧༚ ⟡.·:*:·˚₊✧༚

You stare at the number like it might change if you blink hard enough.

37/100.

Bold, red, circled twice like your professor was trying to make it personal. Korean grammar midterm. Definitely personal.

You feel your stomach dip. Your GPA has never seen a number that low, not even as a joke. You’re good at school—great, even. You know how to memorize flashcards, grind study hours, cry into coffee at 3 a.m. like any self-respecting honors student. But no matter how hard you tried, Korean was the one class that kept slipping through your fingers.

And apparently, your professor noticed.

“You need help.”

“I’ve arranged a peer tutor.”

“He’s fluent, he’s top of the class, and he agreed.”

You’d stopped listening after that.

You didn’t need a babysitter. What you needed was a better brain, or a miracle, or maybe both. But here you are, fifteen minutes early to the study room she mentioned, arms crossed, glaring at the chipped wall like it offended you.

And then—

Click.

The door swings open. You glance up.

And immediately regret it.

He’s attractive.

Of course he’s attractive.

Tall, lean frame, dark hair slightly tousled like he walked through wind and didn’t bother fixing it. He wears wire-frame glasses today—he doesn’t always, but he should, because it makes his eyes even sharper. His uniform is clean, his steps soundless, and he doesn’t seem surprised to see you.

“Hi,” he says, voice quiet but clear. “You’re Y/N?”

You nod, swallowing the sharp reply forming on your tongue.

He closes the door behind him, drops his bag, and sits across from you like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Opens a notebook, flips to a page already labeled with your name.

“Yang Jungwon,” he adds, finally looking up. “I’m your tutor.”

You already knew that. You just didn’t know he’d be this… calm. Or this smug.

Because yeah, there’s a smugness there. Not loud, not obnoxious—just quiet confidence, stitched into the way he tilts his head slightly when he sees your score paper on the table.

He doesn’t comment. But he saw it.

You clear your throat. “So. How do you want to do this?”

“I teach. You listen.”

You blink.

He says it like it’s obvious. Like you’re not sitting here ready to cry into your overpriced iced Americano from the vending machine. Like you’re not barely holding onto your academic dignity.

You raise an eyebrow. “No offense, but I don’t usually fail anything. I just—didn’t have time to study.”

“That’s fine,” Jungwon replies, flipping a page. “But you’re failing now. So let’s start.”

You hate that he’s right.

⸻

The first fifteen minutes are excruciating.

He asks you to read out loud. You try.

Your pronunciation wobbles by the second sentence. You confuse a 받침 again, and he stops you—gently, but firmly.

“It’s not ‘먹오요,’” he says. “It’s ‘먹어요.’ Rounder. The ‘eo�� sound—use your throat.”

You roll your eyes. “I am using my throat.”

“No, you’re using your nose.”

You snap your eyes to his. “Excuse me?”

Jungwon smiles, tiny and unreadable. “Try again.”

You do. And again. And again.

And by the sixth time, something strange happens—he nods. Just once. Subtle.

“That was better,” he says. “Still soft at the end, but closer.”

Your chest warms. You tell yourself it’s the air conditioning malfunctioning.

⸻

By the halfway mark, you’re sweating—mentally and physically. You’re halfway through your third worksheet, and Jungwon still hasn’t raised his voice once. He never scolds. Never mocks.

But he corrects everything.

Everything.

The first time you get a full sentence right, he says nothing at first—just circles the final word.

You groan. “What now?”

“You switched formality,” he explains. “You started polite, ended casual.”

“I thought I was being consistent.”

“You’re speaking like someone unsure. Like a tourist who watched one drama and thought they were fluent.”

You shoot him a glare. “Is that supposed to be motivational?”

“It’s supposed to be honest.”

There’s a pause. He stares at you across the table. His eyes aren’t cold—they’re just clear. Focused. Too focused.

“You’re smart,” he adds suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re just not fluent.”

Something in your chest stutters.

⸻

You finish the session in silence, returning the pencil he lent you with a clipped nod. Your tongue aches from the repetition, and your pride feels bruised. But… you did learn something.

Maybe more than you wanted to admit.

He packs up, pauses at the door.

“Same time tomorrow?”

You hesitate.

He waits.

“…Yeah,” you finally say. “Okay.”

Jungwon nods once, then glances back just as he’s leaving.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fluent by finals.”

You blink. “That’s impossible.”

His lips quirk slightly. Almost a smile.

“Not with me.”

Click.

Door shuts behind him.

And your heart?

Stays a little too loud in the silence.

____________

You’re five minutes late.

Which is nothing, really. Practically early by your standards. But when you swing open the study room door, Jungwon’s already there—back straight, notebooks neatly laid out, sipping from a water bottle like time doesn’t exist for him. Or maybe like he exists outside of it.

He doesn’t look up right away.

That annoys you more than it should.

“You’re early,” you mutter, dropping your bag onto the table with a soft thunk.

“You’re late,” he says, calm as ever, flipping a page.

You roll your eyes. “Wow, what a warm greeting.”

Finally, he looks up. And there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he’s amused, but refusing to give you the satisfaction of seeing it.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to waste time,” he replies, voice dry. “You have a lot to catch up on.”

You open your mouth to snap something back. Then close it. Because he’s right. Again.

God, you’re starting to hate how often he’s right.

⸻

The second session begins with a list.

At the top, in black ink:

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT — Y/N’S TUTORING PLAN

You blink. “Rules of what now?”

“I figured we’d need structure,” Jungwon says, matter-of-fact. “You said you don’t usually fail. So I’m assuming you’re someone who does better with a plan.”

You stare at the list. Then at him.

There’s no teasing in his voice. No condescension. Just… practicality. Like he’s done this before. Like he takes your failure more seriously than you do.

“You made this last night?”

He nods. “After class.”

You hesitate. “Why?”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “Because you need help.”

“No, I mean—why do you care?”

That makes him pause.

For a moment, the edges of his expression soften. Then he glances down at his notebook, adjusting the angle.

“I don’t like watching people give up,” he says finally. “Especially when they’re not stupid.”

You go quiet.

It’s a simple statement. Nothing romantic. Not even that warm. But the way he says it—like a fact, like a truth he didn’t even hesitate to name—it hits deeper than it should.

You look back at the list.

And maybe for the first time since this disaster started, you feel… steady.

⸻

The “rules” are simple.

1. No distractions. Phones off.

2. No excuses. If you’re late, you owe him coffee.

3. No switching to English unless absolutely necessary.

4. Study three times a week — non-negotiable.

5. You listen. He leads.

You narrow your eyes at that last one.

“‘You listen, I lead’? What is this, military training?”

“It’s tutoring,” he says. “And you’re behind.”

You scoff. “You’re bossy.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You stare.

He stares back.

And then, to your horror, your lips twitch. The corners of your mouth betray you with the faintest hint of a smile.

Jungwon sees it. His expression doesn’t change, but you notice the smallest shift in his posture. Like something clicked into place.

Maybe he likes the fight.

⸻

You move on to pronunciation drills.

He leans across the table, pointing at syllables with the tip of a capped pen, correcting your mouth shape, your tongue placement, your breathing. It’s humiliating. And intimate.

You’re painfully aware of how close he is. The way he watches your mouth when you speak. Not in a weird way—just analytical. But still.

“Try again,” he murmurs, tapping the word 보고 싶어요.

You clear your throat. “Bo… go ship-eo-yo.”

His head tilts. “Better. But don’t break it into pieces. Say it softer. Like a sigh.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re messing with me?”

“I’m not.”

“‘Like a sigh’? That’s so vague.”

“Language is about feeling,” he replies. “Korean especially. You can’t just say the words. You have to… mean them.”

You roll your eyes. But your chest is warm.

“Again,” he says.

You do it again.

This time, he doesn’t correct you. He just meets your eyes and says—

“Nice job.”

You blink.

There’s no sarcasm. No backhanded compliment. Just… praise.

Your stomach flips. And not from shame this time.

⸻

The session ends an hour later, and you’re mentally fried. You pack your things slowly, fingers still tingling from gripping your pencil too tight. Jungwon finishes first, slipping his notebook into his backpack with practiced ease.

As he moves toward the door, he pauses.

Then turns back.

“You should start thinking in Korean,” he says. “Even simple things. Like how you talk to yourself in your head. Change the language.”

You squint at him. “You think I talk to myself?”

“I know you talk to yourself.”

You gape. “How—?”

“You muttered a whole paragraph during our last session. You do it when you’re stuck.”

You cover your face with both hands. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

You lower your hands. “You don’t know that.”

He shrugs. “I know more than you think.”

There’s something strange in his voice. Not cocky. Just confident. Like he does know. Something you haven’t figured out yet.

And then he’s gone.

Door swinging shut behind him, quiet as ever.

⸻

Later that night, as you’re brushing your teeth, you realize something.

You don’t remember the word ship-eo-yo because of repetition.

You remember it because of his voice.

You fall asleep with it still echoing somewhere in your chest.

보고 싶어요.

Nice job.

__________

There’s a strange kind of rhythm developing between you and Jungwon.

It’s not friendship. Not exactly. But it’s also not just academic. He never jokes around like Jake does. He doesn’t flirt, doesn’t tease, doesn’t act like most of the guys you’ve known. He’s… focused. Quiet. Direct.

But in his silence, there’s something else.

A low hum.

A warmth that builds each time your eyes meet.

Like now.

You’re seated side by side in the library’s back corner — the only place where no one breathes too loud or dares open a bag of chips. His shoulder brushes yours when he shifts to point at your worksheet, and you swear you feel it in your spine.

“You’re still switching formality too much,” he murmurs, tapping your notebook.

You groan, pushing your chair back. “I don’t get it. Who cares if I use casual speech?”

“You would if someone younger said it to you.”

You blink. “Wait. Really?”

He nods, completely serious. “You don’t call your professor ‘you.’ You don’t say ‘what’s up’ to your senior unless you want a death wish. It’s not English. Respect matters.”

You lean your elbow on the table, chin in hand. “Then how do I talk to you?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leans back in his seat, studying you for a second too long. His eyes trace your face — not in a weird way, not exactly — but it still makes your breath catch.

“I’m the same age,” he says finally. “So technically? You can use casual. If we’re close enough.”

You hesitate. “We’re not.”

“I know.”

You go silent.

But the silence isn’t cold. It simmers — like water just beginning to boil. You don’t know what he means, but you don’t want to leave it there either.

So you say it.

Careless. Quiet. Like you’re testing something.

“Jungwon-ah.”

He freezes.

Not dramatically. Not with wide eyes or gasps. Just—still. Like his body registered it before his brain did.

You should be embarrassed. But you’re not. You’re fascinated.

“That’s what friends say, right?” you ask, your voice lighter than your heartbeat.

He doesn’t look at you. Just exhales slowly, like he’s swallowing something.

“You said it wrong,” he mutters.

You blink. “I did?”

“You used it too softly.”

He turns, finally meeting your eyes. There’s something unreadable in them.

“You say it like that again,” he murmurs, “someone might think we’re more than friends.”

Your breath hitches.

And then—

“Yo, Jungwon!”

You both jolt slightly, looking up just as Jake rounds the corner, all hoodie and high energy. He plops down into the seat beside Jungwon like he owns the place, dropping a protein bar on the table.

“I heard you were stuck babysitting the Korean class reject.”

You glare instantly. “Excuse me?”

Jake laughs, unbothered. “I’m joking, damn. Chill.”

“She’s not failing anymore,” Jungwon says sharply.

Jake glances between you two. “You sure? Her pronunciation still sucks.”

You expect Jungwon to laugh. Or smirk. Or let it slide like he always does when Jake acts like a walking dopamine overdose.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sits straighter. Tilts his head.

And says, voice calm but low:

“She’s better than you were when I started tutoring you.”

Jake chokes on his protein bar.

“Yo—okay, damn.” He grins. “Didn’t realize you were this defensive.”

Jungwon doesn’t respond. He just turns back to your notebook, like the interruption never happened.

But you feel it.

Something has shifted.

⸻

Later that night, you’re practicing aloud again.

The words feel less foreign now. Still slippery, but less hostile. Like they’re finally sitting on your tongue instead of rolling off it wrong.

You try one of the phrases from today’s list:

나 너 좋아해.

I like you.

It echoes in your empty room like a secret you weren’t supposed to say out loud.

You try again.

좋아해.

Like you.

Softer this time.

And you hate how the image that flashes in your mind…

is him.

The way his lashes looked in that afternoon light. The way his lips twitched when you used “Jungwon-ah.” The way he stood up for you without even blinking.

You press your lips together.

This isn’t good.

He’s your tutor.

This is school.

This is supposed to be just Korean.

But when you fall asleep that night, your dreams are all full of sounds you never heard before.

Soft syllables.

Breathless phrases.

And a voice that whispers your name like it means something.

____________

You don’t mean to forget your workbook.

In fact, you double-check your bag before you leave your apartment. But somewhere between rushing down your building’s stairs and grabbing a half-eaten protein bar from your kitchen counter, you leave the damn thing on your desk.

You realize this halfway through the walk to the café where you and Jungwon agreed to meet.

At first, you consider turning around. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk back. But then your phone buzzes with his text:

I’m here. Table in the back.

And you realize — shit — he’s probably already ordered.

So you do the only thing you can. You keep walking.

And you try not to feel like a complete disaster.

⸻

The café is quiet today.

Golden light pours through the windows in wide, warm beams, catching on the tiny particles of dust in the air and making them shimmer. The smell of espresso and warm milk greets you before the bell above the door even finishes ringing.

You spot him instantly.

He’s at a corner table by the window, dressed in soft gray and black layers — hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, earbuds still in. A tall iced americano sits in front of him, barely touched. His phone glows with something in Korean you can’t read fast enough.

You hesitate at the door.

He hasn’t seen you yet.

And there’s something about the way he’s sitting — focused, quiet, the afternoon light softening the sharp edges of his face — that makes your heart pull unexpectedly.

This is the boy tutoring you.

The one you told yourself not to like.

The one who says things like say it softer and language is about feeling and doesn’t even realize the way he ruins your concentration every time he says your name.

You shake yourself out of it and walk over.

He notices you immediately, pulling his earbuds out as you sit.

“You’re late.”

You offer him a sheepish smile. “Yeah. And I forgot my workbook.”

He exhales. Not annoyed — more like amused. Like he expected this.

“Good thing I brought a spare.”

You blink.

He pulls it out of his bag without another word, flipping to the same unit you’d been working on last week. It’s your workbook — the same kind, same layout — but the pages are clean, untouched.

“You… bought another one?” you ask slowly.

Jungwon shrugs. “I knew you’d forget something eventually.”

You stare.

“I was trying to be responsible,” you grumble, opening the book.

“You were trying,” he agrees, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Your cheeks warm. You bury your face in the workbook and pretend to read.

⸻

Twenty minutes in, the café gets louder — a group of students fill the nearby tables, laughter and espresso shots clinking behind you. Jungwon doesn’t seem bothered. He reads with the same intensity, tapping the page between you with the end of his pen, his sleeve brushing your forearm every so often.

You feel every brush like static.

“You’re still using the wrong conjugation here,” he murmurs, his voice closer than before. “This is formal. You need the informal version if you’re speaking to a friend.”

You glance up. “Okay, so what’s the difference again?”

“Let’s say you want to say, ‘I ate already.’”

He leans in, pen hovering.

“You’d say 먹었어 to a friend. But 먹었어요 to a teacher.”

“Right,” you nod. “And if I say 먹었어 to a stranger—”

“They’ll think you’re rude.”

You groan and drop your forehead to the table. “This language is trying to kill me.”

Jungwon chuckles. Actually laughs — a soft, real sound that makes you lift your head in surprise.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head, eyes still crinkled at the corners. “You’re dramatic.”

“You’d be dramatic too if you kept insulting people without meaning to.”

“You haven’t insulted me yet.”

You pause. “Should I have?”

“Probably. I’ve made you pronounce 의 like ten times.”

You narrow your eyes. “I still can’t do it.”

“You almost can.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts again. Quietly. Subtly.

He’s looking at you with that same steady expression — not playful, not cold. Just there. Present. Like he really sees you.

You glance away, focusing on the table.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur.

“At what?”

“Teaching.”

There’s a pause.

Then, softly: “You’re good at learning.”

You swallow.

That shouldn’t make your chest warm. It really shouldn’t. But the praise settles into your skin and lingers, spreading slowly like sun through closed blinds.

⸻

Jake finds you outside when you leave the café.

He’s leaning against the lamppost like he didn’t just pop out of nowhere, hoodie pulled up over his head and a smug grin on his face.

“Study date, huh?”

You blink. “What?”

“With Jungwon,” he clarifies, pointing at the café. “You guys looked real cozy in there.”

You scoff. “It wasn’t a date. He was just helping me.”

“Sure,” Jake drawls. “And I’m just here because I like lampposts.”

You shove his shoulder as you pass.

He falls into step beside you. “You like him.”

You don’t respond.

“I can tell,” Jake continues. “You get all stiff and blushy when he’s around.”

“I do not.”

“You do. It’s cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Nope,” he chirps. “Not when my boy Jungwon is clearly catching feelings too.”

You stop walking. “Wait. What?”

Jake just grins wider and jogs off backwards, waving.

“You didn’t hear it from me!”

You stand there on the sidewalk, your heart thumping strangely against your ribs.

Because Jake’s a loudmouth.

But he’s not a liar.

⸻

That night, you flip open your borrowed workbook.

There’s a folded piece of paper inside.

You unfold it.

It’s a practice sentence written in neat, slanted handwriting. Not yours.

너랑 있으면 편해.

(I feel comfortable when I’m with you.)

Your fingers tighten slightly around the paper.

You read it once.

Twice.

A third time.

You don’t need a dictionary.

You already know what it means.

Because you feel it too.

___________

You don’t know why you said yes to studying in his dorm tonight.

You could’ve met in the usual café, or the library, or even the empty classroom down the hall from your Korean professor’s office. But the forecast had called for rain, and Jungwon had said, almost too casually:

“My place is quieter.”

“No one will bother us.”

“You can focus.”

So you agreed.

And now you’re here—wet hair stuck to the sides of your face, jacket clinging to your skin, shoes soaked from stepping into a puddle you didn’t see. You clutch your umbrella in one hand, your textbook in the other, and try not to look like you’re standing in the middle of something you don’t understand.

Jungwon opens the door before you knock twice.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just takes you in—damp clothes, flushed cheeks, rain-smudged mascara—and steps aside to let you in. He’s wearing a simple gray hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is a little messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it all evening. You try not to stare at his collarbones.

“You’re wet,” he says.

You blink. “Yeah. That’s what rain does.”

He smirks faintly. “I meant your bag.”

Oh. Right.

He takes it from you before you can respond, sets it gently by the desk, and tosses you a clean hand towel from the shelf near his bed. You catch it clumsily, cheeks warm.

The room smells like clean linen and something sharp—maybe cologne or aftershave. It’s small but organized. The desk is cluttered with open notebooks and half-filled coffee cups. There’s a soft instrumental playlist humming from the speaker in the corner.

Outside, thunder cracks softly. Rain pelts the window in waves. Inside, your heartbeat is louder than the music.

⸻

You settle on the floor near the bed, using one of his extra pillows as a seat cushion. Jungwon sits across from you, legs crossed, leaning forward with a pen in one hand. The grammar worksheet lies untouched between you, but neither of you seems in a hurry to start.

The lights are dim. You blame the storm for the mood. You blame yourself for the way your fingers keep fidgeting.

He clears his throat. “Let’s review last week’s phrases.”

You nod, focusing on the page.

But the moment you try to speak, your voice sticks in your throat. You’re too aware of everything. The way his voice drops when he’s close. The way his knees brush against yours when he shifts. The fact that you’re both sitting cross-legged on his floor, two feet apart, in a room that smells like him.

“I can’t concentrate,” you mutter finally.

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

You hesitate. “Because…”

Your voice trails off.

Because you’re here. Because your head is spinning. Because you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you last week when you used his name with no honorifics. Because his fingers keep tapping the table like he’s holding something back. Because your skin burns every time he touches your notebook to write something down.

You swallow.

He leans back slightly, watching you carefully.

Then, softly:

“Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. “No. I want to learn. I just—my brain is… loud right now.”

Jungwon’s eyes soften.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s try something else.”

⸻

He shifts to sit beside you instead of across.

The worksheet lies between you now, both sets of knees touching at the edge of the page. His voice is lower than before, like he’s trying not to startle you. “Repeat after me,” he murmurs. “천천히 말해 주세요.”

You try. “Chun-chun-hi mal-hae ju-se-yo?”

“Slower. Watch my mouth.”

You do.

Too closely.

His lips shape each syllable with deliberate ease. His voice is barely above a whisper. You mimic the words again, this time with less hesitation.

When you finish, he nods. “Better.”

You turn your head. His face is closer than it should be. You don’t move away. Neither does he.

“You’re improving fast,” he murmurs.

“Because I’m trying,” you say.

“Because you’re listening.”

There’s a beat of silence.

The kind that isn’t empty.

The kind that drips.

And then—

“I think about the way you speak,” you admit, voice small. “When I’m studying alone.”

He doesn’t blink.

“I hear your voice in my head. The way you say things. That’s how I remember the words.” He exhales once—quiet, through his nose. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

“I think about your voice too,” he says.

The confession drops between you like lightning, silent but scorching.

You stare.

“What?”

Jungwon blinks slowly. His voice remains even.

“You’re loud when you’re frustrated. But you’re quiet when you’re focused. And when you speak in Korean—when you get it right—your voice changes. It softens. You sound like…”

He stops himself.

You lean in, just slightly. “Like what?”

His jaw clenches, and he finally looks away.

“Like someone I want to listen to.”

Your breath catches.

Outside, thunder rumbles again.

Inside, your heart is a thunderstorm.

⸻

You don’t kiss. But you almost do.

He leans in to point at a word. His fingers brush yours. Your pinkies stay touching. He doesn’t move away.

And for a moment—just one—you think: If I tilt my head, if I lean an inch closer…

But you don’t.

Because the air is heavy and beautiful and terrifying. Because your mind is already spinning with the what-ifs. Because his eyes flick to your lips and then back to the page like he’s not ready yet. Like he wants to, but won’t.

You both pretend to keep studying.

But the sentence he makes you repeat—over and over again—feels suspiciously chosen.

다시 말해 주세요.

Say it again, please.

You say it once. Then again. Then again.

And every time you do, his gaze doesn’t leave your mouth.

⸻

The third time you ask him to teach you how to curse in Korean, you’re half-joking. Only half.

It starts innocent—another quiet evening in the study room, feet tangled under the desk, grammar drills long abandoned. You’re reading out loud from a comic you picked up earlier that day, stumbling over the slang. One word makes you pause, your brow furrowing.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Jungwon glances over. “Which part?”

You tap the word. “This one. The guy says it after he gets punched.” He leans in, reading over your shoulder, and you feel his breath on your skin—warm, steady, dangerous.

“Ah,” he murmurs. “Yeah. That’s a curse.”

You grin. “Teach me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want to sound cool.”

He hums, amused. “You want to sound reckless.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

You tilt your head. “Come on. Just one. I’ll pronounce it right, I promise.”

His eyes flick to yours. There’s something sharp in them. Curious. Quietly daring.

“You won’t get it right,” he says.

You narrow your eyes. “Try me.”

There’s a beat of silence.

And then—

“씨발.”

You blink. He says it so softly, it doesn’t land right away. Just a single syllable drop, like silk over steel.

You repeat it. Badly. He leans in closer, his hand brushing against yours on the edge of the table.

“Not like that,” he says.

“Use your stomach. Not your throat.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

You try again.

“씨발…”

The word drips from your tongue, low and hesitant.

He closes his eyes briefly. His jaw tightens.

You breathe. “What does it mean again?”

Jungwon leans forward, slow and deliberate, until his mouth is inches from yours. He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he murmurs—

“Let me show you.”

His kiss doesn’t start soft. It starts hot—urgent, breathless, like he’s been holding it back for days. One hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you into him. His lips part yours instantly, no hesitation. You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows it whole—his tongue deep, slow, confident. Not shy. Not testing. Just taking. And God—he tastes like heat. Coffee. Mint. Something bitter-sweet and burning. Something that sinks into your blood and makes you moan without meaning to. His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer. You climb into his lap without thinking, knees straddling his thighs, hips pressed against the growing bulge in his sweats. Your body moves before your brain catches up.

You grind down.

He groans into your mouth—low, breathy, desperate—and that sound alone makes your thighs tighten. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to speak.

His hands slide under your shirt, not touching skin—just hovering at your waist. “You keep saying my name like it’s nothing,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Like it doesn’t do things to me.”

Your breath shakes. “What things?”

His grip tightens.

“You don’t wanna know.” You roll your hips again—slow, deliberate. “I think I do,” you whisper.

His head drops to your shoulder for one shaky second. He lets out a harsh exhale.

Then he pulls back and looks up at you. And smiles. “Say it again.”

You blink. “What?”

“My name. Say it.”

Your mouth goes dry. But you say it. Soft. Careful.

“Jungwon-ah…”

He shudders under you. And then he kisses you again—deeper this time. More possessive.

This kiss is messy. Tongue and teeth. Hands in your hair. Your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more friction, more pressure, more everything. You start rocking in his lap. Clothed. Hungry. Desperate. You don’t even care about the layers between you anymore—you just need to feel.

And you do. You feel everything.

His hands slide under your thighs, gripping, lifting slightly. You gasp at the angle change. The heat between your legs pulses—sharp and needy.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

His eyes flash. “Say that again.”

You laugh—shaky, breathless, wrecked.

“You’re such a tutor,” you tease.

He grins against your jaw. “Only for you.”

⸻

Your shirt rides up. His hand brushes bare skin. You jolt.

He stops. “You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod. “Words,” he says, voice lower now. “I need words.”

“I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He presses his palm flat against your stomach, fingers sliding slowly upward. Your hips keep moving. His follow. The pressure builds—hot and unbearable. Your panties are soaked. You can feel him through his sweats—hard, pulsing, restrained. You drop your forehead against his.

And whisper:

“I’ve never wanted anything this bad.” He kisses you like an answer.

⸻

You don’t go all the way. Not yet. But by the time you’re done grinding against each other like it’s the last language on Earth, your legs are shaking. Your thighs are sticky. Your mouth is swollen. And your heart? Your heart is absolutely, terrifyingly his. You sit in silence afterward, still in his lap, his arms around you. One hand rubs gentle circles into your back. His lips brush your temple. Neither of you says anything. But neither of you has to. Because tonight, something happened Something new. And next time?

Next time, you both know it won’t stop there.

____________

You don't remember when exactly you ended up on the bed. One moment, you were still tangled in his lap on the floor, breathless and wrecked from the grinding. The next, he was lifting you—gentle but purposeful—his lips still on yours, walking you backward until the mattress caught your legs. You fell back, and he followed, body hovering, arms braced on either side of your head.

He doesn't ask this time. He watches you. Waits. And you—panting, dizzy, aching—you nod before he even says the words. Because you want this. You want him.

He kisses you again, slower now, open-mouthed and wet, tongue sliding against yours with a lazy drag that makes your entire body ache. His hand traces up your side, pushing your shirt higher inch by inch until your bra is exposed. He looks down, eyes dark, lips parted.

"You're so fucking pretty," he murmurs, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud. "Every time you talk, I—"

He cuts himself off, ducking down to press his mouth to your chest, hot breath fogging over the curve of your bra. He kisses above the fabric, then pulls it down, exposing one breast. He stares at it like he's trying to memorize something sacred.

And then his mouth is on you.

You cry out softly, hands flying into his hair. His lips close around your nipple, tongue flicking, teeth scraping just enough to make you twitch. He moans against your skin, like the taste alone is driving him crazy.

"I've wanted this since the first time you said my name like that," he whispers, switching to the other side. "So sweet. Like you didn't even know what you were doing to me."

You arch into him, thighs squeezing together, the heat between them unbearable now.

"Please," you whisper. "I need... more."

Jungwon pulls back just enough to look at you—lips glossy, hair messy, eyes blown wide.

"Take off your shorts," he says.

You don't hesitate.

You shimmy out of them, panties too, and he watches every movement like he's starving. When you're bare before him, he lets out a low curse under his breath.

"God," he mutters. "누가 이렇게 예뻐?"

You barely catch it—Who's this pretty?

You're about to say something back when he moves, sliding down the bed, settling between your thighs. His hands push them apart slowly, deliberately, and then—

His mouth presses to you. Hot. Wet. Unapologetic.

You gasp, back arching off the bed. His tongue licks a slow, deep stripe from bottom to top, then flattens against your clit with a pressure that makes your vision blur. He groans when he tastes you, like the sound is pulled straight from his chest.

You don't expect the fingers. But they come anyway—two, sliding into you slowly, curling perfectly, moving in rhythm with his tongue. He works you open with practiced care, never rushing, never letting up. His mouth sucks at your clit, his fingers stroke deep, and your body starts to shake.

"Jungwon," you gasp. "I—shit, I can't—"

“Yes, you can," he says, breath hot against you. "You're doing so good for me.”

You cry out again as his pace quickens. Your hands grab at the sheets, at his hair, at anything you can find. He moans against you when you tug. He likes it.

"Say something," he breathes. "Say it in Korean."

You barely remember the words.

But they come, half-broken and trembling.

"좋아... 너무 좋아..."

He groans—deep, filthy, like he's about to lose it just from hearing you speak his language like that.

"You sound so good like this," he growls. "You feel so fucking good."

His fingers hit that spot again. His tongue swirls faster.

Your legs close around his head involuntarily. He doesn't stop. He growls against your pussy and keeps going, holding you down, dragging you over the edge-

And you come with a sharp, breathless cry, body clenching, thighs trembling, his name on your tongue in both languages.

When he finally pulls back, your legs are still twitching.

He crawls up your body slowly, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, your neck.

You don’t say anything when he kisses you again. You just open your mouth and let him in. It’s slower now, deeper, messier—less like a mistake and more like something you both meant to do all along. His hands are under your shirt again, but this time they stay, warm against your skin. His fingers brush the underside of your bra and you shiver—not from cold, but from how careful he is, how deliberate. Like he’s unwrapping something fragile. Like he doesn’t want to rush even though he clearly wants to. His lips trail down your jaw, soft and hot, and you tilt your head automatically, letting him explore. He kisses your throat, your collarbone, the space just above the swell of your chest, and with every inch he claims, you lose more of yourself.

He lays you back onto his bed, moving gently, and you let him guide you—let him settle between your legs like he belongs there. The room is quiet except for your breathing, and the occasional clap of thunder outside, muted now by the thrum in your ears. Your skin feels too tight, too sensitive. Every place he touches burns. And when he starts to unbutton your jeans, you don’t stop him. You just nod, breath caught in your throat, thighs already trembling. “Okay?” he whispers, fingers resting at your waistband. You nod again. “Words,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I need to hear you.” “Yes,” you breathe. “Please. Jungwon, please.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls your jeans down slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the movement. Your panties go next, black cotton and soaked through. He kisses your inner thigh first, mouth hot and open, breath ghosting over the softest parts of you. You gasp when his lips trail higher, closer, his hands holding you in place.

And then he licks you.

One slow, wet stroke from bottom to top, and your hips jump. He groans softly, like he’s the one being touched. “Fuck,” he says, voice wrecked. “You taste like you were made for me.”

The words make your head spin. You try to respond, but then he does it again—tongue firm, curling just slightly at the top—and the sound you make isn’t even human. He laughs, low in his throat, and presses his mouth fully to you, licking and sucking like it’s instinct. Like he’s starving.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight. He groans again when you pull, the vibration going straight through you. His name slips out—breathy, high-pitched, desperate. “Jungwon—fuck—please, don’t stop.” He doesn’t. He licks you again, then sucks gently on your clit, fingers digging into your thighs to keep you open. When he slides one finger inside, slow and deep, you arch off the bed with a cry. “You’re so good,” he murmurs between licks. “So wet. So perfect.” His finger moves inside you—slow, controlled—curling just right, again and again. He adds a second finger, and your walls clench, overwhelmed. His tongue stays relentless, circling your clit in time with his fingers, dragging you higher with every second.

“I can’t—” you whisper. “Jungwon—I’m gonna—”

He looks up, eyes dark, lips shiny with you.

“Then come,” he says, softly. “Give it to me. I want to feel you fall apart.” That does it.

You shatter. Your legs shake, your hands twist in his hair, your mouth opens around a moan so raw you don’t even recognize it as your own. He holds you through it, doesn’t stop licking until your body stops twitching. When you finally go limp, thighs trembling, breath wrecked, he pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at you like you’re something sacred. You stare at the ceiling, eyes glassy, heart thudding.

And then you laugh, breathless. “Jesus Christ.”

He smiles, slow and smug. “That’s not Korean.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Teach me how to say that next.”

He leans down, kisses your lips, and whispers against them—

“I’d rather show you again.”

————-

Jungwon doesn’t sleep that night. Not really. He lies beside you long after your breath evens out, eyes wide open in the dark, heart pounding against his ribs like it’s trying to break out of him. The sheets smell like you. The pillow beside him is warm from your cheek. His fingers twitch with the memory of being inside you, your voice trembling in his ear, the way you said his name like you owned it. He keeps replaying it—every sound, every moan, every breathless little hitch in your throat when he went deeper, licked harder, praised you in a language you’re still learning but already wear so well. He should be asleep. He should be tired. But all he can do is stare at the ceiling and feel the ache between his legs, the ache in his chest, the overwhelming weight of you on his tongue, his fingers, his skin. You’re everywhere. Even now. Especially now.

The next morning, he wakes up hard. It’s embarrassing, actually—how quickly his body reacts the second he feels your thigh draped over his. You shift in your sleep, just slightly, and your hips press into his. He bites his lip hard enough to taste copper. He’s always been in control—of his words, his emotions, his body—but you shatter all of that just by breathing. When you finally stir awake and stretch, murmuring something soft and slurred, he swears under his breath and presses a hand over his eyes like it’ll help. It doesn’t. You look up at him with sleepy eyes and a slow, lazy smile, and he almost comes undone just from that. Just from the way you blink at him like he’s yours now. Like you already know he is.

He walks you to your class that morning, fingers brushing against yours, heart pounding with every accidental touch. He wants to hold your hand but doesn’t ask. He wants to kiss you again but doesn’t move. He just watches. Watches the way you walk, the way you mumble Korean words under your breath like they’re charms, the way your eyes light up when you pronounce something right. He watches you like you’re the only thing in focus and the rest of the world is just white noise.

The second you disappear into the lecture hall, he turns around and heads to the bathroom. Locks himself in a stall. Sits down with his head in his hands and his cock still hard in his pants. He doesn’t even touch himself—he just sits there, breathing heavy, trying to will his body into forgetting how warm you were, how tight, how good. He fails. That night, you text him something simple—just “오늘 수업 어땠어?”—asking about class. He stares at the message for five full minutes, rereading your spacing, the little vowel slant, your informal tone. You spoke to him like you belong beside him now, not beneath. Like he’s not just your tutor, but yours, period. He replies too quickly. Then rereads what he sent and regrets it. Then retypes a longer message and deletes it all. He wants to say I miss you. He wants to say I’m still hard from last night. He wants to say I dreamt of you again and woke up panting. Instead, he says 잘했어. 너 많이 늘었어. You’re improving. You did well. Praise, safe and simple. But what he means is I’m losing my mind over you. What he means is I can’t think when you’re not near me.

The next study session, you wear a sweatshirt and short shorts, legs curled up on the library chair. You don’t think much of it, but he’s wrecked within five seconds. You ask him to quiz you and he can barely read the words without thinking about how your thighs looked wrapped around his head, how you sounded when you begged him not to stop. His knee bumps yours under the table and you say sorry, laugh it off—but he goes quiet. He clenches his jaw. Tries not to look. Fails. You tilt your head, ask him if you got the sentence structure right, and he forgets how to breathe. You pout when he doesn’t answer and poke his shoulder. He almost groans from that alone.

After you leave, he doesn’t even wait to get home. He jerks off in his dorm with the lights off and his face buried in the hoodie you left behind two days ago. He comes embarrassingly fast, biting back your name against his palm. He presses a shaking kiss to your sleeve afterward and lays there panting, empty and aching, knowing none of it’s enough.

He’s ruined. By your voice. By your mouth. By the way you say his name in Korean now, slow and sweet, like a secret. He can’t teach anymore without picturing your lips wrapped around his fingers. He can’t hear your mistakes without imagining your flushed face, your thighs spread, your breath in his ear. You’ve learned more than language. You’ve learned him. And now? He’s fluent in you, too.

He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. But the way he watches you now? The way he corrects you with soft praise and shaking hands? The way he whispers 다시 말해 줘 even when you’ve said it right? It’s not about grammar anymore.

It’s about you. And he wants every word, every part, every inch of you—again and again and again.

You knew it was going to happen. You’d been inching toward this for weeks — the kisses that lingered too long, the hands that slipped under your shirt and stayed, the breathless grinding sessions that always ended with one of you whispering next time. But when it finally happens, it doesn’t come from heat. It comes from stillness. It’s a quiet night. You’re in his room again, sitting in his lap, straddling him in nothing but your sleep shirt and panties, your fingers carding slowly through his hair as he kisses your neck like it calms him. There’s nothing rushed about it. Nothing wild. Just the way he exhales into your skin like it’s the only place he knows how to breathe. His arms are around your waist. His grip is gentle. But his voice is wrecked.

“I love you.”

You freeze.

Not because you didn’t know.

But because hearing it like this — soft, raw, not even meant to be dramatic — does something to you. Like it unlocks a door you didn’t realize you’d been holding shut. You pull back, just enough to see him clearly. His cheeks are flushed. His lips are swollen from where he’s been kissing your throat. But his eyes — god, his eyes — they’re wide and wet, unguarded in a way that almost makes you ache.

“You what?” you whisper, stunned.

His voice is quiet. But firm.

“I love you,” he says again. “I didn’t mean to. But I do. I think I’ve been in love with you since the third session, but I didn’t know how to say it.”

Your throat tightens. You blink rapidly. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling — just that it’s too much, all at once. And yet when you lean down and kiss him, you taste relief. Like he’s been waiting for this answer. Like your mouth was the only place he wanted to live.

You press yourself against him fully. Let your body say what your lips can’t. His hands slide down your back, fingertips slipping beneath your panties, not to rush but to ground. He kisses you with trembling reverence, like he doesn’t know if he’s worthy. And when you grind down into his lap, both of you let out the kind of moan that doesn’t come from want — it comes from need.

“I want to make love to you,” he says, voice breaking. “Not just fuck you. I want all of it. All of you.”

You whisper yes into his mouth. Again and again. Yes, please, now, take me, I’m yours. And that’s all he needs.

He undresses you carefully, pausing at every step. His hands move slow, like he wants to remember the weight of every layer. When your shirt comes off and your chest is bare beneath him, he just stares for a moment — not hungry, not greedy, just stunned. Like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he never thought he’d deserve this.

You tug his shirt off too, and your palms glide over his chest, his ribs, the dip beneath his collarbone. He’s lean, warm, shaking slightly. His breath stutters when you press your mouth to the space over his heart.

When he finally slips your panties down and tosses them aside, he pauses again. Not because he doesn’t know what to do — he knows. But because he wants to be sure. And when he looks up at you, eyes wide and wet and shining under the dim desk lamp, you don’t just see lust. You see devotion. “Are you sure?” he whispers. “We can stop. I’ll wait as long as you want.”

You slide your hand into his hair, tug gently until his mouth finds yours again. And then you move his hand between your thighs, guiding him where you need him most.

“I’m not waiting anymore,” you breathe. “I’m ready. I want you.”

He exhales something like a prayer and kisses your shoulder as he pushes two fingers inside you — slow, deep, curling just right. You ride them gently, biting your lip, moaning into his mouth when he circles your clit with his thumb. Your thighs tremble as you climb, your body melting under him, and when you finally reach for the waistband of his sweats, he lets you.

You wrap your hand around him — hard, hot, throbbing in your palm — and he gasps into your neck, forehead pressed to your collarbone. You stroke him slowly, matching his pace inside you, and you feel the desperation in every twitch of his hips. When he finally lines himself up, his hands on your hips and his eyes locked on yours, there’s no teasing. No cocky comment. Just a whispered “I love you,” again — because he needs you to know. Needs you to feel it when he pushes inside you for the first time.

The stretch is slow, burning, full. You sink down onto him inch by inch, thighs trembling, body wrapping tight around him. He hisses your name, grabs your waist, and buries his face in your chest like the pleasure is too much. When you’re fully seated, flush against his hips, you both stay there. Breathing. Shaking. Connected in a way neither of you knows how to name.

You move first — slow, steady rolls of your hips. He groans deep in his chest and looks up at you like you just ruined him. You ride him gently, gasping when his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes flutter. His hands never stop moving — across your back, your waist, your thighs, like he needs to feel all of you at once or he’ll go insane.

“Look at me,” he says, voice thick. “I need to see you.”

You do. And it’s too much.

You ride him until you’re crying — not from pain, not from overwhelming sensation — but from how safe it feels. How full. How absolutely fucking loved you are. He notices the tears, kisses them away, whispers in Korean how beautiful you are, how good you feel, how he’s never wanted anyone like this.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, your nails in his shoulders, your body wrapped around his like he’s home. He follows seconds later, spilling into you with a broken moan, clutching you to him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

Afterward, you collapse against him, both of you breathless and trembling and ruined. He cradles your head to his chest, kisses your hair, whispers soft promises into your ear even though you’re already half-asleep. And in the dark, with your body warm over his and his heart still pounding like it belongs to you — Jungwon finally realizes he’s never falling out of this.

Not ever.

The room is silent except for your breathing and the steady patter of rain against the window. Outside, the world has gone still. Inside, your body is still wrapped around his, your cheek pressed to his chest, your legs tangled with his like you couldn’t bear to let him go, even in sleep. His heartbeat is steady now, but earlier it had been thudding so hard beneath your ear you thought it might break open. You’re both slick with sweat, flushed, but the heat between you has softened. There’s no urgency now. Only quiet. Only warmth.

He runs his fingers through your hair slowly, brushing it away from your face even though your eyes are closed. He doesn’t stop touching you. Not once. His hand strokes along your back, soft and rhythmic, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over your spine like he’s memorizing you. You don’t speak for a long time, but you don’t have to. You’ve never felt safer in your life.

When he finally does break the silence, it’s barely a whisper. “You okay?”

You nod against his chest. “Better than okay.”

He smiles. You feel it more than you see it. He kisses your forehead and exhales, shaky and real. Like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

“I thought I was going to die,” he murmurs. “When you said yes.”

You lift your head, still drowsy, and blink at him. “Why?”

His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away. “Because I’ve never wanted something so badly and been so afraid to ruin it.”

Your chest tightens. He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You don’t understand. I’ve been in love with you since the first time you asked me to explain a word you already knew.”

You laugh softly. “I didn’t know it. I just wanted to hear you say it.” His eyes crinkle. “Exactly.”

You shift, sitting up slightly, still naked under the covers, and press your palm to his chest. His skin is warm. His heart beats under your hand. He covers it with his own and laces your fingers together. “I’ve never done that before,” you admit. “With someone I… loved.”

His mouth softens. “Me either.”

And there it is again.

That word. It doesn’t feel scary when he says it. It feels like coming home. You stay like that for a while—silent, tangled, resting in each other. Eventually, he tugs the blanket over your bare shoulders and says, “Wanna shower?”

You hum. “With you?”

His face turns bright red.

“I—um. I meant—like, you can go first if—”

You lean down and kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m kidding. I want to.”

Ten minutes later, you’re both standing under warm water, laughing as he struggles to find a clean towel that isn’t half-damp already. The shower is full of soft kisses and gentle touches—no pressure, no heat, just rinsing each other clean. He lathers shampoo into your hair with careful fingers, tilting your chin up to keep the soap out of your eyes. You wash his back and giggle when he twitches. “You’re ticklish,” you tease. “I’m not,” he lies.

You dry off together, slipping into oversized clothes and eating crackers in bed because neither of you wants to cook. He puts on a drama in the background and pulls you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You rest your head against his shoulder and yawn. He kisses the top of your head.

At one point, he pulls out his notebook and flips to a fresh page.

“What’s that?” you ask.

He grins. “Your next vocab list.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. “You’re unbelievable.” He laughs. “Come on, these are useful. Here.” He points to a line. “내 여자친구는 천재야.”

You blink. “Wait… what does that mean?”

He blushes, biting back a smile. “My girlfriend is a genius.”

Your heart skips.

Girlfriend.

You don’t correct him. You don’t tease.

You just lean in and kiss him.

And when he smiles into it—shy, soft, stupidly in love—you know you’re not dreaming.

You know this is real.

You whisper the words back to him in broken Korean, and he laughs so hard he falls onto the bed with you still in his arms. And neither of you says anything else for a while.

Because this—this is the language you both speak now. And you’re fluent.

Together.

__________

BONUS

You don’t even mean to make it a thing.

It just happens — walking into the cafeteria, your fingers already laced with Jungwon’s, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles while you both look for a seat. You’re still talking about last night’s quiz, your voice low, his expression soft, and you don’t notice the silence until you hear it.

“FINALLY.”

Jake’s voice cuts through the air like a fire alarm.

You both freeze mid-step.

You look up to see him standing on his chair, tray abandoned, arms spread like he’s just been delivered from a years-long burden. People turn. Some laugh. Some gasp. Jungwon groans into his free hand.

Jake points directly at your joined hands and yells, “I’ve been calling this since session TWO.”

You try not to smile. Jungwon fails miserably.

Jake hops down and slaps Jungwon’s back so hard he stumbles. “Proud of you, bro. Knew you had it in you. She’s way out of your league, but hey, love wins.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Jake grins at you. “I meant that lovingly.”

Jungwon’s cheeks are flushed but he’s smiling too — and he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not even when Jake takes a photo and yells, “I’m putting this on my story with a caption: TUTOR BOY BAGGED THE GIRL.”

You glance at Jungwon. “We should run.”

He squeezes your hand. “Too late now.”

You laugh.

He kisses your temple in front of everyone anyway.

And Jake screams.

Again.

__________________

AAAA THANK YOU FOR READING HEHEH

© si3rren 2025. all rights reserved.

[10yrsyart]

a long tf sketchdump i started after watching Transformers One last year, which was great btw! (also Soundwave is one of my faves but he somehow didn't make it into this, RIP my guy 🥺 to be fair, most of these are the beginnings of ideas that don't reach conclusion so -shrug-)

also also, i watched TFA for the first time, and i CANNOT believe they really just squished my boy Blurr into a cube while still alive and left him like that 😤 i know the show got cancelled and they had plans to bring him back, but like, hotdang! SO of course i decided to slap some claustrophobia on that sucker. y'know, as a treat ✨

transcript:

(Chitty Chitty Bang Bang design) -Neutral non-combatant

-Came to Earth early, joined the races

-Lost most of her memories after the Crash

-Forgot to act non-sentient around the family who adopted her

(Wander Over Yonder designs)

Hatertron: UgggHH! That STUPID, orange Autobug, GAH, I could just wring his ne-

Peeperscream: SIR!! FOCUS!

-Wander is a Neutral Autobot sympathizer

-Sylvia is an Autobot, but protective of Wander

-Hater messes up so many plans, Peepers is the only reason Megatron hasn't figured it out

-Peepers admires Starscream's intellect, but avoids him at all costs

(TFA comic)

Rodimus Prime: Uhm, Agent Blurr? ..You good?

Agent Blurr: Rodimus-Prime-sir! There's-nothing-wrong, why-would-anything-be-wrong? This-is-a-party; a-celebration-for-the-Autobots'-GRAND-victory-over-Megatron, which-we're-all-overjoyed-about-so-there's-really-no-reason-to-be-worried-about-the-amount-of-mechs-and-femmes-in-this-room-of-which-there-is-a-perfectly-normal-number-for-a-celebration, and-it's-not-as-if-we've-reached-max-capacity-so-I'm-SURE-the-space-is-NOT-too-small-even-if-the-walls-are-getting-closer-and-closer-and-no-one-seems-to-care-that-it's-too-small-in-here-and-can't-vent-I-can't-I-I-c-I-ca-

Rodimus: Whoa, hey! Ok, ok, let's go outside for a bit, yeah? I'm tired of people asking it I'm “still infected” anyway... Like, obviously. It's Cosmic Rust.

Blurr: ...This-is-humiliating, completely-pathetic-behavior. I-am-a-professionally-trained-intelligence-agent-of-the-Elite-Guard, THEREfore-I-should-not-be-losing-my-composure-whenever-I-enter-a-room. But-I-begin-to-feel-trapped-and-I-I-I-I-can't-...

Rodimus: ..Yeah. Sometimes, I just- freeze. It feels like ice is crawling up my arms and legs and chasiss.. it hurts. I mean, I know it's not happening, but that's how I feel. It sucks. But we made it, we survived. It's still hard, but there's gotta be something to that, right? The effort and struggle is worth it, or whatever.

Blurr: With-all-due-respect, I'm-quite-sure-you-are-terrible-at-this-sir.

Rodimus: Dang. Alright, fine, that's fair. But do you feel better?

Blurr: Marginally, thank-you-Rodimus-Prime.

[partywithponies]

Listen. Beloveds. I say this gently. But you have got to stop using the "oh yeah? you think it's fine to ship this? trying telling your family members and coworkers about your ship and see how they react 😤" argument in your shipping discourse.

You do realise that to most normies who have never been in fandom, all shipping is deranged behaviour, right? You know this, right?? You do know that even if your ship is the most wholesome and unproblematic thing possible, if you go up to your Great Auntie Barbara or Gary From I.T. or whoever and are like "oh yeah one of my main hobbies? going online every single day without fail and talking to a bunch of strangers about how much these same two fictional characters should kiss. yeah I spend HOURS of my free time drawing them kissing and writing them kissing and editing footage of the show to appear more romantic too", there's a strong chance they are going to think you are unbelievably embarrassingly cringe at best and utterly insane and worth avoiding from now on at worst, right????

Please. Please don't encourage impressionable teens and young adults to think it's okay to bring up any fandom shit at the dinner table or in the staffroom unprompted without the danger of having real social repercussions. Please my loves you are stressing me out. Please promise me you don't do this. Oh baby no.

[keitorin3]

Short: Leon (The Long Suffering)

Arthur: I'm gonna mess with this goofy eared kid.

Leon: *Internally thinking* Why do I feel like Arthur just met his match??

Arthur: He's absolutely terrible, the worst Manservant I've ever seen!

Leon: I'm sure with time he will improve, Sire. It's only been the first week.

Arthur: I've already sacked him, but then changed my mind and re-hired him back.

Leon: Ah... I see... Why?

Arthur:... *Internally thinking* Because I liked the way he looked at me when I won.

Arthur: It was difficult to find good help nowadays.

Leon: Right...

Arthur: Can you believe it, Merlin went and accused himself of being a sorcerer! In front of my father during the council meeting!

Leon: He what?! 😨

Arthur: I know! All because a girl gave him a flower. That idiot. I don't know where his head is at.

Leon: Hold on a second sire, he really said that in front of the King and didn't get executed?? 😧

Arthur: *Waves it off* Yeah, I had to explain that it was cause he had a crush on Gwen. *Mutters to himself* Maybe I should get him some flowers? 🤔

Leon: !? ⁉️❕❔

Arthur: My idiot Manservant got sick and I got him flowers so he'd feel better. 💐

Leon: Arthur, he drank poison for you and you went off to find the antidote. 😑

Arthur: So you think he liked it?

Leon: ... *Takes a deep breath* I'm sure he did Sire.

Arthur: 😁 See! I take care of my servants~

Arthur: *Breaks into Leon's room*

Leon: *Jumps in fright* ⁉️

Arthur: I can't believe him!

Leon: What is it? Is there an attack Sire? Something happened with the King?

Arthur: No! It's that insolent brat Merlin. He came back with some guy, singing him praises and wants me to make him a knight?!😤

Leon: *Thinking* Is this really worth barging into my chambers? 😮‍💨

Leon: Really, then what did you do? 😑

Arthur: Ha, had the guy cleaning the stables.

Leon: 🤦🏼‍♂️

Leon: *Watches as Arthur sits with goofy smile and practically hearts in his eyes*

Leon: Sire?

Arthur: Isn't it the loveliest day to go out for a picnic? 🥰

Leon: Yes Sire, it is indeed.

Arthur: *Nods* I had Merlin pack a picnic for me and the lady Sofia. Where gonna go later today.

Leon: *Confused and concerned* But don't you have a meeting with the King today?

Arthur: *Waves it off* It's fine, I have Merlin to cover for me!

Leon: *Thinking* Oh boy...

[LATER]

Merlin: *Coming back from the stocks* I'm gonna kill that cabbagehead! 😠💢

Arthur: *Walks in* Merlin~! 🥰💐🌈

Merlin: 🌩️🔪😠

Leon: *Makes a break for it*

Leon: *Walks by Morgana's room*

Morgana: Please Arthur he just a boy and he's sick! 🥺

Arthur: I'm sorry Morgana, but my father is looking for him and if he were to find out you harboured a druid, you'll not only get into trouble but so would Gwen and Merlin.

Morgana: *Angry* 😠

Merlin: *Steps in* Please Arthur, we can't let the King kill him. 🥺

Arthur: ... *Turns away* I saw nothing, heard nothing. I've got to look for the Druid boy because clearly he isn't here. *Leaves room without noticing Leon*

Morgana: Tsk, of course he'd listen to Merlin.

Gwen: *Giggles*

Merlin: Arthur has a good heart. Of course he'd help. *The face of loyalty and innocence*

Morgana: 😏 He followed his heart alright. I'll remember next time to have you around to convince him for some things.

Merlin: 🤨❔❔ What do you mean?

Leon: *Overhears and follows his princes lead and continues like nothing happened*

Leon: *Witnessed Merlin doing Sorcery, trying to burn the Black Knight and fails*

Leon: ... I saw nothing. Just tired eyes. Yup, nothing here. *Mutters* Not like Arthur would believe it, or even care.

Uther: Where is my son and ward?! 😠

Leon: They've decided on a friendly hunting trip, they'll be gone for several days.

Leon: *Internally* They went after Merlin to his home village to fight bandits alone. And I'm not gonna say anything because

1. You'll blame Merlin and send him away

2. Merlin's a sorcerer who you'll kill if you knew

3. If any of the above happens Arthur might likely kill you and that'll be a worse headache then his pinning.

Uther: Those brats!

Leon: *Thinking* I couldn't agree more.

[LATER]

Arthur: If I ever retire from royalty, I think I'd like to live as a farmer.

Leon: Ah, is that so?

Arthur: Yup. Of course, Merlin would be there to do the work.

Leon: 😓

Arthur: But I'll get him Cows and chickens, maybe even a horse. He has a soft spot for animals.

Arthur: Merlin's mad at me. He started talking politely to me Leon! Politely. As in using my titles instead of insults. Even avoids looking at me in the eyes. 😟

Leon: 😬 Oof, what did you do?

Arthur: He's angry at me after killing the Unicorn. 😟

Leon: ... That would do it.

Arthur: What do I do Leon!

Leon: Try giving him some space for now and maybe flowers, you've said Merlin likes those.

Arthur: Alright!

[LATER]

Arthur: Merlin's not avoiding me anymore. 😊

Leon: Great to hear, what happened?

Arthur: We faced off the sorcerer of the Unicorns and I drank fake poison before Merlin could.

Leon: ... What?! 😱

Arthur: It's fine. Merlin's still mad about that but now he insults me about my intellect being the size of a peanut. ☺️🌈✨

Leon: I'm almost inclined to agree with him Sire.

Leon: *Spots Merlin and follows him to the Isles*

Nimueh: For a life to be saved, another life must be forfeited.

Merlin: He's my friend. I'd gladly give my life for him.

Leon: *Thinking* God these two are cut by the same cloth. I'm gonna go fully grey by 30.

[LATER]

Arthur: 🥰 Merlin said the most weirdest thing. He said he'd serve me for the rest of his life. That he was happy to be with me. ❤️🥰

Leon: *Bore witness to Merlins power and dedication to his loved ones*

Leon: He cares for you Sire. Would hardly leave your side if he didn't need to help Gaius make your cure.

Arthur: ☺️ Don't tell Merlin this, but I think Merlin's my best friend.

Leon: *Internally swears on his honor as a knight to support Merlin however he could and potentially get his prince to be less of an idiot. Hopefully*

Merlin: *Sneezes*

Gaius: You alright my boy?

Merlin: *Sniffs and shurgs* I'm alright.

Gaius: Hmm, some say that when you sneezing abruptly, it's because someone is talking about you at the moment.

Merlin: Ugh, probably Arthur talking about all the chores he has in stored for me. 😮‍💨

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[taevescence]

can we have a drabble or oneshot where the oc says 'i can't pay for anything* this time' or offers to split the budget 50/50 and jungkook literally😒😤😡🤬 gets mad like I'm your man I'm responsible for you etc🤭hehehhe make me a delululu, I don't have work tomorrow♥️😂

Princess Treatment

a/n: I'M OFFICIALLY BACK (this is the first order I've uploaded in months lol). First of all, I'm sorry to be back after so long, I've been very busy, but I'm finally a free person and I'm at your complete disposal!

Warnings: I read the request and immediately thought of Jungkook from BOTN so I couldn't help myself and ended up using his story as the basis for the drabble, so yes, this is a little drabble of Jungkook vocalist and Y/N's relationship!, reader is 2 years older than Jk, Jungkook is totally and completely in love with Y/N and he doesn't mind hiding it, he's been in love for a long time and is willing to give anything to keep his princess happy because he knows how much she's worth and deserves to be loved <3.

WC: 760

Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @irishhbamb

Dividers: @omi-resources

"What did you say?" Jungkook murmured, stopping his fork halfway to his mouth. You were sure he'd heard what you said, but judging by the frown on his face, he didn’t seem to like the idea much.

“No... I don’t think I can pay the rent this month, at least not on my own,” you bit your bottom lip, feeling your hands begin to sweat with the uncertainty. “Do you think we could split it?” you sighed, hiding your face behind your hands. You felt embarrassed, maybe even a bit ridiculous. You were older than him, you’d been working longer than he had—how could you ask him for this? It felt really humiliating.

For a moment, you thought he’d react the same way your ex had when you asked him for the same thing a few years ago. You could almost hear the excuses and how asking for a 50/50 split was stupid, especially since he barely spent any time at home that month.

But you’d forgotten something important. This wasn’t your ex. This was the damn Jeon Jungkook, the guy who’d waited almost a decade to be with you, the one who fought with your ex when he found out what he’d done, the same one who sacrificed his reputation and the band���s just to rush to the hospital when you’d had a small accident.

“No, forget it, how could I let you pay the rent on your own?” he quickly shook his head, pushing his plate aside to look at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, “I’ll cover all the expenses, don’t worry about it.”

You froze for a few seconds, slightly opening your mouth in surprise. Had you heard that right? Did he want to pay it all? Everything?

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure before asking again, “What...? Sorry, I think I heard wrong. You want to pay it all? The whole rent?”

“And the bills too,” he said matter-of-factly, pouring himself more soju. He glanced up for a second, then gave you that signature smile of his that melted your heart every time you saw it. “Noona, I’ve been paying for this place since the beginning, and it was me who asked you to live here with me in the first place. How could I let you pay the rent? And by yourself?” He shook his head, letting out a laugh. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s not... I…” you tried to say something, anything, ask him why he was doing this, but for some reason, it was hard for you to say anything. Probably because you’d never had a boyfriend so understanding.

“Besides... it would be unfair to split the rent 50/50 when our salaries are different. I’ve seen how much you’ve worked to get where you are, and I’ve seen how they pay you pennies for the amazing work you do,” he took your hand across the table, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against them. “I want you to have that money for yourself, to spend on you, without worrying about how much you need to live in our home.”

“Jungkook…” you murmured, feeling your cheeks begin to heat up. What were you supposed to do in situations like this? Laugh? Cry? Run away? The last option seemed good.

“As long as I have a job, I’ll give you absolutely everything you want, Y/N, because that’s what you deserve,” he smiled softly, his lips still gently pressed against your knuckles, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine from the contact.

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that,” you said quietly, lowering your head and covering your eyes with your hand. You felt way too embarrassed, way too shy.

“Like what?” he laughed, tilting his head, trying to make eye contact with you. A triumphant smile spread across his face when he succeeded.

“I don’t know... like you love me too much,” you murmured, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. You knew he was looking at you, and you knew he liked seeing you like this. For some reason, you didn’t feel as embarrassed with him, you felt... happier.

“Because I do, Noona,” he moved his free hand to your cheek, barely grazing it with the tips of his fingers. It felt warm and soft and so... right. “I’ve loved you for years.”

And you knew he meant it, because, damn, how could that bright look in his eyes full of hope be fake?

Masterlist.

[elodieunderglass]

I'm not as familiar with LOTR as you are, so I wondered if you could tell me if my wild theory is completely off-base.

No one knows where the Hobbits came from, except that at some point they diverged from the line of men. No one knows much about the Entwives' appearance, but we do know that they fucked off a long time ago.

Could the Entwives have been dryad-ish and hooked up with the hobbits' ancestors and so be the foremothers of the hobbits?

Ah I think I saw that post! The concept has a lot of charm, and when the Tolkien estate loses its corpse-grip on the property in 2050 or so, I think you should write it and sell it 😤 I’ve definitely read some good takes on entwives in fanfiction that both leaned into canon and moved away, and I think that sounds like good fun to explore. A common theme in the fandom is playing with Yavanna, the Green Lady, being the mother or patron of hobbits. This isn’t canonical, but she’s a “green goddess” archetype and is married to Mahal/Aulë, the father of dwarves, which shippers often leverage to their advantage. You could do something quite charming there with Yavanna if you wanted to. We also know that Entwives loved gardens and orchards rather than forests.

Some things I would explore with this include:

what is going on with all these consistent ideas of people, races, women disappearing. We know that a lot of it is how Tolkien processed an almost OCD-like Catholic framing of “the fallen world is getting worse and can never be repaired”, war experiences, romanticism and other stuff stewing in his old man head. What are some ways you could show what’s stewing in your head? What does “people disappearing” mean to you? and why is it especially healing that they disappeared in order to make new families?

I think “they disappeared from their old kin and made new kin” is an interesting and weird thing worth wondering about!

- this would possibly make hobbits a more recent race than is implied. What does that mean to you?

- why are hobbits teeny tiny?

A very good starting point, that Terry Pratchett used a lot, is taking some grand statement in fantasy fiction, and making it reflect a different political reality. “Most dwarves are girls actually.” “Wizards parody academia, but, like, FOR REAL.”

I personally have a different take because of my own political feelings and framings! I have a lot of complex feelings about Tolkien chickening out of hobbits. For various political reasons I personally have to take the stance that they are fully human, fully indigenous, and have their own native language. and that their disappearance is less “teehee we lost them” or “O, the Catholic guilt of the Fallen World, how far we have fallen from the light of the two trees God’s sinless light” and a lot more “oh yeah I’ve seen THAT pattern before.”

If you have a political sort of lens on, someone telling you “yeah… hobbits came from nowhere 🤭 and then disappeared 🤷‍♀️ sad!” is a story that can also invite the response of “OHhhhh you wanted their LAND real bad, huh.” Like, we know what that means, right.

It’s a political stance for me. Hobbits have to be close enough to us to touch, and we have to be able to face that, and the fact that 5,000 media properties will chew on tolkienelves and sell them to you before even admitting to the 🤭 just makes it even more of a 🤨. To me.

…But I have literally just been elbow deep in my own demented fanfic thing that involves inventing a language just to swear in, to enable my standing on a box shouting HOBBITS OUGHT TO RESIST GOING EXTINCT ACTUALLY, based entirely on, I think, spite. Why do multiple authors publish orc football games (Terry Pratchett) and orc coffeeshops (Legends and Lattes guy) and do every damned thing with every bit of Tolkien’s corpse but refuse to look directly at hobbits. I am feral over this and wrote 59k words so far to damage and harm my friends

In conclusion I see a great story shape there about kindred and I think you should explore it and it should be about evolutionary biology and women and divorce and nobody being wrong.

And if anyone argues you with some podcast boy “well actually”, just bite them and do more character work and sit on their heads

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ LOVE IS SUPER SWEET SWEET SWEET SWEET IN MY MOUTH

PETNAMES NCT DREAM WOULD USE

pairings: nct dream x fem!reader genre: fluff wc: 0.7k warnings: hopefully none notes: this is a little shorter than usual but if you couldn't tell already I'm a sucker for petnames (if you think they're cringy you're just painfully single 😤) so I HAD to make this

MARK — my girl/babe

now mark's a chill laid back guy, and he loves you like crazy but he also doesn't see any need in extravagant nicknames or petnames and he sticks to the classics, he probably won't address you by your name for the most part so he'll just stick to babe. sweet and simple

"that's my girl" is such a classic mark thing, he gets proud over the smallest things you do, he's like your personal cheerleader. It could be something so small as flipping an egg without breaking the yolk and mark would be ecstatic.

RENJUN — darling

nicknames are serious business for renjun, every now and then he'll call you babe but to him it feels too casual— most likely it'll be something very specific to your relationship and how you met but if not he loves darling, it feels the most endearing to him.

JENO — baby/angel/gorgeous

for the most part jeno will stick to baby, sometimes babe but in his softest moments he'll go for angel— it's unconscious really.

but to jeno you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, like his own personal angel— somehow you always know what to do/say when he's feeling down and he's never met someone like that before. you're unique and somehow everything you do feels perfect to jeno, he thinks your soul is so pure, you're his angel.

on occasion jeno will throw a quick but calculated "good morning gorgeous" your way— mainly because it has you absolutely falling apart to the point where you can't even form coherent sentences, but jeno thinks it's cute

HAECHAN — sunshine/sunflower/honey

you bring out the best in him, you're his motivation and you give him so much energy for performances and his idol life, especially when things get tough so calling you his sunshine just feels right to haechan.

haechan probably throws around a lot of nicknames with you, sometimes some a little too weird, but he knows it'll get you smiling

"hey snookums" he'd say casually as he enters the room

"are you talking to me hyuck?"

he'd nod eagerly and you can't help but giggle at his dorky smile

"I love you but please, never call me that again" best believe he'll stick to that nickname for the rest of the week

and of course every time he steps through the door, haechan has to announce "honey, I'm home" like hes in some american sitcom, as if you didn't see him pull up in the drive and hear his keys jingle as he unlocked the door— you love him either way

JAEMIN — princess/pretty

sure jaemin thinks he's a princess but you? you're like the princess of all princesses. plus jaemin feels the need to remind you of your worth day in and day out— you're a princess and so you deserve to be treated like one, given jaemin's practically a king at princess treatment, you'd consider it appropriate

jaemin thinks you're pretty no doubt. in some moments, especially when you don't quite share the same opinion, jaemin will be the first one to remind you, and if you're feeling down "hey pretty look at me" he'd say in that soft low tone of his that's so awfully comforting, with two hands on your shoulder before giving you the pep talk of a lifetime

CHENLE — babe/baby

chenle's not much of a petnames guy aside from a casual babe/baby here and there but you suppose that's what makes it all the more special when he does use them

he much prefers to have a nickname for you that's exclusive to him than using petnames, but if its something you're into he'll definitely try and step up his game, also if he gets teased by his members for calling you by your name

a jealous chenle uses all the petnames under the sun— anything to make it clear you're his girl

JISUNG — (my) love/beautiful

jisung is usually soft spoken but too shy to throw around "I love/like you's" without becoming a blushing mess so his favourite way to subtly remind you just how much you mean to him are through petnames. he truly thinks you're beautiful inside and out, so it's one of the first names he addresses you with.

he likes to switch it up, testing and seeing which ones your smile grows the widest at. he decides love feels right. after all, you were the person who taught him all about it.

[https-milo]

HEY BABES 🗣️🗣️🗣️ back at it again for another insta request, can I pretty please get a inumaki one!!

HAI HONEY!!!! I shall complete your request just because you said pretty please <3

DATING TOGE INUMAKI INSTAGRAM

details!

Instagram posts w/ comments while dating Toge Inumaki

a/n OBVI these are pictures from pinterest, reader can be HOWEVER you imagine

lowkey kinda an AU for my inumaki smau... No curses Au kinda ooc inumaki...

main m. list

yn.playsgames · 19w

21.3k likes Liked by inumaki.speaks, thetigeritadori, megumifushiguro, and nobara.kugi

yn.playsgames they hate it when a thug (me) locks in (partakes in the largest COD tournament) ((I'm wearing my [favorite color] cat headphones))

thetigeritadori IM CHEERING FOR YOU IN THE CROWD 🙏🙏🙏 yn.playsgames thetigeritadori DAMN RIGHT BEST FRIEND!!! 🙏🙏🙏

nobara.kugi bring home the gold or I'll lock you out 😘😘 yn.playsgames nobara.kugi haha... ur joking right.... nobara.kugi yn.playsgames 😁😁😁 thetigeritadori yn.playsgames DW I HAVE A KEY!!

yn.playsgames · 19w

30k likes Liked by inumaki.speaks, thetigeritadori, makizen, yutasgarden, megumifushiguro, and nobara.kugi

yn.playsgames WE WIN THESE!!! Im soooo proud of my team :,) everyone did so good!! HOWEVER!!! MY GOAT inumaki.speaks PULLED THROUGH! GIVE HIM A FOLLOW, YOU WONT REGRET IT 🙏🙏

inumaki.speaks heh... it was no problem... 😼😼 makizen inumaki.speaks I KNOWWW you're not trying to be nonchalant rn... yutasgarden inumaki.speaks yeah... you literally did a cartoon cheer... full on "hip hip hooray" yn.playsgames inumaki.speaks !! I'm glad! we should stream together inumaki.speaks yn.playsgames that would be pretty epic makizen inumaki.speaks crazy... i think I heard another cheer from the living room... inumaki.speaks makizen must've been the wind 🥸🥸

nobara.kugi WELCOME HOME MY DEAR FRIEND!!! yn.playsgames nobara.kugi UH HUH, YEAH!! I expect a fresh dinner laid out for me 😤😤 nobara.kugi yn.playsgames /megumifushiguro megumifushiguro nobara.kugi sigh.

inumaki.speaks · 17w

1.3k likes Liked by yn.playsgames, makizen, and yutasgarden

inumaki.speaks water-side view and beds next to each other, what more can a guy ask for 🙏🙏 Tagged: yn.playsgames

yn.playsgames you could ask for one trillion dolllars inumaki.speaks yn.playsgames maybe time with you is worth one trillion dollars 😎😎 yn.playsgames inumaki.speaks I wasnt familiar with your game Mr. Inumaki... inumaki.speaks yn.playsgames heh... only select few people see this side of me kitten 🧘‍♂️🧘‍♂️ yn.playsgames inumaki.speaks anddddd you ruined it

makizen bro was giggling in his room btw

randomfan I thought you guys were gonna stream it :( inumaki.speaks randomfan we wanted to get to know each other more :pp

yn.playsgames · 12w

28.1k likes Liked by inumaki.speaks, thetigeritadori, and nobara.kugi

yn.playsgames yeah... I MIGHTVEEE fallen for a freak that says skibidi... AND WAHT ABOUT IT. Tagged: inumaki.speaks

inumaki.speaks bro, youre the one that asked me out. You should've known what you were getting into. yn.playsgames inumaki.speaks i didnt say I regretted it!! 😘😘

makizen she asked you out? holy shit finally yutasgarden makizen i know right? hearing him sigh dramatically after they hung up was starting to pmo :{

thetigeritadori OH YEAH!! Y/N GETS BITCHES CONFIRMEDDDDD

inumaki.speaks · 10w

2.1k likes Liked by yn.playsgames, makizen, and yutasgarden

inumaki.speaks chill guys doing what chill guys do... (going on a painting picnic date)

yn.playsgames Heh... guess we're pretty chill (IT WAS SO MUCH FUN!!) inumaki.speaks yn.playsgames pretty chill guys... (the best day of my life)

makizen ur welcome for driving your unlicensed ass... inumaki.speaks makizen NOT INFRONT OF MY GF BRO 🐺🐺💔💔💔💔

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

hope you guys enjoyed >3<

[moxanji-real]

Heeeyyy guys! Moxie here with another Moxanji art commission!! Seriously, I need to start drawing my ship more instead of just commissioning artists, but I’m such a slow artist and college is keeping me super busy—ahhhh!

Anyway, I commissioned an adorable sketch page from the insanely talented salt1000c on VGen! I waited a whole month for this piece, and let me tell you—it was so worth it!! They drew my stinky baby so cute, I’m literally crying tears of joy right now. LOOK AT HIM DOING THAT LITTLE HEART POSE!!! Look at him just… existing!!! AHHHHH!!!

The artist absolutely nailed it, and I love how every single sketch captures Moxie simping over Sanji. Like, yes!! That’s me!! I love my man so much, I’m a total blushing mess!!! This art makes me ridiculously happy, and I’m beyond thrilled to have it.

Sketch pages are my absolute favorite—they can be a bit pricey, but I just love having little doodles of me and Sanji interacting!! Anyways seeya! I love Sanji raaaaaa! Don’t you guys forget it! 😤💞

Tag list: (ask to be added or removed anytime)

@100shark @herrling @vergils-beloved @mr12xu @zoroscanonhusband @a-sasi-selfshipper @brutally-loving @fl0ralsxgar @mahitosoulmate @frankys-wife @lances-wife @flusteredladylover @starshakez @pigeonbksimp @multiversal-selfshipper @fictodreamer @cruising-thru-the-starz @chuunibyouboy @ams-puppy @literally-just-there @sweet-samnang @paulnoa @starlos-soulmate @mytummyhurtz01

[catsharky]

Are we still gonna get more of the Rolan comic?

I've gotten a couple of asks about this, so sorry to the other people who asked previously and didn't get a reply!

There is absolutely going to be more! The rest of the Rolan comic is completely written and partly roughed out, and I do intend to see it through to the end. Unfortunately this has been a pretty accurate depiction of how 2024 has been treating me:

It's been Flat Stanley-ing my ass.

I will get back to it, it's just been a case where something had to give and unfortunately my comics wound up being the thing I had to put on the backburner 😭

If anyone is curious, I rambled about what's been up under the cut:

The long and short of it is that early this year my partner and I very suddenly and stressfully went from being part-time to full-time parents, in a house that is not big enough to have a family of 4 living in it full time. We also gained 2 additional pets at the same time, bringing us up to a total of 4 (2 cats, 1 snake and 1 hamster).

While that would make it cramped enough, my partner and I have lost a combined total of 5 family members in the past 3 years, and ignoring the emotional toll, we wound up being responsible for the belongings of three of them. Every time we manage to get our house a little bit cleared out, another person dies and we have to find room for another house's worth of stuff!!!

So I have been hanging on to my sanity by a thread cause it's hard to concentrate on comics when I am stuck working in a room where Fortnite or Minecraft youtubers or worse are all but constantly playing in the background.

On top of all that, all of the windows in our house had to be replaced because they hadn't been updated or well maintained since the place was built and the frames were rotting and growing mold. So we got to spend a couple of months trying to tetris our house into a state where the window company could have room to work last week.

And if that wasn't all enough, my little old man of a cat (who is my baby and largely my responsibility) developed keratitis- which despite all efforts continued to worsen over the last several months-, was diagnosed with diabetes, and finally had to have his eye removed this week. I've discovered new stress responses I didn't even know I had thanks to that, and I've been sick with a hellcold during both this and the window replacement 🙃

I've also been unemployed since December, which is both a blessing and a curse because on one hand I think I probably would have had an actual mental breakdown by now if I'd had to deal with all this while working full time, but on the other hand we can't move until I have a job again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So basically this year has been very AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and I would really love it if whoever is controlling the game of the sims I'm living in would stop putting me in the torment nexus right about now, please and thank you.

Joke's on them though because I'm both a creature of spite and incapable of giving up, so in the words of Disco Elysium, 'Life gets hard but we go on' and we do!!! 😤

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part three.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 314,691 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris

yourusername is it time for bahrain yet?! can’t wait to see these two back in action again soon! 🧡

view all 4,981 comments

mclaren We keep asking ourselves the same thing! Our engines are ready and we’re raring to go! 🧡

↳ yourusername you truly understand me mclaren admin

↳ mclaren we think you’re the one who truly understands us y/n

↳ user y/n x mclaren admin?? 🤯 the plot twist none of us saw coming

user missing these lads so much lately

user THE RADIO SILENCE ON OSCAR’S SOCIALS WAS KILLING ME I DEPEND ON THESE MEN TOO MUCH THEY KEEP ME ALIVE 😭😭

user the f1 drought is real rn

user MCLAREN SUPREMACY 2024

↳ user i’m trying to be delulu but we all know it’s just gonna be the mv33 and redbull show again this year 🫤

user soooo are we all just gonna pretend like we didn’t see the pics of her with garrett ward orrrrr?

↳ user no bc i was just thinking the same thing 👀

↳ user wait that was actually her??? cuz you can like barely see her face so i thought it was just a joke???

user what a fake ass bitch

user she only posts other ppl on her acc cuz she knows her ugly ass face would scare everyone else away

user homegirl needs to stay tf away from my man fr 😤😤

user god what a hoe 😒 she already has these two that she could fuck with idk why she needed to go after garrett

user SLUT SLUT SLUT

user if she tries anything with anyone else on the city team i’m gonna lose my shit fr

↳ user same omg

↳ user honestly i’m just glad she didn’t go after grealish or haaland 🙌

↳ user she probably would’ve tried if they weren’t taken already 🙄

↳ user nah i bet she’s totally a homewrecker garrett’s probably just the first on her list

user oh… these comments… 😰

↳ user right???

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mancity, mclaren, and 198,131 others

tagged: mancity

yourusername the city boys know how it’s done! and looking pretty good in orange too 😉

view all 3,971 comments

mancity The lads are looking good indeed! This weekend’s match against Newcastle should be an exciting one! ⚽️🩵

mclaren ✍️ Jeremy ✍️ Doku ✍️ and ✍️ Ruben ✍️ Dias ✍️ McLaren ✍️ 2025

↳ mancity Do you think Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri would look good in sky blue? 🤔

user funny how she posts every city man BUT garrett

user god when does she go back to f1??

↳ user march iirc

↳ user well it can’t get here soon enough jfc

user FUCK OFF WE DON’T WANT YOU

user you’re a slag and should accept the fact that any guy would only want you bc of how easy you are

user i’ll bet my left leg that the only reason the f1 boys haven’t shacked up with her yet is cuz they know she’s probably riddled with disease since she drools over every guy that comes near her 😒 like girl needs to bffr and realize that throwing herself at every male in her vicinity isn’t gonna land her a husband and it just making her even more of a slut

↳ user nah i’ll bet they’ve all already done her over in f1 but nobody will touch her now that they’ve passed her round so she had to come over to football just to try and get someone to touch her again 🙄🙄🙄

user i hope garrett realizes how much of a slut she is and breaks up with her

user sick and tired of bitches like this getting with footballers and being all controlling. like i’ll bet she’s gonna tell garrett he can’t go out and party with his mates anymore bc he has to spend time in with her and then she’ll get all pissy about him having female fans bc she’s insecure and knows that if garrett got to meet a REAL fan he’d jump ship immediately. those of us who ACTUALLY care about footballers know their fans are super important to them and we wouldn’t hinder their relationship with them just bc we’re jealous or insecure. garrett needs to be with someone who actually supports him and is willing to let him do what he wants instead of controlling him like he’s a dog on a leash.

user kys like genuinely

user god i can’t wait for this skank to die 😒

“Hey Lando, it’s me. Your best friend. Again,” you give a humorless chuckle. “I could seriously use some of your wizened advice right about now, so, uh, please just give me a call back when you can. Thanks.”

It seems poetic in a cruel sort of way that less than a week ago you were walking Etihad Campus and feeling like you were on top of the world━ working a new albeit temporary gig, adding the Manchester City name to your list of clients, having photos of world-renowned footballers in your portfolio━ and now you’ve resigned yourself to hiding away in the women’s restroom, locked in a stall because it’s the only place you could think of where nobody would be able to find you.

You’re on the verge of tears and feeling rather stupid for it.

It’s the third time today alone that your call has gone straight to voicemail, and with the dozens of unread texts you’ve sent in the last week added to the mix, it’s starting to paint a picture you’re not very happy with. Lando is ignoring you. Or he’s blocked you. Or he’s blocked you because he’s ignoring you━

You bite down on your lip, hard, to keep back the sob crawling its way up your throat.

You’re not a PR officer, you hadn’t been lying when you told Garrett that, but you’ve spent enough time around the McLaren PR teams that you’ve picked up enough tips and tricks to know, at the very least, that the best thing you can do is just ignore the comments.

That’s what they tell all the athletes.

What they don’t tell the athletes is that ignoring the comments is much easier said than done, especially when your career requires you to have such a significant online presence. And the thing is, despite all of these strangers hounding you with every name under the sun and criticizing your capabilities, qualifications, and very existence, the thing that hurts the most is the radio silence from the only person you know could make it all better.

Now, more than ever, you need your best friend. But he isn’t here.

You tuck your phone into your jacket pocket and unlock the stall with great reluctance. You know better than to be hiding away, shirking your responsibilities while crying over a few missed phone calls. You have a job to do, and a real professional wouldn’t let something as simple as a handful of tasteless comments get in the way of that.

You should be used to them. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.

Your first month at McLaren wasn’t entirely different.

When you were first hired on, Carlos had been in Formula One for a handful of years already and had built up a devotedly loyal fanbase with a decently large percentage of possessive fangirls who had come for your head the moment your existence had been announced.

The McLaren Instagram account had posted a picture of you standing between their two grinning drivers, your camera strung around your neck, with a very nice caption welcoming you to the team, and despite no indication that you were by any means involved with either of them in a way that went beyond professional, the comments had been taken over by feral teenage girls who saw the act of you simply standing near Carlos to be a direct threat against their “chances.”

Though it had been frustrating being met with childish threats and petty insults in your comments, you hadn’t really held it against any of them. You remember being a teenage girl and crushing on a celebrity. Deep down you knew you never had a chance with them, but that hadn’t stopped you from hanging posters in your bedroom and doodling their name beneath yours inside of scribbled hearts in your diary.

Regardless, it had taken close to a month for the negativity to die down, and you hadn’t had Lando then, either, so now shouldn’t be much different.

In fact, everyone on the Manchester City team━ trainers, physios, media coordinatiors, and anyone inbetween━ has been very polite about everything between you and Garrett. A lot of them have just avoided saying anything about it, which you’re very grateful for because you don’t think you’d be able to hold back your grimace while thanking them for their well wishes, and the few who have mentioned it typically only say something vague like a wishing you the best of luck or hoping you’re happy.

An intern gave you a sympathetic smile the other day, and you’d nearly burst into tears in the middle of the office of the Director of Communications, so you know you aren’t truly alone in this.

You just feel alone.

Exiting the bathroom is a simple affair. There’s no one standing post outside ready to give you any shit for being hidden away, and nobody comes sprinting around the corner as you make your way down the hall to the press conference room that’s been temporarily turned into your base of operations.

You think you’ll probably be able to go the rest of the afternoon without running into anyone, when you open your door and find━ sitting in the front row of the seats typically saved for journalists and the press, scrolling across his phone with a disinterested look painted across his face━ Jack Grealish.

“Jack,” you greet, a bit shocked. You close the door to the room gently behind you, and cross the distance to your desk. “Did we have a meeting scheduled? It must’ve completely slipped my mind, I sincerely apologize.”

He offers you a polite smile. “No, we didn’t, so no need to be sorry. I actually just wanted to check in. See how things are going with everything.”

You blink at him in surprise. Apart from Garrett, you haven’t really had much time to speak with the other players. They wish you good morning and good afternoon when they see you, and if a ball goes astray they always call out for you to watch your head, but between their morning training and their afternoon training, their strategy reviews at lunch, and the frequent in between meetings with physios, nutritionists, and trainers, they don’t get much time to chit chat with a simple photographer.

You clear your throat, “Erm, it’s going well. I’ve gotten some really good shots these past few days. There’s one with Rodrigo that I’m particularly proud of. It should do well with the fans.”

“And things with Ward?”

You purse your lips.

“Figured.” Jack sighs. “Look, nearly everyone you run into here knows or has at least some inkling into what he’s like. He’s a prick. None of the lads on the team like him, it’s why the managers are trying to get him out of here.”

You lower yourself down into your chair. “He told me they were planning to trade him off because of his reputation.”

Jack scoffs, “Yeah, ‘cause that’s the ‘official’ reason. They can’t cut his contract early for legal reasons, so they’re waiting for it to expire and coming up with an excuse for why they ain’t re-signing him. It’s really just ‘cause the rest of us can’t keep dealing with his massive ego and the fact that he’s a misogynistic fuck who doesn’t know the first thing about respect.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” you mutter with a sigh.

If he expected you to defend Garrett and is surprised by the fact that you haven’t, Jack doesn’t show it. He looks relaxed sitting across from you, like you’re having a casual conversation and not actively shit talking a member of his team. It gives you the impression that he knows significantly more about Garrett than you do, and that because of what he knows he probably figured out that one party in the relationship is not the most willing of participants.

“How’d you get all wrapped up it in then? Didn’t figure you to be the type to go after pricks like Ward.”

You debate over whether you should tell him or not. There isn’t much Jack can do about the situation regardless, but it would at least get things off your chest and if someone else knew then maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

There’s only so many days you can spend hiding out in the women’s restroom trying not to bawl your eyes out, and you’ve already reached your limit.

You heave a sigh, “It’s kind of fucked up really.” A pen on your desk catches your attention and you start to fiddle with it, avoiding Jack’s eyes which have focused directly onto you. “He asked if I would help him fix up his reputation by pretending to be his girlfriend so he could show everyone that he’s matured and can hold down a steady relationship. When I told him no, he threatened to make up a lie about inappropriate conduct to get me fired and blacklisted from the industry, so for the sake of preserving my career I agreed.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” Jack murmurs, shaking his head. “I’m real sorry he did that, Y/N.”

You shrug. “It’s happened, so, there’s nothing I can really do except wait it out at this point.”

When you look up and meet his gaze, Jack looks murderous. His hands are clenched into fists on the armrests, knuckles white with the strength of his grip. His brows are furrowed, and his lips are twisted downward in a scowl.

“If you need anything,” he starts, “let me know. And I mean it. We all know how Ward can be. He’s a knobhead. So if you need anything━” his emphasis on the word and what that implies makes you feel more comforted than anything has since the whole fiasco started, “━then you let me know, or you tell one of the other boys and they’ll find me, alright?”

All you can do is nod.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by user, user, and 213,976 others

yourusername there’s no place like home

comments have been disabled

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry

━━ a/n: no lando yet, but we've got a cutesy little grealish scene to make up for it because i couldn't have a story with manchester city and not include him! lowkey writing this part made me wanna write for a footballer too... anyways! hope you all enjoy!

[sakachichi]

COMING IN HOT W THESE DRABBLES YALL 😤 gather around primas 😈🙏

Drabble!Satoru and you we’re getting ready to go to a very fancy dinner w the schools higher ups, Satoru ofc didn’t wanna go but he had no other choice, going against his will unfortunately ;( You on the other hand were more than excited to grub on some very high quality wagyu, and some other delicious dishes!

You sat prettily at your vanity as you put on some mascara as the final touch, focusing very hard. You wore a nice navy blue dress, super tight it hugged your curves just right, making your tits look amazing (Satoru will definitely stare at them shamelessly :p) as you continue to focus on your lashes, you didn’t realize his tall figure standing behind you.

“How about we don’t go? I know you’re all dolled up but-“ he begins walking towards your shared bed before sitting down and man spreading, “imagine you right here..” his hands motion your invisible body straddling him, “your all dolled up, and I’m just like-“ he air slaps your invisible ass.

You roll your eyes at your husband’s silly actions, “how about after?” You smile sweetly at him and he grumbles. It was worth a shot trying to convince you to stay home :p

Anyways, now you guys are at dinner and Satoru could not keep his eyes off of you, eyes drinking you up. You just looked so good, your eyes glistening in the lowlight, your hair blown out to perfection, and your ass…your ass! So pretty he’s drooling just looking at you. If he was a lot more psychotic he’d have spread out on the table, shamelessly ramming into you like if he had something to prove, but alas he has at least some decency.

Now you guys are home and Satoru wasted no time in crashing his pink juicy lips onto yours, desperately, hungrily kissing you. Teeth and tongues against each other, your fingers gripping onto his snowy hair, and his gripping onto your ass. Then, he unzips your dress, letting it pool around your feet revealing your bare chest, he rolls his head back as he giggles. So giddy and excited to finally get this party started :p you smile as he latches his lips onto one of your perky nipples, sighing from his warm mouth on your skin.

He’s giving both of your tits the attention they need, greedily fondling and sucking on them. Finally Satoru lets go w a loud pop! “Touch yourself, pretty, wanna see how you do it when I’m not here” he yanks your cute baby blue panties off leaving you in only your heels, and you obliged, dipping your fingers into your wet swollen cunt, rubbing sweet circles on your clit. Rolling your head back as you moan, “fuck you’re so sexy” he whispers.

Frantically Satoru takes off his slacks, his raging cock finds its way into one of his big hands, jerking himself as he watches you lose yourself to pleasure. And when he couldn’t wait any longer, he grabs onto your arm and swiftly turns you around, ass perfectly arched inviting him in. Slowly he sinks into you bottoming himself out, letting out a slutty groan as he rolls his head back before fucking you senseless.

“Fuck! O-oh my god Satooo” you whine, tits bouncing crazily, and your hair falling before your face as you let your head hang in between your shoulders. “You’re taking my cock so well, you love when I fuck your pussy like this huh?” He’s breathless, gripping onto your wrists with a bruising force, your heels giving you the perfect height to let him hit that sweet spot over and over and over again, making your legs tremble.

“Tell me how much you love my dick inside you, baby, c’mon doll tell me” he grits in your ear, loudly moaning as he’s near his high. And all you could muster is a pathetic, “yesyesyesyes” as your eyes roll back. One of Satoru’s hands grips onto your hair, pulling you flush against his chest, making him hit your sweet cervix repeatedly.

“Pussy so fucking tight, mmm’ohmygod” the grip on your hair is so painfully tight, making you whimper as he pulls on you with each thrust. Finally he forcefully lets you go, letting you fall back to your original position. His free hand slaps your ass so hard repeatedly, the pain strikes up your spine as you cry out, pushing you oh so close to the edge.

“Ah! S-sato m’gonna cum!” You whine out, Satoru hums as he shakes his head, too pussy drunk to reply. And minutes later you cum sooo hard on his cock, walls flutter around him as he milks your orgasm. “Mmm~ baby fuck” you moan out, looking back at him. Seconds later he cums as well, shooting his hot sticky load inside you. Hips stutter as he slows down his thrusts, moaning so fucking loud as he continues to fill you up.

“Is this what you wanted, Mr.Gojo?” You ask as you look back at him, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath

“Baby you know I want more”

Idk when I saw this vid on twt but it was this lady fully naked and w just her heels on and I thought hmmm yea gojo 🌝 anyways primas hope yall enjoyed 😻🫶🫶

[comment-day]

How To Embed An Image In An Ao3 Comment

Sometimes, an image is worth a thousand words. You've read a fic, and the only way to respond to it is with a picture. Maybe this is a scribble you drew in the notes app on your phone, maybe it's art you drew with actual artistic talent, maybe it's a meme you just looked up, maybe it's a meme you just made. But you have your image, and you want to put it in someone's comments. How do you do that?

Ao3 comments support HTML, so to embed an image you need an image link to where the image is hosted somewhere on the web, and you need a bit of HTML code. First thing, the image.

You can use a site like Imgur to host your image, or a private tumblr post, or a fandom image host like Squidge Image Hosting. The important thing is that you want the actual image URL, and not the link to the page that the image is hosted on. Let's say you put your image in a private tumblr post, it would look something like this to get the image link.

You want to right-click (or control-click, whatever works on your screen) to get this dropdown menu, and go down to Copy Image Address. That drops the URL into your clipboard. And then you copy this code:

<img src="YOUR IMAGE URL" alt="DESCRIPTION OF YOUR IMAGE" border="0" width="Max-width 95%" />

In order that's the code that tells the HTML which image to pull off the web, a description that will work for screen readers, telling it that it doesn't need a border, and a bit of code that will keep the image from running off the screen if you grabbed a big image. You put your image URL in that bit of code and write a fast description, and then bingo, you're ready to post your image!

Oh god though, you're on mobile, that all looks awful: quick tip! If you host your image on images.squidge.org, they will do the html for you. It's free fandom image hosting as long as you're over 18. Upload your image, and then scroll down on the page, and there's a convenient button with the HTML just done for you already.

Scroll down to HTML and hit the copy button, and then just paste that into the Ao3 comment box, update the image description (cause it'll just have the title there) and you're good to go!

Go forth and decorate the world with images!