#to me it was by far the most interesting use of a university setting in a bl imo imo imo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taeyongdoyoung · 4 months ago

Text

that's a warning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But…why?"

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

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

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

Fuck it, he said it.

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

Professor Bang shakes his head.

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

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

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

God. It's really happening.

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

"That sounds amazing!" you grin excitedly.

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

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

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

He chuckles but doesn't respond rightaway.

"What's so funny?"

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

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

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

"Hmm…maybe some red wine?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, okay," he agrees easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You must know that."

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

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

"Hey. It's true, okay?"

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

"Maybe. I'd really like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then, let me meet him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

"What is all this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes tear up with emotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're crazy," Chris repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay, sweetheart? Still alive?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

#bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan x reader #chan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #stray kids #chan #writing

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sonotpattismith · 4 months ago

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where I first saw you

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 10.3k content: fluff, grumpy+sunshine vibes, sukuna is low-key an asshole, reader is depicted as a bit naive, special guest starring choso my shnookums, almost loss of virginity, smut, 18+

Sukuna loved his job— no really, he did. He didn’t have to speak a certain way to garner respect, his marked up face helped his occupation rather than hindering it, and he was finally able to put to use what seemed like the one goddamn skill the universe graced him with. Anyone who walked into the shop and saw that look on his face though might assume he’d rather be anywhere else than holed up in the dimly lit tattoo parlor he worked at, but it truly was just his face. Luckily for him though, his resting bitch face seemed to match the vibe of the shop, so his boss let it slide.

So, yeah, there really wasn’t anywhere else the daunting man could see himself working in, but there was one qualm about his job— the people. God, how Sukuna fucking hated some of the half-wits that sat in his chair most of the time. Whether it be cuddled up inconvenietnly to their significant other with whom they would soon be matching ink with, or the awkwardly beefed up masculine types that were convinced that their decision to get a big ass tiger on their back was unique.

Perhaps he should have started working on his judgemental nature long before he decided on a career that centered around servicing people, but he just couldn’t find it in him to feign interest in their drawn out stories about why they were sitting in his chair that day. At the end of the day, it was the art that kept his soul alive while having to work with so many idiots. He loved drawing, since he received his first sketchbook at the ripe age of ten so that he’d stop scribbling on the walls of his room.

He often joked that it was his one redeeming feature, never having been the best academic student and failing to be as charming as his twin brother so easily managed— this was his one thing.

That was why he seriously had to exercise restraint and put on his best poker face when a group of babbling college students stumbled into the shop just shy of an hour before closing. There were about five of them, all shouting over each other and giggling obnoxiously as if they could hear any of what the others were saying.

Don’t lose your job over some sorority kids. He had to keep telling himself as he set his pencil down, looking up from his sketchbook with his lips set in a firm line. They were huddled around the stencil book now, shoving at each other for turns looking at the choices before them. The bickering grew louder and louder until his last thred of patience snapped.

“Oi, if you shitheads are gonna come in here so close to closing, you better quiet the fuck down and pick which one of you is getting inked, cause I ain’t got time for all of you, and you’re givin’ me a fucking migraine.”

The group was stunned to silence, blinking up at the aggravated man behind the counter who was shutting his book with a huff. It was silent for a moment before they broke into hushed, excited rambles about how he was perfect and how fucking funny this would be in the morning. Taking in a controlled breath, he watched them shove one of their members to the front.

“It’s her, she wants a tattoo.” They all guffawed, looking at each other with barely concealed smirks that appeared far too incriminating.

You stumbled forward, bracing your hands on the counter as the room seemed to spin around you. The apples of your cheeks were flushed red, but he assumed it was your nerves, along with the fact that your gaze couldn’t seem to focus on the man before you.

“It’s late, so if you want something it’s gotta be small.” Sukuna explained with poorly concealed annoyance as he stood up to begin prepping a chair. He heard you begin to speak, but you were quickly cut off by the boisterous group surrounding you.

“It can be small!” One of the guys insisted desperately as he guided you by your shoulders to sit in the leather, reclining chair the tattoo artist was standing by. “She wants a…” His words trailed off as he glanced back at the giggling group, who were all giving him a thumbs up as they shouted various ideas at him. “A tramp stamp! She wants a tramp stamp.”

Sukuna felt his jaw tick at the outdated term, but he swiveled his head to face you nonetheless.

“You fuckin’ mute or what?” He grumbled as he snatched the stencil book from the group.

“N-No, I… they told me they’d pick something nice for me.” Your words slurred almost unintelligbly, and, upon closer inspection, he was taking note of the blearly look in your eyes.

“You plastered right now?”

“She’s only had a couple drinks!” One of the girls defended quickly, leaning the entire upper half of her body across the counter in anticipation. “But she’s been talking about this for like everrr.”

Something about their eagerness to speak for you sounded off warning alarms in his mind, but he shook his head nonetheless.

“You ever done this before?” The pink-haired man questioned as he donned a pair of gloves.

“Umm…” You hummed nonsensically, head lolling to the side to watch him snap on the last glove. His deadpan expression made you flush with embarrassment, staring down self-consciously at your ink-free skin. “No.”

“This one! She wants this one!” Another degenerate spoke up, pointing excitedly to the stencil depicting various sized lipstick marks that would traverse the expanse of your lower back. When you leaned your head forward to look, he quickly snatched the book away from your line of sight.

Sukuna watched the motion with narrowed eyes, irritation slowly creeping up each of his fingers with an urge to ring someone’s neck out. Glancing back at the way you were slumped back in the chair, eyes barely able to stay open, he gave a curt shake of his head.

“Nah,” He finalized, ripping his gloves off before tossing them in the bin beside him. “I don’t know what it is you lowlives call a joke, but I ain’t the one. Take her home.”

The group quickly broke out into a string of protests, walking around the counter to level with the man, but he had already made up his mind.

“C’mooon, man!” The guy pleaded with the stencil book still clutched in his grasp. “She’s fine! I’ll pay extra, c’mon!”

Sukuna stepped forward to snatch the book from his grasp, pointing it back at your figure still sat obliviously beside them.

“She can barely fucking sit up straight. Take her home before you seriously piss me off.” He repeated once again.

There was an encore of disappointed groans from the idiotic group that had brought you in.

“Whatever man, there are like three artists on this block. We’ll go somewhere that actually wants to make money.” The ringleader quipped before grasping at your arm to pull you up.

All at once, his patience seemed to drain from him as his hand came forward to grip the man’s wrist in warning. Sukuna towered over him, his broad shoulders unknowingly blocking you from his view as he tilted his head at him.

“Yeah? How ‘bout I call the fucking cops?” The shadows seemed to cast an impossibly more intimidating aura to his already less than welcoming expression. “Or do you wanna take this outside?”

The group could be heard murmuring to each other, weighing their options out and deciding their cruel joke wasn’t worth whatever fate this man had in store for them should they continue. Upon acknowledging the fearfully complacent expression on the guy’s face, Sukuna leaned back, dragging his gaze across the group where not one of them stepped up to defend you in your inebriated state.

As the idiot rushed to get you up so they could hightail it far away from this shop, the artist shook his head, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“She’s fine there.” Sukuna said simply, not trusting that any one of these lowlives had even the slightest intention of taking you home unscathed that night.

Baffled eyes stared up at him, but he remained resolute in his decision. It didn’t take much convincing at all though, because soon enough the group was scrambling out of the shop without so much as a second look at their ‘friend’.

With an aggravated growl, Sukuna finally turned to face you again, only to find you passed out against the leather chair. He pursed his lips in annoyance, carefully reaching out to jostle your shoulder. You groaned softly, your still flushed face falling against your shoulder.

“C’mon, brat.” He grumbled, glancing at the clock on the wall and deciding he deserved to close the shop a little early tonight. His boss would just have to get an explanation the next day. Reaching up, he gently pinched your warm cheek between his knuckles in an attempt to rouse you from your comatose state. “Where does your sorry ass live?”

Your eyes opened blearily, and it almost appeared as though there were two of him. Trying desperately to focus your gaze, a dumb smile spread across your face as you reached up to poke at his cheekbones. He grimaced, trying to shift his head away from your reach.

“Haha, ‘sup four eyes?” You giggled deleriously at your own joke.

“Yeah, real funny,” Sukuna quipped with a huff as you tossed your head back against the chair to close your eyes again. “Hey, hey, no, wake up and tell me where the hell it is I need to drop you off at.”

You only hummed sleepily at his words, and it was clear that he’d already lost you once again. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly through his nose to calm his temper. When he opened them once again, your lips were parted ever-so-slightly as you slipped off into a drunken slumber.

He tsked in frustration before giving you a once over. You didn’t have a bag on you, and he wondered if your ‘friends’ had taken it with them. Glancing down at your pockets, he carefully reached down to feel around for a phone or wallet that he could use to get you home. When your front pockets proved to be useless, he grimaced slightly as he slumped you forward to search your back ones, sighing in anguished relief when he procured a cell phone.

“Fuck.” He growled out when the damned thing prompted him for a passcode.

In a desperate attempt to get you the hell out of his shop, he began pounding in random variations of four digit codes. Typical ones, 1-2-3-4, 0-0-0-0, 9-9-9-9, anything that might get him out of the situation he’d put himself in. After countless attempts though, he nearly tossed the device across the room when it alerted him that he was locked out due to too many failed attempts. Opting to toss the wretched thing on the table beside him, he groaned up at the ceiling.

This is what I get for not minding my own damn business for once in my god-forsaken life.

There was a light scratching noise that flooded your consciousness. With it, came the realization that your brain was absolutely pounding against your skull, and you were sure there was a knot in your back that no amount of stretches would be able to unfurrow for at least another week. Parting your lips to lick the desert-like dryness from them, you noted that your mouth was just as parched.

It was cold— far colder than you ever dared to keep your dorm room set at, and the sensation manifested goosebumps that prickled at every inch of your exposed skin. Despite this, there was a sheen sweat that was lining the back of your neck as you attempted to stretch. The nearly forgotten scratching stopped abruptly at your movements, and you slowly pried your eyes open.

“Oh my god.” Your rasped voice blurted out as you came to the gruelling realization that the ceiling you were staring up at was not that of your room. Sitting up with a start, you frantically took in your surroundings as your mind reeled with the feeble attempt to remember what had transpired the night before.

There were a myriad of… unique posters lining the walls, and, from where you were sitting, you could see a counter filled with various body jewelery. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front were drawn, making it difficult for you to determine what time it was, though you could swear you saw a sliver of sunlight peeking out through the cracks.

Your hands suddenly began feeling around your own body in search of your phone, but you came up short.

“It’s on the table.” Came an unfamiliarly deep voice on your right.

Whipping your head around so quickly that it nearly made you dizzy, you caught sight of the monstrous-sized man lounging on the leather seat on the opposite end of the room. His hair was disheveled, but you were still caught off guard by its soft pink hue as strands strew across his forehead. An intricate work of black tattoos lined his face, emphasizing the secondary set of eyes he had inked under his real ones.

“Oh my god!” You repeated with a mortified expression. He set aside the notebook that was perched on his lap to stand from his seat, and you shrunk farther into yours as he stretched to his full height. “Did we… oh my god, did I get a tattoo?” You weren’t sure which outcome sounded scarier to you as you frantically began assessing your skin for any evidence.

“Check your ass.” He quipped with an amused glint on his otherwise stoic expression, but it almost broke upon seeing the horrified look on your face. “I’m fucking with you. Nothing happened— no thanks to your dumbass choice of friends though.”

You slowly settled back against the leather seat, trying to calm your racing heart as his words sunk in. With a vague haze, you could recall going out with a few members from your class who you were paired with for a group project. They weren’t exactly your friends, but you were desperately trying to change that being new to the city where you had begun university.

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean, they brought you in here telling me to tat you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open. I told ‘em to fuck off.” His explanation was nonchalant as he began organizing a few things behind the counter. “And your sorry ass wouldn’t wake up long enough to tell me where you lived.”

The hazy puzzle pieces slowly started to come together, and you felt yourself flush instantly. Glancing at the time on your phone that was waiting for you just beside your seat, you noted it was still far too early for a tattoo parlor to be open.

“I’m so sorry, this is mortifying—” You babbled as you stood up, quickly trying to straighten your rustled clothes. “I’m not from around here, and I was just trying to make some friends, but I didn’t know that—”

“Woah, woah woah,” The man before you grimaced with a wave of his hand to halt your rant. The warmth in your cheeks grew that much hotter at the realization of your rambling. “I just spent the night on a damn tattoo chair. I am nowhere near awake enough for your sob story right now, doll.”

“Right, sorry. Um, I should really get out of your hair.” You stammered, glancing awkwardly down at your feet as you made a beeline for the front door. With a barely noticeable hesitance, you turned back toward him one more time. “Thank you, by the way. That was… really cool of you.”

Sukuna watched with a lazy gaze as you pulled at the door only to be met with stark resistance. With a quiet huff, you used both hands this time to try to wrestle it open, even attempting to push it just in case. His long legs slowly dragged toward the front of the store with a tired mischievousness. Reaching over you, he switched the door unlocked before leaning back again, watching as the heat creeped up your neck.

“Thanks.” You mumbled once again in humiliation, unable to face him as you finally pulled the door open. In an instant though, his hand was reaching above your head to hold the door closed. Your heart leaped into your throat, a nervous sweat nearly breaking out onto your forehead as you hesitantly looked up at him.

“No friends is better than shit ones, you hear me?” One of his brows was raised as he glowered down at you, and the breath slowly escaped your lungs.

His broad figure made sure his shadow consumed you, and from this close your clouded mind was finally able to process how terrifyingly hot this man was. Not trusting your voice, you could only nod meekly at his solemn advice, nearly crying in relief when he finally pushed off the door and allowed you to slip through it.

In the end, you, by the grace of a higher being, made it to practice only ten minutes late, though you were still scolded by your instructor since you cut into your warm-up time. It was arguably the hardest practice you’d yet to endure, what with the crink it your back from spending the night on a tattoo chair.

The more you thought about the mortifying events that had transpired the night before, the more you wished you could take your brain right out of your skull and hose it down in hopes of forgetting all about it. It was humiliating to think of how naive you had been to keep accepting drinks from the group you were with, who were still essentially strangers to you. Still, you were desperate for some friends after having spent an entire semester holed up in your dorm with nothing to do and no one to see.

You had moved to the city from a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone, and the culture of hospitality was far different from the uppity vibes you had received from nearly every new person you had met here. It was never really in your plans to move so far from home, but the university you had been accepted into had one of the best ballet programs in the country, and it had been your dream to dance professionally since you were six years old and perfected your first pirouette.

Still, you hadn’t expected to sacrifice so much to make it happen.

You were friendly with the other members of your ballet group, but they all seemed to have already known each other for so long. It was more difficult than anything— trying to fit yourself into friend groups that had already been solidifying for years before your appearance. So, when your group members invited you out with them that night, you were more than elated to go along with whatever they had planned.

You groaned in frustration, gently hitting your head against the wall of your shower as you washed off the sweat that had built up from your questionable night as well as practice later that day. There were at least five minutes spent inspecting your naked body in the mirror to confirm that you did not in fact have any unexpected ink anywhere.

Despite your being in the clear, you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of what could have happened had the kind yet terrifying tattoo artist not been as decent of a human being as he was. The guilt and embarrassment gnawed away at you in the few days that followed at the thought of the complete stranger staying with you in the shop until your stupidly drunk self decided to wake up. You thought of his parting words as well, that made you feel even a tiny bit better about your less than fortunate social circumstances.

It was an impulsive urge spurred on by your incessant boredom just two days later that had you meticulously weighing out the ingredients for the easiest cookie recipe you could manage in your dorm’s tiny kitchen. You heard the timer ring in the next room as you tied your hair up in front of the mirror. After carefully packaging the baked goods in a leftover, holiday themed cookie tin with a neatly written ‘thank you for not tattooing me!’ note written on some pink stationary, you set off for the shop that had been haunting you for the past two days.

The lit up, neon red ‘TATTOO’ sign that hung outside the front seemed to buzz ominously as you stared up at it. It was never the type of… establishment you ever frequented, but it was far from you to judge given your previous circumstances.

With an anxious sigh, you pushed into the door, hearing the faint jingle of the bell attached to it. The shop was fairly busy, a stark difference from that morning you’d woken up in it prior to its opening.

“Welcome in. You here for a tattoo or a piercing?” You were pulled from your thoughts as a man behind the counter greeted you. He definitely fit the part, you thought as you took in his tattooed nose and pierced lips. What appeared to be eyeliner was smudged haphazardly around his already ominous, dark orbs, and there were two spiked out buns at the top of his head.

“Um, neither actually.” You flushed unnecessarily, your fingers curling tighter around your tin as he raised a curious brow at you. Mustering up a kind smile, you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that works here. Tall, pink hair, face tattoos— do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Sukuna? Yeah, he’s working on an appointment right now.” The man explained as he looked at the time. You opened your mouth to ask if he would be so kind as to just give him the tin whenever he got out, but he cut you off. “He should be finishing up soon if you wanna wait here for him.”

Abruptly shutting your mouth, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t bring yourself to decline his offer, far too self-conscious about your every breath in this place. Nodding in thanks, you slowly sat down on the low, leather black couch that was in the waiting area. You clacked your nails anxiously against the tin in your lap, hyperaware of the man’s eyes still on you.

“So, what’s in the container?” He questioned with a curious glint in his eyes, jutting his chin toward your lap. Looking up at him in surprise, you offered a bashful smile.

“Oh, they’re just cookies.” You explained with a nonchalant wave of your hand.

His intimidating expression seemed to melt right off of his face, darkly lined eyes lighting up in a way that gave him a child-like aura. Smiling knowingly, you stood to walk over to the counter and opened the tin to offer him one. The boyish smile he gave instantly fought off any fear you previously held toward him, and the tension in your shoulders slowly faded as he eagerly grabbed one.

“‘Thank you for not tattooing me’?” The man read the card through cookie-filled cheeks, crumbs gathering around his lips as he looked up at you in question. “I’ve gotta hear this—”

“Choso, get him a tube of aftercare, will ya’?” That familiar, deep voice saved you from the embarrassment of having to explain yourself to the kind man at the front desk. Sukuna, as you had now learned his name was, was walking in from the back followed by a shorter man. His movements faltered upon seeing you in the shop again.

His ruby eyes took in your soft appearance in contrast to the gothic decorations that adorned the shop. You stuck out like a sore thumb, with your baby pink cardigan and perfectly glossed lips, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of why you would step foot back in here.

“Sorry, doll, bed and breakfast is closed.” He quipped as nodded at the customer who had stopped to thank him again before exiting the store. You flushed at his jab, wondering why you bothered humiliating yourself like this.

“She made you cookies.” Choso announced excitedly, once again with his mouth stuffed.

“Yeah? Then why the hell are you eating them?” He grumbled, swatting the man on the back of the head as he raised his hands in mock defense. The pink haired man walked behind the counter, picking up your note and skimming it with a raised brow before casting his eyes to the side dismissively. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you had flustered him. “Don’t gotta thank me for not being an asshole.”

As he leaned over to distract himself with checking the computer for his next appointment, Choso stared incredulously between him and you.

“You can thank me, I’m not an asshole.” He gushed, leaning his forearms on the counter to smile invitingly at you. His eyes skimmed your face before a flush fell over his cheeks. “Won’t tat you either if it means a pretty girl brings me cookies, too.”

“Quit being such a freak.” Sukuna growled as he elbowed him, finally tearing his gaze away from the computer to close the tin back up before Choso could steal another, but he was far too focused on getting your attention to pay the grouch any mind.

“How ‘bout a piercing, hm? Bet you’d look reeeal cute with a septum ring.”

“Oh, um…” You flushed at his words, subconsciously reaching up to touch your bare nose. “I’m actually in ballet, and they’re pretty strict about—”

“Ballet?” Choso guffawed, much to Sukuna’s dismay as he huffed at the energetic man. “That’s so tight. So you do like shows and cool shit like that?”

“Yeah! I… actually have a recital coming up next week.” You explained enthusiastically, eager to connect in any way you can to the first person who’s shown you any sort of kindness since moving here. Without stopping to think about how desperate you might appear, you fished out a spare handout from your bag. “You should come— y’know, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

The pierced man before you snatched up the paper eagerly, dark eyes skimming the contents before he slumped in disappointment.

“No can do, I’m working that night.” He sighed before turning to Sukuna, who had been watching the exchange with a barely concealed glare. “You should totally go though— he can go, right?”

You were undeniably flustered as you looked up at the man you had come here for, who looked less than enthused about your sudden turning up to the shop again. God, were you totally out of your element inviting this insanely attractive, crushingly edgy man to your ballet? Gulping down your nerves, you nodded softly, offering a timid smile.

“Y-Yeah! Of course—”

“What the fuck would possess you to think I look like a dude who goes to ballets?”

Your words died in your throat, and you felt all the blood rush to your face so embarrassingly fast that the only possible solace would be if the ground opened up below you and swallowed you whole. Looking down at your pristinely manicured nails, you dug your top lip mercilessly between your teeth.

“Well, I-I usually invite my friends, but… it’s my first show since moving here, and I don’t… really know anyone, so…” It was as if you were growing more pathetic by the second, and you willed yourself to just shut the fuck up.

Sukuna, on the other hand, felt his stone cold heart shrivel up in horror at your words. Even with all the terrified glances he’d get from passerbyers on the street, and all the children he’d scared to tears with just a sharp glance their way, he had never felt like more of a monster than he did in that very moment watching your lively face dim so abruptly.

He remembered what you had said the other day about trying to make some friends, and apparently you were desperate enough to get yourself in the position he’d had to pull you out of himself to do so. Beside him, he could feel Choso stepping on his toes as if to tell him to take it easy on you, but he was already wallowing in a pool of his own guilt.

With a guarded scowl, Sukuna snatched the paper from his half-brother’s hands, red eyes skimming it furiously as you began apologizing for disturbing him. As you turned to make a desperate speed-walk toward the door, he spoke up.

“Better be fucking good, brat.”

Pausing mid-step, a subtle warmth spread in your chest as you slowly turned back around with a tickled smile. He didn’t deserve it, he was sure of it— not with the way your eyes lit up the entire room as if he’d just found the cure to cancer or solved world hunger. No, he’d just stepped on your innocent offer with the sole of his heavy, black boot after you’d just brought him home-made cookies for not tattooing you while you were under the influence. He didn’t deserve the way you flashed your teeth at him.

“Heading to practice right now, boss.” You beamed with a mock salute before making your way to the exit with more pep in your step than had been there previously. Just before the door shut behind you, you shouted over your shoulder. “I hope you like the cookies!”

“Why doesn’t this type of shit happen to me?” Choso questioned rhetorically as he stared longingly at the door you just left through with a shake of his head. “You’re a real asshole, you know?”

And, boy, did he know it.

While you had been flattered at Sukuna’s implication that he’d be showing up to your recital, a larger part of you was coming to terms with the fact that there was no way in hell that dude was coming. You couldn’t blame him. After all, you were essentially strangers, and it truly didn’t seem like his scene. Still, it would have been nice to have one person coming in your support.

Sighing wistfully, you sprayed the final touches of hairspray into your slicked back bun, turning your head to the side to assure there were no stray strands. The lights of the dressing room mirror reflected the subtle glitter on your eyelids as you watched your fellow dancers bustle around behind you as they also prepared.

Resisting the urge to bite at your lip for fear of ruining your lipstick, you glanced down at the message on your phone.

Mom: Please send me a recording! I hate that I can’t be there for you today :(

In all your years as a dancer, you had always had someone there for you in the audience to cheer you on. Whether it be your family or your hometown friends, someone was always waiting for you outside with flowers and a proud smile. Swallowing down your self-pity, you gave yourself one last once over before you heard your three minute warning. If you weren’t dancing for anyone, you determined, you would just have to do it for yourself.

That was the notion that got you through both of your group numbers and your solo. With every pointed kick and turn, you reminded yourself that this was for the life you were working so hard to achieve. The stage lights were blinding, and the beautifully orchestrated music almost made you forget that you were so upset in the first place. It showed on your face though, you were sure. After all, every instructor you’d ever had always told you that your expression would tell the story of your number louder than any lyrics ever could.

With all the preparation that went into every recital, you still never failed to be shocked whenever it ended so suddenly. There was a strong sense of pride bubbling in your stomach as your team met up backstage for a few celebratory photos. That familiar buzz came to an end though as everyone began departing, all greeted by friends, families, or lovers. With a wistful smile, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself as you stepped out into the frigid air.

“There you are— jesus,” A man sighed in exasperation as you accidentally shouldered into him, his hand closing around your arm before you could walk away. “All you people look the damn same with your hair like that.”

Looking up in bewilderment, your jaw fell open in surprise upon seeing that familiar head of pink hair. He was scanning the area with an awkward tension in his shoulders, as though he felt out of place in the midst of all these ballerinas— he certainly looked out of place.

There was a black, button down dress shirt clinging mercilessly to his sculpted form, the first few buttons undone and revealing a teasing amount of his chest. As if it was the only color that ever graced his closet, his slim-fitting dress pants were also black, emphasizing his slim waist as it contrasted against his broad shoulders.

Your lips parted as you took in his appearance, and you could swear the air around you grew at least five degrees warmer. As if your face couldn’t get any hotter, your eyes finally landed on the arrangement of flowers clutched in his hands. He glanced down at them with what seemed like an annoyed expression before shoving them toward you.

“My brother said you’re supposed to bring crap like this to these things…” He explained, still not looking you in the eyes as you slowly took the bouquet into your arms.

“You actually came.” You commented, still a bit shell shocked to see him here.

“I said I was gonna, didn’t I?” It came out harsher than he would have liked, but he couldn’t help but feel so oddly out of place before you.

“Right.” You muttered pathetically, looking down at your feet so he wouldn’t see the flush in your cheeks. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you offered a hopeful smile that struck him like lightning. “Did you like the show?”

“You were alright, brat.” Sukuna grumbled as he peered down at you.

It was a gross understatement though, because the man was absolutely floored when he saw you on that stage. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before— so used to the heavy metal and the harsher things in life. As soon as that center light hit you though, reflecting the ardently despaired expression on your intricately done up face as you allowed the music to take hold of you, it was as though you had cast a spell on him.

The flowers in his lap nearly dropped to the floor as he found himself subconsciously leaning forward in his seat, lips parted in disbelief. You were angelic, each of your calculated movements translating etherally into the overall story you were conveying through your choreography. Even the subtle positioning of your delicate fingers seemed intricately thought out, pulling him further into your orbit. It made him want to trap you in your own little snow globe to put you on his shelf, ready to twirl so breathtakingly each time he longed for it.

Yeah, maybe alright was an understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to you. Even now, as you smiled up at the waiter taking your order, Sukuna pretended not to be enamoured by the way your stage makeup made your eyes glitter under the restaurant's dim lighting. He had insisted on taking you to dinner following the show, not exactly asking and certainly not taking no for an answer as he led you to his sleek, black car with an urging hand on the nape of your neck.

And you— you were far too elated to be making a friend to care about his off-putting demeanor. You barely had the chance to be remotely nervous over the fact that this teetered very closely on the edge of being a date with a man you would have deemed far out of your league just days ago.

“So, you own the tattoo shop?” Your soft voice pulled him from his haze once the waiter placed your plates in front of you. You leaned forward on the table, a curious smile tugging at your red painted lips.

“Hah— yeah, that’s fucking hilarious.” He scoffed with an amused grin, leaning back as he took a sip of his drink. Taking note of the barely concealed confusion on your face, he cleared his throat, trying to remind himself to be on his best behavior. “I mean, I just finished my apprenticeship— don’t got the kind of money it takes to own my own shop.”

“Oh,” You muttered with a shy smile, suddenly feeling stupid for asking in the first place. “Well, I’m sure you’re really talented. I could barely draw a stick figure without making him look deformed.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, amused by your attempt to smooth over his negativity. You nodded affirmatively as you took a sip of your wine. There was a subtle flush in your cheeks that told him your drink was starting to catch up to you, and he made a mental note to stop the waiter from refilling your glass again. “And what about you, huh? You’d let me come at you with some ink since you think I’m so talented?”

A mock hum bubbled in your throat as you pretended to think about it.

“I don’t know, you’d have to come up with something real cool.” You teased, running your hands dramatically up and down your bare arms. “This is virgin skin you’re seeing here— not to be tainted with any of those boring designs, you know?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.” Sukuna assured with theatric sincerity, only spurring on your giggles as you played along.

“It has to be something that’s me, you know?” You pursed your lips pensively before casting a sidelong glance his way. “Maybe like a pair of pointe shoes.”

“A pair of what?”

“Pointe shoes! You know, the shoes ballet dancers use?”

“That’s fucking lame.” Sukuna blew a raspberry at your idea.

“Oh yeah?” You quipped, biting down your embarrassment at his abrupt shut down of your suggestion. “What would you put on me then?”

The tattoo parlor was already closed by the time you and Sukuna stumbled inside, your excited giggle filling the deadly silent shop as he locked the door behind you and switched on the lights. He shrugged his jacket off, watching you carefully as you snooped around the store.

“Why don’t you sit your ass down before you break something?” He grumbled, snatching a tattoo gun from your curious grasp before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs. You rolled your eyes playfully before sitting down across from him, swinging your dangling feet gently as you looked around.

“So, what were you thinking then, boss?” You questioned, watching as he pulled out his sketchbook and flipped it open. Rummaging through the drawer for a pencil, he peered up at you with a raised brow.

“I don’t know. Tell me something.” He murmured as he began a rough sketch.

“Like what?”

“About you.”

“Oh.” You looked down bashfully, toying with a run in your tights before shrugging at him. “I don’t know. Nothing to tell, I guess. I’m kind of boring.”

“That’s bullshit.” He brushed off nonchalantly, not looking up from his book. You blinked owlishly at him a few times. Noting your silence, he continued. “I saw you dance— saw the look on your face. Can’t tell me there’s nothing to tell there.”

You were taken aback by his astute observation, staring back at the way he concentrated so intently on his drawing. He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in this light. It was silent for a beat too long, and he glanced up at you, the sharp nature of his gaze sending shivers down your spine.

“Well?”

“Okay, well, um… I guess I just never know if I’m making the right decision? About anything ever?” You rationed with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of your own illogical feelings. “I moved here because of the dance program, because I thought that this was really what I wanted. Now I’m here though without all my friends and family, and I’m…”

“Lonely?” Sukuna finished for you as you trailed off.

“I guess so. And, I mean, I know it’s supposed to be hard in the beginning, but I can’t help but feel like I made a massive mistake and my life is about to crumble around me?”

The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper filled the sudden silence that hung between you, but you knew he was listening. Taking advantage of his distraction, you stared unashamedly at his hunched over figure. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black rings that were tattooed across both his arms. There was a subtle furrow in his brows, but for the first time since meeting him it wasn’t born out of anger or frustration, instead telling a story about his dedication to his craft.

You felt the breath get knocked out of you as you observed him. Frantically trying to veer back on topic before he noticed your creepy gawking, you cleared your throat before offering an enthusiastic smile.

“Guess it’s just always been hard for me to commit to things.” You tried to wrap up your subtle sob story. “Maybe that’s why I’ve got no tattoos then, huh?”

He huffed out a breathy laugh, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly as he shook his head at your conclusion.

“Is that what you want? You know, do this ballet shit for a living?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then to hell with people. If they give a shit they’ll be there whenever you come back.” He scoffed as though the notion offended him personally. “You’re too talented to hold yourself back for that kind of crap.”

His nonchalant compliment made your heart pound just a little bit harder.

“What about you?” You asked breathlessly, shaking off the butterflies waging war in your stomach.

“What about me?”

“Why tattooing?”

“Wasn’t good at anything else.” He answered simply, and his dismissal made you roll your eyes.

“Come on, I was just very honest with you.”

“Yeah, well you’re probably better at all that sap shit anyway.”

Sliding off the chair, you walked closer to him and leaned your elbows on the work table before him. Propping your chin on your fist, you grinned knowingly at him, though he still hadn’t looked up from his sketch.

“Maybe that’s why then, huh?” You assumed. He hummed in question at your vague statement. “You draw cause you’re not good at all the… ‘sap shit’. If you don’t know how to say it, you draw it, right?”

The careful maneuvering of his pencil slowed before pausing all together at your read. Of course, he’d always known that his drawings were an outlet for him, having learned through years of repressed feelings how to convey words through lines and swirls. No one had ever explained it so… simply to him before though. Taking note of his forlorn expression, your lips curled up empathetically.

“I do it sometimes too, you know— when I feel too overwhelmed to put my thoughts into actual words. I put them into my choreographies instead.”

“Yeah, it shows.” Sukuna finally spoke up, suddenly uncomfortable with the serious energy that had invaded the space around them. Clearing his throat, he put his pencil down before handing you his sketchbook with an awkward scratch to his forehead. “That ‘you’ enough for ya?”

Your pretty, pink nails clutched at the edge of his sketchbook, slowly bringing it toward you as you soaked in his creation with parted lips. Right in the middle of the page was a snow-globe, flowers that you recognized as the same type he’d brought you earlier decorating the base of it. Inside though, was a ballerina in the very costume you had donned just hours prior on stage, one leg curled up as her arms curved softly around her in the perfect pirouette position.

“Sukuna, this is…” Your voice failed you as you gave each detail another weighted once over. Blinking back the haze that threatened to form over your eyes, you looked up at him with a besotted smile. There were stars in your eyes, and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of them. “This is so beautiful. You’re incredible.”

He tsked dismissively, trying desperately to conceal the softness in his gaze as he took in your reaction.

“Why the snowglobe?” You questioned suddenly, glancing down at the sketch before flashing him with that eagerly curious grin.

He opened his mouth only to shut it once again, not sure how to tell you of where his thoughts had taken him to while he watched you dance so gracefully across the stage. So, he simply huffed in feigned annoyance before snatching the book from you and jutting his chin toward the chair.

“You questioning my artistic decisions now, brat?” He didn’t give you the chance to respond as you sat back against the leather chair. “So, where are we putting this thing?”

“Oh!” You quipped, suddenly coming to the realization that he was dead serious about giving you a tattoo. Anxiety creeped up in your stomach as you brought your hand up to chew apprehensively at your nails. “Um…”

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me now.” Sukuna teased with a mischievous smirk.

“No!” You quickly defended, much to his surprise. “I want to do this— get over my fear of commitment, right?”

He hummed thoughtfully, brushing your jacket from your shoulders to inspect your arms. Grasping at your hand, he turned the inner side of your arm out to face him, purposeful in the way he allowed his fingers to trace up the delicate skin of your forearm. It made your breath hitch, his proximity allowing for a generous waft of his cologne to flood your senses. You clenched your thighs together in a manner you prayed was subtle.

“I think it’d look good right here.” He suggested, grazing his thumb over the expanse of skin just above where your elbow creased.

Taking in a calculated breath to pull yourself together, you quickly shook your head.

“Can’t be anywhere too visible.” You explained, staring down at where his hand still wrapped around your elbow. “I mean, it can, but I’ll have to worry about covering it up for every performance.”

Sukuna’s dark eyes glanced up to meet yours at this statement. His brows were raised in suggestion, an amused smirk pulling at his lips.

“So your friends were serious about you wantin’ a ‘tramp stamp’ then? That what I’m hearing?”

“I don’t want a— a tramp stamp.” You scoffed with flushed cheeks, but he was just too elated at how easy it was to fluster you. “I don’t know, where else do you think that can be covered up easily?”

Sukuna sighed, eyes trailing over your body in thought. It made you squirm in your seat. After a moment, he leaned forward to pull the lever on your chair, sending it reeling backwards until you were nearly laying flat. You squeaked in surprise, quickly grasping his arm for support as he smirked at your reaction.

You watched as his hands came up to hover over the hem of your sweater before glancing up at you in question. Despite the way your heart was beating up into your throat, you nodded softly at him. It had to have been deliberate— the way he dragged your sweater up so agonizingly slow, assuring his fingers brushed against each inch of skin that was exposed on the way. You gulped as he paused just under your bra, and he was once again looking up at you in search of approval, to which you nodded silently, far too convinced you’d embarrass yourself should you speak.

With your approval, he tugged your hem up to rest just under your chin, trying to appear professional as he took in the sight of your bra-clad chest. The truth was though, that his thoughts were so very far from the tattoo at the moment, reveling in the way your breasts strained against the confines of your cups with each ragged breath you took. Your breathing had been growing heavier since the second he laid his hands on you— and he noticed each time.

He trailed his hands up your sides, thumbs grazing over the divets of your ribs in a manner far too sensual to just be chalked up to searching for a good placement. As his pointer fingers traced where the wire of your bra met your skin, he hummed affirmatively.

“It would look nice right here.” His raspy voice was almost a whisper now as he tucked his finger underneath the area of your bra just between your breasts, right over your sternum.

A breathless whimper threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back and looked down at where he had placed his finger.

“Y-You think so?” You whispered, and he quickly nodded, gradually leaning over you more and more with the illusion of getting a better look.

“Might be a little painful, but…” His voice trailed, as did his hand, escaping from under your strap to dance up your chest and neck. “I’ll let ya’ hold onto me if you’re good.”

You were sure your soul had left you at that point, off to find a body whose nervous system wasn’t utterly short-circuiting. Your knees drew together as you fought to maintain your composure at his suggestive words.

“Sukuna, are we… still talking about the tattoo?” You questioned doubtfully, and the smirk on his plush lips told you you weren’t wrong.

“Do you want it to be about the tattoo?”

“Well, it’s just…” He thought the way you stammered over your words was endearing, and it was sending all the blood in his system rushing down south. Glancing up at him timidly, you chewed on your bottom lip. “Would it hurt more if it’s… my first? You know… tattoo, of course.”

For the third time since meeting you, Sukuna was struck by the startling realization that he seriously didn’t deserve any of this. The hand that had been slowly traversing up your neck grasped at your jaw.

“Well, I’d make sure you were good and ready first, doll.” He assured, eyes drifting down to stare longingly at your parted lips before meeting your heated gaze once again. “But you should always be sure you chose the right artist first, you hear?”

And you heard him loud and clear. With your heart beat reverberating mercilessly in your ears, you nodded breathlessly at him.

“I trust you.”

And oh, how hard he worked to assure you didn’t regret those words. Something told him you didn’t though— maybe the way those pretty, manicured nails were digging into his scalp just as his jaw began to ache deliciously in tandem with his mouth’s relentless ravishing of your perfectly supple pussy.

You were dripping down his chin, evidence of you tickling down his neck as he desperately tried to drink up every last drop of you. His colossal hands had come up to hold your trashing hips down against the chair after one too many jolts away from his eager tongue. The sound of his grotesquely sloppy, open mouthed kissed against your core filled your ears as you stared up at the ceiling blearily.

You were so grateful that you always wore waterproof makeup for your performances, because you were sure your mascara would have been smeared unattractively down your face with the sheer force of your overstimulated tears. The saccharine moans that were hurdling their way from your throat made him dig his black fingernails into your stomach as he sucked on your clit as if rewarding you for the melodies.

He grunted when the sensation made you yank at the roots of his hair, and you quickly gasped apologetically before releasing your tight grip.

“Oh! I-I’m— ah! I’m sorry.”

Your disappointed whine made him smirk as his face suddenly emerged from between your legs to leer at you menacingly. One of his hands left your stomach to catch yours as it departed from his scalp, guiding it back affirmatively.

“Tear the shit out if ya’ want— quit fuckin’ apologizing.”

His words had your eyes rolling back into your skull, more confident now as you dug your fingers through his soft locks once again. The hand that had abandoned its post on your stomach never returned, and you instead felt it gliding purposefully up the inside of your thigh. Two of his long fingers sweeped up your weeping slit, gathering some of your arousal as his lips remained focused on your bundle of nerves.

With a thrust that seemed so uncharacteristically careful of him, he dipped his two fingers into your sopping entrance. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, the heels of your feet finding the edge of the chair to pull yourself away from the subtle sting.

“Easy, easy,” Sukuna rasped, tearing his mouth away from your honied center in favor of talking you through your unease. The remaining hand on your stomach began tracing soft, sensual circles against your silken skin. It made you slowly release your hitched breath, apprehensively relaxing back against the leather. “Atta girl, relax for me, yeah?”

You nodded deleriously up at the ceiling, head lolling to the side to watch what he was doing, not expecting to find his ruby eyes already focused on you. A flush fell over your face, hoping your expression didn’t give away how utterly torn apart he had made you with his tongue alone. A smirk tickled his glistening lips as you met his gaze, and he turned his head to press comforting, open mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

After a few moments, his fingers began slowly pushing through the subtle resistance of your core. Casting a sidelong glance your way to catch your reaction, he gently curled his fingers up, digits massaging at the cusiony bundle of nerves at the roof of your walls, and god, how the blissed out popping open of your mouth failed to disappoint.

Burning for a closer look, he rose from his knees to climb onto the tight space of the chair. It was by no means designed to hold two people— especially not when one of them is as abnormally overgrown as Sukuna, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t drink up those candied whimpers slipping past your lips. The steady pace of his fingers picked up as he hovered over you, taking a moment to soak in how beautifully debauched you looked just like this.

“Sukuna—” You whined at the sensation of the steadily growing knot in your stomach, but he only offered a mockingly sympathetic nod. Your fingers dug into the soft fabric of his button down, clinging for dear life as he lowered himself closer to you until his lips brushed against your ear.

“Call me Ryomen, doll.”

And that was the very name that slipped from your lips in an almost strangled sob as you crumpled against him. His lips quickly found yours, though you were hardly able to reciprocate his kiss as moans continued spilling from you, falling into his awaiting mouth like a prayer.

Much like the startled realization you had earlier that he was very serious about tattooing you that night, you were for some reason just as gobsmacked as you watched him rise with his knees trapping you in, purposefully unbuttoning his now wrinkled dress shirt as his hungry eyes stared down at you. He had pushed your sweater off of you just before burying his head between your thighs, and he was now reaping the reward of watching your breasts heave as you looked up at him.

Your expression must have given you away, as it always seems to, as he stood up to work his belt off. The clinking of his buckle made your mind race, chest swelling with a feeling that you couldn’t decide was anticipation or anxiety. As he pulled the leather material through the loops of his dress pants and worked away at his button and zipper, he observed your horribly practiced poker face.

He tilted his head to the side as his bottoms pooled at his feet, the outline of his erection now on full display for your already perturbed gaze. Maybe it was just because you’d never exactly seen one up close before, but, even through the straining fabric of his boxers, you were almost positive that thing wasn’t natural. Hiking yourself further up on the leather chair, you tried not to stare in a way that screamed fear.

The motion made him pause, his thumbs slowly unhooking from their spot in the waistband of his boxers. A careful sigh escaped him, the tiniest of knowing smiles masking the subtle disappointment in his chest as he turned from you to pull up a stool.

“W-What are you doing?” You questioned, watching with fluttering eyes as he leaned down to begin pulling supplies out from the drawer to place on the work table beside your chair.

“I’m tattooing you— the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

Your mouth opened and closed much like a fish as you closed your legs self-consciously. His hair was still rustled from your fingers’ assault through it, and there was still a very prominent tent poking out through his boxers, though he still began prepping his station as though he hadn’t just been about to take your virginity in the middle of this tattoo parlor.

“Well, um… what about you?” You stammered anxiously as he guided you by your shoulder to lay back.

“What about me?” He murmured while pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Didn’t you want to…” The words died on your throat, far too embarrassed to utter them aloud. Your eyes drifted to the side as you felt your face flush. “I mean you… helped me, so.”

Sukuna finally paused, tilting his head to look at you with a challenging raised brow.

“I wouldn’t tattoo you in that chair cause you weren’t a hundred percent about it before. What makes you think I’ll fuck you in it when you clearly don’t want to?” His crude words only made your embarrassment grow that much deeper, but his fingers quickly came up to tilt your chin toward him before he winked teasingly at you. “Don’t worry— one commitment at a time, right?”

Your gaze softened at his consideration, even as he turned away from you to continue prepping his station. It made you forget how nervous you were that he was about to permanently mark you, but a small part of you already felt like he had.

So, you allowed him to carefully pull your bra off when he asked, sighing wistfully as he pressed a longing kiss against each one before cleaning the area. Much like just minutes prior, he let you pull at his hair as the needle gradually began piercing your skin, laughing through your tears as he grumbled about how much of a wimp you were. His soft smile told a different story though as he sat still clad in his boxers and paused each time you needed to breathe, taking each opportunity to kiss and nip at your lips with the false pretense of taking your mind off the pain.

You were sure the process was prolonged at least an hour longer than necessary with how long your breaks would last as he couldn’t bear to interrupt you as you nervously rambled about whatever came to your mind. As you began growing used to the subtle pain, you traced each of the black marks on his face as he worked with a fierce concentration.

Pathetic tears of awe and shock spilled from your tired eyes as you stood in front of the mirror to observe his delicate handiwork. It was just as beautiful as it had been when he first showed you the rough sketch, though he would argue that your skin did it far more justice, chin hooked over your shoulder as he observed your reaction in the mirror.

Sukuna scoffed at you when you tried to ask him the price, much to your mortification. He wouldn’t even look in your direction, busying himself with cleaning up the station as he pretended not to hear your countless protests.

“You just spent like— hours doing this.” You gaped, through flushed cheeks as you jostled his arm. “Please, let me pay you.”

“Wanna know how you can pay me?” He finally questioned gruffly, leaning back against the counter as he pulled you in closer to his bare chest. Breathlessly, you nodded, eyes unable to meet his as they were too focused on his curled lips.

“Whenever you’re ready for your next big commitment,” He whispered, his warm lips brushing against the shell of your ear as you clung to his biceps. “Let it be me, yeah?”

part two

a/n: got the inspiration for this yesterday, blacked out, and suddenly it was finished the next day oops

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

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vaguely-concerned · 5 months ago

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the things it adds to both of the characters involved that lucanis used to have a thing for viago could not have been more tailor made to be for me. literally the ideal thing to come out of this game for me personally and specifically and spiritually. I mean I'm teia x viago trash until the day I die and nothing will ever change this (and with the best will in the world and even the power of lucanis' big beautiful soulful eyes, that would never have worked out even if viago DID somehow understand he was being propositioned. which I'm not convinced he did. the mutual 'so. snakes are pretty cool huh. and. knives. also' awkward energy without someone of teia's charisma and people skills involved to mitigate it... it would have been dire), but on so many levels I find it so incredibly charming for what it says about them both that the (one-sided) attraction was there once.

what's more, it means the man about whom this legendary paragraph was written:

Viago was not a typical Antivan. He liked facts—checklists, numbers, precise measurements. Heart palpitations, clammy hands, tight pants—Viago did not like these things. In fact, he would go so far as to say he hated them. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood.

has got some of the hottest coolest deadliest people in thedas down so catastrophically bad it's got them acting unwise. teia had to wait a UST-drenched decade for him to be ready to take his fucking gloves off for her. and she did!! the tetchiest most neurotic least approachable little vetinari knockoff of a man you ever saw has game for days and days and lives rent free in heads for years. in eight little talons viago consistently feels so inadequate up against dante and it's like. man I'm shaking you by the lapels you have what he'll never have. the ability to bewitch body and soul with your terrible personality and long thin legs. do not waste the gift you've been given go get her she's waiting!!!

(lucanis is really good at reading people, so I wonder if maybe he saw through all of that to some of the steadiness and incredible capacity for warmth and tenderness in specific interpersonal relationships you see viago have with teia when he finally opens up enough, and maybe that was part of it. either way it's so perfect that both he and teia have regarded viago with this affectionate intrigued amusement. lucanis still seems pretty fond of him in a 'viago continues to be exactly himself no matter what else happens or goes wrong. comforting universal constant' sort of way, he brings him up quite a lot in party banter.)

you've seen lucanis' game in this day and age, arguably or at least hopefully older and wiser -- can you imagine how catastrophically bad it must have been back when he presumably handed viago, most paranoid man in thedas all years running, a knife like this expressed everything it needed to. people give him so much shit for the cake moment being his big romantic lock-in, but considering where we started that is GROWTH and I for one am so proud of him fhsdkjaf.

also I wonder at what point vis-a-vis that whole Situation teia and viago met for the first time, leading us to ask... just how much was it a matter of lucanis simply being ignored out of a lack of interest on viago's part (tbf, not entirely unlikely). how much was it lucanis truly not managing to make himself understood. (all but certainly. literally how would one understand that. I think it says some sweet things about rook and lucanis' dynamic that they -- somehow -- DO pick up what he's putting down in a similar scenario presumably b/c they know him pretty well by then haha.) how much was it viago interpreting the romantic move as a death threat from one of the most dangerous people alive and freaking out. (1000% and indubitably.) and how much was it andarateia steal-your-girl cantori turning up and thus setting off whatever spectacular, volatile, awesome-in-the-original-sense chemical reaction between the substances of her and viago's souls that goes on to this day and makes everything else kind of a side note at best. a gentle mix of several of these things, perhaps. ...god I love all these characters so much

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #lucanis dellamorte #viago de riva #andarateia cantori #teia x viago #it's so good to see the characters from extended media get the love they deserve now that everyone is getting to know them btw #like yes hello. this is teia and viago. I would do anything for them. thank you all for joining me in being willing to do anything for them #we are in fact all Correct about this #thinking about younger lucanis anxiously contemplating how to best make his feelings known and settling on THAT.......#it fills me with such an unspeakable aching tenderness for him haha. most autistic guy in thedas truly just trying his best #his best is extremely weird but no less earnest for it #like I think he's naturally just like that and then you get the severely undersocialized aspect from how caterina raised them #and here we are. but he is everything to me still

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city-of-ladies · 9 months ago

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"Here’s what we know about Julia Felix: she lived in Pompeii from at least 62 CE. She was possibly illegitimate but was definitely not a member of the social and cultural elite. She worked for a living setting up and running a very interesting business and, by 79 CE, she had planned to shift her focus from managing a business to owning property. We know all these things because twentieth-century excavations at her business uncovered an advert, carved in stone and attached to the external wall of her huge building. It reads:

"To rent for the period of five years from the thirteenth day of next August to the thirteenth day of the sixth August, the Venus Bath fitted for the nogentium, shops with living quarters over the shops, apartments on the second floor located in the building of Julia Felix, daughter of Spurius. At the end of five years, the agreement is terminated."

This find illuminated the building it was attached to, bringing what otherwise looked like a very large anonymous domestic house into dazzling focus. With this description of the purpose of each room written by the owner herself, archaeologists and historians could see the site through a whole new lens and they realised that they had discovered a Roman entertainment space for the working middle classes. It is, so far, a completely unique find and it is magnificent. It offers us, as modern viewers, two amazing things: a little glimpse into the lives of the commercial classes of the Roman Empire who are so often completely and utterly invisible, and a brutal reminder that so much of what we ‘know’ about Roman women in the Roman world comes from rules concerning only the most elite.

We’ll do that second part first, because it’s the least fun. Roman written and legal sources are pretty universal in their agreement that although women could own property, they could not control it; they had no legal rights, could not make contracts and were to be treated as minors by the legal system for their entire lives. In order to buy or sell property women required a male guardian to oversee and sign off on any transactions. This is a basic truism of women in the Roman Empire, repeated ad nauseum by sources both ancient and modern including me, and it is undermined by Julia Felix’s rental notice.

The rental ad makes it pretty clear that Julia Felix is the owner-operator of a business complex including public baths, shops and apartments (there’s more too, as we’ll see), and she doesn’t seem to require anyone else to help her rent it out. She names her father – sort of; ‘Spurius’ might just mean that she is illegitimate – but this is effectively a surname, a personal identifier to differentiate her from other Julia Felixes in the area. It doesn’t mean her father was involved. Furthermore, the use of her father’s name as an identifier suggests that Julia didn’t have a husband and was either unmarried or widowed in 79 CE. The strong implication of her advert is that Julia Felix was an independent lady, a honey making money and a momma profiting dollars who could truthfully throw her hands up to Destiny’s Child.

We will never know if Julia escaped the flames and choking ash of 79 CE, fleeing as it swallowed her business and her home, but one discovery, made on 28 January 1952, suggests that she didn’t. The archaeologists, led by Amedeo Maiuri, uncovered on that day the skeleton of a woman who had fallen while running across the garden during the disaster. It’s clear this fallen woman was well off, because she was wearing a lot of gold jewellery. She carried four gold half-hoop earrings and wore four gold rings. Two of these rings were particularly expensive; both contained a red carnelian gem, one carved with a figure of Mercury, the other with an eagle. Around her neck she wore a necklace of gold filigree, dotted with ten pearls and hung with a green pendant. Someone stole both the necklace and earrings from the Pompeii Antiquarium in 1975 and no one, somehow, had ever bothered to photograph them so all we have are descriptions but the rings that survive are fine and expensive. The woman who wore them – was wearing them when she died – had real money to buy these objects and the woman who wore them did'nt leave Pompei in time.

Moreover, when she was found it was clear that at the moment of her death she was heading not towards the street or towards safety, but towards the shrine to Isis in the garden where all the most valuable possessions were kept. The valuable possessions that Julia Felix grafted for and maybe couldn’t bear to leave behind. There’s no way to tell whether this skeleton is Julia Felix, whether these bones once stood and looked at the plots of land Julia bought and made plans, or whether they belong to a looter or a chancer or someone just caught out. But it’s nice to pretend that Julia Felix, who shaped the city’s roads around her dream and offered respite and luxury to workers and made a tonne of money doing it, died and was buried with the place that still bears her name."

A Rome of One's Own: The Forgotten Women of the Roman Empire, Emma Southon

#julia felix #historyedit #history #women in history #ancient rome #pompei #businesswomen #italy #italian history #roman history #roman empire #1st century #historyblr #historical figures

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aibafiles · 7 months ago

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Esperanto in Metaphor: ReFantazio

Not long ago I saw this this tweet pointing out that the in-game language in Metaphor is Esperanto (written in another script) and I decided to investigate for myself! The vocal tracks are in Esperanto as well, but I want to focus on the text here since I don't have a great ear for it. (The quoted tweet also points out that you can rearrange the title to get an Esperanto phrase - I think it would be more accurately spelled "Metafore Fantazio," or "metaphorically fantasy"!)

For the unfamiliar, Esperanto is the world's most widely spoken constructed language, developed in the late 19th century with the aim of being an easy to learn secondary language that could act as a bridge between speakers of other languages. While its vocabulary and grammar are largely derived from various European language families, it has speakers worldwide, including a sizeable number in Japan. Given the relationship between Metaphor's world and our own, I think it's a cool choice to take a constructed secondary language and make it the in-universe primary language—not to mention the game's themes of uniting different people with a language intended to do just that.

I studied Esperanto myself for some time 9 years ago, though I've forgotten most of it, so I'm very rusty. That said, I was able to sit down and parse one particular block of text that the game provides a translation for, and use that to read the rest! I'm slowly combing through the demo and translating any legible text, and I wanted to share some of the interesting details I found. If any Esperantists see this and want to weigh in, please do! There's plenty I may not remember or be aware of.

Continued under the cut, including content from the demo:

Let's start with the text the game translates for us! Here's what the VO/subtitles say:

O Great Seeker, bearer of fantasy empowered... Hear my wish, and come forth from thy epoch of glory to grant me thy guidance.

Here's the "deciphered" Esperanto:

Ho, granda serĉanto, kiu vivas en epoko de gloro, kiu enkarnigas la povon de fantazio. Bonvolu disdoni al li vian gvidadon.

And here's a more "direct" translation:

O Great Seeker, who lives in an epoch of glory, who embodies the power of fantasy. Please grant him thy guidance.

Not too much different of note here other than the pronoun usage—in Esperanto, the speaker explicitly uses "he," likely referring to the protagonist. I suspect that the English is actually translated from the Japanese line, which is ambiguous, so they made an educated guess here. But, since this is the same speaker who narrates awakening cutscenes and new bonds, it makes sense that they're calling to the Seeker on his behalf!

This is a point I'm unsure about, but from my understanding, "granda" (here translated as "great") typically refers to size, so it seems like an odd word choice to me—but it's possible there are connotations I'm not aware of.

After some poking around I stumbled across some text on the background of the name entry screen that reads "signaro" (character set), followed by the whole Latin alphabet on the next line.

"But Batts!" you may say. "Esperanto doesn't use QWXY! What about the diacritics!"

Well. There aren't any! There are 6 characters with diacritic marks used in Esperanto (ĉ, ĝ, ĥ, ĵ, ŝ, and ŭ), and since our character set doesn't use any of them, we have to make some educated guesses about which one it is at any given time. This is mostly a non-issue since they're real, existing words, but it does make it a bit trickier at points, and relates to another problem I'll get to in a bit. (There are a select few instances where I've seen diacritic marks on handwritten text or shop names, but there are still far fewer than there should be.)

That said, there is also some plain English text using this script as well, so the game does make use of those extra letters, such as the Memorandum UI - scrolling books have titles like "Marine," "Royal Capital," "100 Mystery of Ningen (humans)," and "Melancholia Gen" (?), plus cute notes in the background like "I want to read slowly" and "already read very good."

Anyway, this diacritic ambiguity bugged me for a bit when I started translating some text with "Euchronia" in it, like the above "Regno de Eŭcronio - Dezerto de Tradia." The Esperanto "C" and "Ĉ" are always pronounced "ts" and "ch" respectively, so the pronunciation here is a bit awkward either way, as both characters are meant to precede a vowel. A more natural pronunciation in line with both the Japanese and English would be "Eŭkronio," a spelling I found once in the body of the contract our protagonist signs to join the army, and never again. Alas.

I noticed a few interesting details while translating place names - the "Trad" in "Grand Trad" (Granda Tradicio) means "tradition" - and many locations are labeled on the map that I don't think are mentioned in the demo's runtime - Oceana to the west is named, but also of note are Kalendulo ("marigold," maybe "Calendula" in English) to the east, the Hulkenmont mountains surrounding that region, and the "Malnova Insularo" (old archipelago) to the south.

(Screenshot grabbed from justonegamr on Youtube.)

Lots of fun stuff going on with these posters - the big propaganda poster says "Mi volas vin por homoj" - "I want you for humans!" The poster immediately to its right and the one with the light-haired paripus are both wanted posters with rewards of 50,000 and 7,000 respectively, and the former has a somewhat legible name - Mikelan something (?). There's also quite a bit of illegible text that I'll need to boot up the game to stare at, textures willing.

Here is where I noticed an occasional problem with the text in this game: some of these posters include words that should have diacritic marks, but instead the characters are gone entirely or replaced with a space. For instance, the poster with the face that appears twice on the bottom row reads "Ser a peto - i tiu viro" where it should say "Serĉa peto - ĉi tiu viro" (Search request - this man). I spent so long wondering what "Dan ero" meant on the poster with the red "no" sign before I realized it was meant to be "Danĝero" (Danger).

This extends to some other parts of the game, such as the world map title ("Unuiĝinta Reĝlando de Eŭcronio" written as "unui inta re lando de e cronio," which is how I knew it was a plain C oops), and the giant statue in More's study covered in archetype names, some of which are missing characters.

I suspect that at some point in the process, these characters couldn't be properly encoded and got lost before making it into the game. Most of the UI text seems to be intact, and this only affects graphic text as far as I've seen. Luckily, we can usually use context to guess at what they should be.

There's a ton more that I'm still hunting down and translating, so if you'd like to see it, you can check out my spreadsheet here! I'm hoping to keep updating it as I play through the full game, and I may make some more posts if I encounter any particularly interesting details. A few more tidbits before I go:

This appears to be an annual calendar - number 1 is at the top and it circles around to 12, and then the inner circle runs from 1-30, likely representing the weeks.

Various graffiti found around Sunshade Row that reads:

Ĉi tio estis infero (this was hell)

Malbela elda (nasty/ugly elda)

Merdo (shit)

And in the words of our favorite tooth...

Elbe venontfoje! (Maybe next time!)

#metaphor #metaphor refantazio #metaphor: refantazio #atlus #atlus games #esperanto #im so deep in the trenches dude i just went around inspecting all the shops and posters around the city #i cant wait to do this in every new location #personal #also i found some very teeny tiny placeholder text in romaji that says something about a hulkenberg image #best of

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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Can I request headcanons for Vox Machina reacting to gn crush telling him/her that they had been told by their crushes that they're not good-looking and interesting please?

Vax thinks that’s an utter bollocks statement to make, especially since it was coming from someone you had feelings towards.

This absolute sweetheart would sit by you under a blanket of stars and keep you company until he thought you were ready to get back on your feet and show the fucker what they were missing out on.

‘They speak the universal language of bullshit.’ He’d say, which made you laugh in how he worded it. ‘I’m being serious! They don’t fucking know what they’ve missed out on, so don’t be too sad because they knew you were out of their reach and didn’t want to admit it out of their own pride.’ He adds as he allowed you to toy with his dagger

‘Still hurts though.’ You murmured as you tossed the dagger into the air and catching it by the handle as it comes down again. Vax frowns before nudging you in the side playfully.

‘Hey, it may suck now but sooner or later we’re going to look back on this and laugh at how much of a loser they were and how much better off you were without them to tie you down.’ He says and you look at him deeply before smiling. ‘Yeah they were a bit bland featured to be honest.’ You shyly admitted as vax laughed.

‘They’re bland as fuck and you are not, they’re a cunt and your far better then to let that twat have any ounce of power over you in any aspect, oh we can go see if I can pickpocket the bastard for everything their worth? Would that cheer you up?’ Vax asked as you mulled over the idea in your head, but it didn’t take long for you to want to see chaos ensue and you were quick to agree.

You and vax then ran off into the night like two giggling idiots, feeling a thousand times better then you were before.

Vex

‘Oh sweetheart that isn’t true, far from it.’ She’d say as she holds your face, wiping away your tears from your cheeks.

‘Then why would they say it.’ You said as you looked to her for answers within her eyes and Vex couldn’t help but feel her heart crack for you.

‘They’re not worth your tears, none at all if this is how they’re going to make you feel all the time.’ Vex told you as her bear companion huffed and cuddled into your side, sensing your sadness and distress and you were quick to run your hand through their fur in silent thanks.

‘I guess I shouldn’t have expected so much from them to begin with. After all nothing is set in stone.’ You murmured under your breath. ‘But it still hurts regardless.’

‘And it will my dear, it will hurt but sometimes it can motivate us into going the path we were meant to all along.’ Vex replied as watched you and trinket interact with hope in her heart that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be alright in due time.

‘Thanks vex, I really needed to hear that today.’ You tell her, only for trinket to huff as you laugh and ruffle their fur, ‘and yes thank you too trinket, thank you for the emotional support.’

Trinket huffed again but this time in triumph.

Percy wouldn’t know how to comfort you at first but would find it easier to just let you air out your grievances instead.

‘They said I’m bland and unappealing! Only to then call me childish when I showed that I wasn’t happy being called such, claiming I can’t handle the truth.’ You groaned as you fell in to the empty chair that awaited you. ‘What a fucking joke.’ You murmured.

‘What they said is uncalled for and rude on all accounts,’ Percy said calmly, ‘they claim it’s true but from the stories you’ve told me about them, they’re the most boring and unpleasant person to ever engage in a conversation with without feeling the need to bring up your topic of the weather.’ He adds and you snorted at his sarcastic tone.

‘Yeah, they do tend to find the most boring things and talk about them for hours, how I thought that was attractive I’ll never know, blinded I guess.’ You shrugged as you both began to shit talk about your former crush and nitpick at their every aspect with scrutinising detail.

‘They cannot tie a cravat properly to save his life.’ Percy quipped.

‘They avoid taverns because they don’t like the liveliness of them, nor the rowdiness.’ You add.

Percy scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Pretentious prick.’

You jolted forward in your seat towards him as though you were going to tell him a secret. ‘He’s not even from a well known enough family for that Percy’s they just wanna act like they are.’ You swore you saw Percy smile before he hid it behind his hand.

‘How embarrassing.’ He mumbles.

‘I know right?!’ You exclaimed as throughout the night you and Percy spend most of it together and shit talking the rejection away.

Keyleth would immediately try to disprove this by taking you out to her garden and showing you all the flowers.

‘Why am I here keyleth? To show how unappealing I am in comparison to pretty flowers?’ You asked.

‘No! I brought you here to show that every flower within my garden is no less loved than the other, all of them are watered and properly cared for regardless of how they look or what they smell like.’ Keyleth replied as she made you look at the daises, lavenders, chrysanthemums, water lilies, thistle, roses, Lilly of the valley and many more as thought they were a kaleidoscope of beauty in all its forms.

‘They are indeed all beautiful in their own unique way.’ You mumbled as you brushed one of the petals of a rose. Keyleth smiled as she put her hands on your shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

‘All flowers are loved by someone and you will find someone who will love you just as much as a Gardner loves their flowers.’ She reassured you in a sweet yet calming voice. ‘For you are worthy of love just like these flowers and you’ll find them, it just takes a little time and patience to happen. So hold on tight because someone is out there looking for the prettiest flower; you.’ She finished and you smiled back at her, resting your hands on top of hers, feeling reassured.

‘Thanks keyleth, I really needed it.’ You replied.

Grog

‘Well they’re stupid.’ He’d say in response.

‘but what if they’re right?’ You asked, defeated. ‘What if I am boring and unappealing?’

Grog huffs. ‘Bullshit. You’re far from either boring or unappealing, they’re just weak shit and cowardly because they know they can’t handle someone like you.’

You’d lean into his side and smiling softly. ‘Thanks for cheering me up Grog, I really needed it.’

‘No problem buddy.’ He smiles as he pats your head as a moment of silence passed between you two. ‘So…do you wanna fuck up some bad guys to relive the stress?’ He then asks and you smiled at him.

‘You don’t even have to ask.’ You tell him as you both set off to kick some ass.

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esthelle-wanders · 2 months ago

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Warriors and Artemis: What The Heck Is Going On With Them (a self-appointed analysis)

SO I don’t tend to get too involved with shipping— but during my time in the Linked Universe fandom, I’ve noticed something consistent: while everyone has their own set of headcanons for favorite couples, Hyrule Warriors Zelink is the princess-hero duo with the widest variety of interpretations.

Aside from other factors— like Warriors fans living for angst— I think this stems from the reality that, in the context of Linked Universe specifically, the dynamic between Wars and Artemis is among the Link-Zelda relationships we know the least about.

Hence, in light of the recent holiday, I wanted to take a moment and collect all the clues we’ve gathered for this relationship over time. And, maybe, spark some conversation! (Buckle up and maybe make some hot chocolate, there’s surprisingly a lot to talk about)

[All image credits go to Jojo, with thanks!]

Part 1: Jojo’s Hints

When considering any Link-Zelda dynamic in Linked Universe, the easiest place to begin is Jojo’s response to the “love interest” question…aka, Default Zelink.

Obviously, this response doesn’t define the limits of fandom creativity, or invalidate the thousands of excellent stories we can tell with our own interpretations. It is, however, incredibly helpful as a starting point when we’re trying to puzzle out where Jojo might take a relationship in future updates!

Note: Redacted

[Originally, this next section included my analysis of a Q&A Jojo gifted to the Linked Universe Discord server. It was brought to my attention that this material was not meant to be shared outside the server. Of course, I have removed it. Creator boundaries are very important, and regardless of my intent or awareness, I want to honor that. Thanks to @luna-loveboop for catching this!

For the purposes of this analysis, I’m leaving my conclusions intact, and replacing this specific section with a link to the LU Discord server. If anyone wants to read the evidence there, along with a host of lovely lore tidbits, absolutely check it out!]

Analysis Resumes:

So, here’s what we know:

1. Wars and Artemis are almost certainly romantically involved.

2. It’s more than mutual feelings, but less than an established relationship.

3. It’s been at least SIX years since the end of their adventure.

Obviously, I still have questions. Chief of which is: what does it mean that this is where their relationship stands, when it’s been 6+ years since their mutual adventure?

This sparks a few more questions.

1. If there’s mutual interest, why hasn’t it progressed?

2. Are there obstacles to a definite relationship?

and, of most interest to me:

3. If there’s an obstacle— are either Warriors or Artemis the reason for this?

Conveniently, that part’s next!

Part 2: Warriors and Artemis

A. Warriors’ side

Thus far, Wars has referenced Artemis (directly) exactly once (in “Moving Forward”):

This doesn’t tell us anything about the specifics of their relationship, but it does show that

1. Artemis is a fond subject for Wars: he cares about her.

2. She’s an exception to his hangups with secrecy: he trusts her.

(I considered providing instances of the “Wars and Not Being Told Stuff” saga, but that would 1. take forever and 2. test Tumblr’s image limit. I think we can all agree that this is a trait of his.)

This is a pretty reasonable indicator of how Wars feels about Artemis… for now. He cares about her, and even more notably, he trusts her.

But what about the princess in question?

B. Artemis’ side

As of now, the Zeldas have only come up a handful of times in LU.

Aside from background comics and cameos, references in the main story are largely restricted to Time giving Sky relationship advice in “Miss Her,” Wild addressing his thoughts to Flora at key moments in the aftermath of Twilight’s injury, and Time mentioning Lullaby in “Timeline talk 1.”

And then, of course, there are the Malon chapters.

Romance, as it pertains to the Links, is the subject of conversation at multiple points throughout this “arc”— but for my purposes, the most important stuff is this panel from “The Bet.”

Okay, aside from Wars making political-intrigue fanficcers very happy, this is super informative. A few key takeaways:

1. Wars also assumes Default Zelink.

2. He doesn’t see birth or status as an obstacle to marriage.

3. He’s so confident that he’s willing to bet on it.

(Admittedly, the Chain places a lot of bets— but it’s still worth mentioning that he’d stand his ground on this)

From here, I think we can make three statements and remain well within the realm of probability:

1. Wars thinks very highly of his Zelda.

He sees how much Time loves his wife, and Time’s general self-possession, and assumes it has to be the princess.

2. If there are obstacles to HW Zelink, they probably aren’t external.

Wars treats public support as a given, as long as the involved parties can play the political game.

3. He seems to be speaking from experience.

There’s no signs of frustration, or even a hypothetical here— he’s talking about this like it’s par for the course. Ergo, he probably hasn’t experienced anything that would contradict that assumption.

My conclusion: Artemis isn’t the obstacle. There’s no indication here that Wars’ Zelda is unable or unwilling to make the political arrangements he mentions. In fact, given how unconcerned Wars appears, I’d say it was never a point of contention at all.

That’s as far as I’m willing to go with this panel alone— but if we factor in Zelda’s attitude in Hyrule Warriors proper, I think it’s reasonable to assume that Artemis is open to taking this relationship to the next level.

*inhale*

So. If there’s mutual feelings, and there aren’t any external obstacles, and it’s been 6+ years— why aren’t they a couple?

Part 3: Let’s talk about Wars

Specifically, Wars and his relationship with… relationships. Of the romantic kind.

Since the earliest years of the LU fandom, it’s been fairly well-established that Wars is the resident flirt.

This comes from a few of the side comics, but also from the first-ever Linked Universe post:

Over time, the fandom’s interpretation of these traits seems to have shifted a bit.

Early fanworks tended to depict Warriors as the “Casanova” of the group. More recently (within the last few years), I’ve seen the widespread reading that “women problems” has more to do with Wars’ personal trauma than with a hypothetical reputation as a womanizer.

While these alternate perceptions have a big impact on how we might interpret situations like this—

— surprisingly, it makes very little difference to this self-appointed investigation. Whether he’s a chronic flirt, processing trauma, or both, the fact is that Wars doesn’t seem interested in “settling down” with a definite relationship.

This is clearest, I think, in this panel from “Powerful Ring”:

Warriors is being a tease here, but using the term “shackle” telegraphs a pretty clear opinion. Time even draws a bit of attention to it with his good-natured “aside.” It’s not something you’d say if you were actively looking to get into a long-term, committed relationship.

We’re encroaching on the image limit, but it’s worth noting that Wars’ attitude here contrasts sharply with Sky’s, and even Hyrule’s. Sky is all bashful interest, and Hyrule expresses doubt over his own ability to “settle down” as the Hero. Meanwhile Warriors, who sits between them on the Zelink romance scale, projects pointed, if very light-hearted, distaste (or at least disinterest).

So here’s Warriors’ side, updated:

1. Warriors cares about Artemis, a lot.

2. He also trusts her, a lot.

3. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want to be in an official relationship with her.

Part 4: Conclusion

Okay! Time for the TLDR:

1. Wars and Artemis are almost certainly romantically involved.

2. It’s more than mutual feelings, but less than an established relationship.

3. It’s been at least SIX years since the end of their adventure.

and, finally,

4. Wars himself is the obstacle to taking the relationship further.

Annnnd that’s as far as I can go, without veering off the tracks into headcanon territory.

Of course, while I tried to be as neutral and “canonical” as possible, at the end of the day, this is just speculation! And Esthelle amusing herself tracking down hyper-specific panels in Linked Universe like it’s an Important Assignment and not an Excuse To Read The Comic Again.

Whatever it turns out to look like, there’s so much potential in the Wars-Artemis dynamic! They’re interesting, and we should talk about them more— even if I didn’t plan to write quite this much about them in one post. I can’t wait to see what Jojo has planned.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far! If you have additions, corrections, theories, or general thoughts, I’d love to read them.

#in which your local wanderer finds more than she bargained for #but seriously guys they’re so cool #lu warriors #lu artemis #linked universe #lu analysis #or whatever this is lol

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

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Keeping a suspense file gives you superpowers

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Two decades ago, I was part of a group of nerds who got really interested in how each other managed to do what we did. The effort was kicked off by Danny O'Brien, who called it "Lifehacking" and I played a small role in getting that term popularized:

https://craphound.com/lifehacksetcon04.txt

While we were all devoted to sharing tips and tricks from our own lives, many of us converged on an outside expert, David Allen, and his bestselling book "Getting Things Done" (GTD, to those in the know):

https://gettingthingsdone.com/

GTD is a collection of relatively simple tactics for coping with, prioritizing, and organizing the things you want to do. Many of the methods relate to organizing your own projects, using a handful of context-based to-do lists (e.g. a list of things to do at the office, at home, while waiting in line, etc). These lists consist of simple tasks. Those tasks are, in turn, derived from another list, of "projects" – things that require more than one task, which can be anything from planning dinner to writing a novel to helping your kid apply to university.

The point of all this list-making isn't to do everything on the lists. While these lists do help you remember what to do next, what they're really good for is deciding what not to do – at all. The promise of GTD is that it will help you consciously choose not to do some of the things you set out to accomplish. This is in contrast to how most of us operate: we have a bunch of things we want to do, and we end up doing the things that are easiest, or at top of mind, even if they're not the most important things.

GTD recognizes that you can be very "productive" (in the sense of getting many things done) and still not do the things that you really wanted to do. You know what this is like: you finish a Sunday with an organized sock-drawer, all your pennies neatly rolled, the trash-can in your car emptied…and no work at all on that novel you're hoping to write.

You can't do everything, but you can control what you don't do, rather than just defaulting into completing a string of trivial, meaningless tasks and leaving the big stuff on the sidelines. Organizing your own tasks and projects is a hugely powerful habit, and one that's made a world of difference to my personal and professional life.

But while good to-do lists can take you very far in life, they have a hard limit: other people. Almost every ambitious thing you want to do involves someone else's contribution. Even the most solitary of projects can be derailed if your tax accountant misses a key email and you end up getting audited or paying a huge penalty.

That's where the other kind of GTD list comes in: the list of things you're waiting for from other people. I used to be assiduous in maintaining this list, but then the pandemic struck and no one was meeting any of their commitments, and I just gave up on it, and never went back…until about a month ago. Returning to these lists (they're sometimes called "suspense files") made me realize how many of the problems – some hugely consequential – in my life could have been avoided if I'd just gone back to this habit earlier.

My suspense file is literally just some lines partway down a text file that lives on my desktop called todo.txt that has all my to-dos as well. Here's some sample entries from my suspense file:

WAITING EMAIL Sean about ENSHITTIIFCATION manuscript deadline 10/24/24 WAITING EMAIL Russ about missing royalty statement 10/12/24 WAITING EMAIL Alice about Christmas vacation hotel 10/8/24 10/20/24 WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

WAITING CALL LA County about mosquito abatement 10/25/24 WAITING CALL School attendance officer about London trip 10/18/24

WAITING MONEY EFF reimbusement for taxi to staff retreat $34.98 10/7/24

WAITING SHIPMENT New Neal Stephenson novel from Bookshop.org 10/23/24

This is as simple as things could possibly be! I literally just type "WAITING," then a space, then the category of thing I'm waiting for, then a few specifics, then the date. When I follow up on an item, I add the date of the followup to the end of the line. If I get some details that I might need to reference later (say, a tracking code for a shipment, or a date for an event I'm trying to organize), I'll add that, too, as it comes up. Creating a new entry on this list takes 10-25 seconds. When someone gets back to me, I just delete that line.

That is literally it.

Every day, or sometimes a couple of times a day, I will just run my eyes up and down this list and see if there's anything that's unreasonably overdue, and then I'll send a reminder or make a followup call. In the example above, you can see that I've been chasing Ted about Sacramento for months now (this is a fake entry – no plans to go to Sacto at the moment, sorry):

WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

So now I've emailed Ted four times. Maybe my email's going to his spam, and so I could try emailing a friend of Ted and ask them to check whether he's getting my messages. But maybe Ted's trying to send me a message here – he's just not interested in doing the event after all. Or maybe Ted is available, but he's so snowed under that he's in danger of fumbling it, and I need to bring in some help if I want it to happen.

All of these are possibilities, and the fact that I'm tracking this means that I now get to make an active decision: cancel the gig or double down on making sure it happens. Without this list, the gig would just die by default, forgotten by both of us. Maybe that's OK, but I can't tell you how many times I've run into someone who said, "Dammit, I just remembered I was supposed to email you about getting that thing done and I dropped the ball. Shit! I really was looking forward to that. Is it too late now?" Often it is too late. Even if it's not, the work of picking up the pieces and starting over is much more than just following through on the original plan.

Restarting my suspense file made me realize how many of the (often expensive or painful) fumbles I've had since the pandemic were the result of me not noticing that someone else hadn't gotten back to me. In essence, a suspense file is a way for me to manage other people's to-do lists.

Let me unpack that. By "managing other people's to-do lists," I don't mean that I'm deciding for other people what they will and won't do (that would be both weird and gross). I mean that I'm making sure that if someone else fails to do something we were planning together, it's because they decided not to do it, not because they forgot. As GTD teaches us, the real point of a to-do list isn't just helping us remember what to do – it's helping us choose what we're not going to do.

This is not an imposition, it's a kindness. The point of a suspense file isn't to nag others into living up to their commitments, it's to form a network of support among collaborators where we all help one another make those conscious choices about what we're not going to do, rather than having the stuff we really value slip away because we forgot about it.

I have frequent collaborators whom I know to be incapable of juggling too many things at once, and my suspense file has helped me hone my sense of when it would be appropriate to ask them if they want to do something together and when to leave them be. The suspense file helps me dial in how much I rely on each person in my life (relying on someone isn't the same as valuing them – and indeed, one way to value someone is to only rely on them for things they're able to do, rather than putting them in a position of feeling bad for failing you).

Lifehacking gets a bad rap, and justifiably so. Many of the tips that traffick as "lifehacks" are trivial or stupid or both. What's more, too much lifehacking can paint you into a corner where you've hacked any flexibility out of your life:

https://locusmag.com/2017/11/cory-doctorow-how-to-do-everything-lifehacking-considered-harmful/

But ever since Danny coined the term "lifehack," back in 2004, I've been cultivating daily habits that have let me live the life I wanted to live, accomplishing the things I wanted to accomplish. I figured out how to turn daily writing into a habit and now I've written more than 30 books:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

A daily habit of opening a huge, ever-tweaked collection of tabs has made me smarter about the news, helped me keep tabs on my friends, helped me find fraudsters who were trying to steal my identity, and ensured that all those Kickstarter rewards and other long-delayed, erratic shipments didn't slip through the cracks:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/25/today-in-tabs/#unfucked-rota

Daily habits are superpowers. Once something is a habit, you get it for free. GTD turns on decomposing big, daunting projects into bite-sized, trackable tasks. I have a bunch of spaces around the house – my office, my closet, the junk sheds down the side of the house, our tiki bar – that I used to clean out once or twice a year. Each one was all-day, sweaty, dirty job, and for most of the year, all of those spaces were a dusty, disorganized mess.

A month ago, I added a new daily task: spend five minutes cleaning one space. I did the bar first, and after two weeks, I'd taken down every tchotchke and bottle and polished it, reorganizing the undercounter spaces where things pile up:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?user_id=37996580417%40N01&sort=date-taken-desc&text=tiki+bar&view_all=1

Now I'm working through my office. Ever day, I'm dusting a bookshelf and combing through it for discards to stick in our Little Free Library. Takes less than five minutes most day, and I'll be done in about three weeks, when I'll move on to my closet, then the side of the house, and then back to the bar. A daily short break where I get away from my computer and make my living and working environments nicer is a wonderful habit to cultivate.

I'm 53 years old now. I was 33 when I started following Getting Things Done. In that time, I've gotten a lot done, but what's even more relevant is that I didn't get a ton of things done – things that I consciously chose not to abandon. Figuring out what you want to do, and then keeping it on track – in manageable, healthy, daily rhythms that bring along the other people you rely on – may not be the whole secret to a fulfilled life, but it's certainly a part of it.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo.txt

#pluralistic #gtd #lifehacks #getting things done #being busy #correspondence #deliberately choosing what you abandon

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thewertsearch · 3 months ago

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GG: Gosh! So formal today. UU: yes. u_u; UU: i'm afraid i am gUilty of rehearsing this pep talk well in advance. UU: i thoUght yoU deserved a proper sendoff.

Umbra has been talking to Jane for a while, then, supporting her from the sidelines.

Are the other Players aware of UU's existence, or is Jane the only one who's heard from them? Each of the original humans was initially harassed by a different troll, so maybe Bro, Jake and Roxy are being 'cheered' by their own respective cheerleaders.

UU: have yoU corresponded with yoUr first designated co-player yet? GG: No, I haven't seen her online yet today. GG: I'm really hoping Lalonde won't flake out on me this time. Have you heard from her?

I've got to say, I'm pretty relieved that the Derse kids have the same last names as before. I was fully prepared for Roxy to be a Noir, or something.

UU: not the today that is local to yoU. UU: thoUgh i do have a wee bit more troUble monitoring her than the rest of yoU. cUrioUs dark patches in transmission, hUmph.

...well, she may not be a Noir, but she is going Grimdark.

My hopes for Roxy to be the only non-corrupted human have quickly been dashed. We've got a full house of Dark Players; four ticking time bombs, ready to be set off at any moment.

This is going to be fun.

GG: I wanted to tell you, I had an amazing dream last night! […] GG: I was in a bright gold city. Above was a brilliant blue sky, but the horizon was dark as night.

Right, so Jane's a Prospit dreamer - and Jake must be the same, since she saw him there earlier. No surprises there.

UU: the place yoU visited was called prospit. it is where i have woken Up every time i have gone to sleep for most of my life.

But this is a big surprise.

UranianUmbra is a Player, and I can't figure out what session they could possibly fit into. Their grey text initially made me wonder if they were the pre-Scratch Signless - but Kid Signless wouldn't need to type in grey, would he? On a peaceful Alternia, he'd have no reason to fear culling, and could happily type in red.

What other sessions are available, then? Jane's, maybe? A fifth interloper to this reset session would certainly be an interesting twist - but it doesn't gel with the rules of the Scratch as they've been presented, and I don't think it fits the narrative.

I guess the only other possibility is that UU is in a fifth session, completely distinct from the four we're aware of.

UU: my prospit is an alternate version from yoUrs, in a completely different session qUite far afield of yoUr reality. UU: if we are ever to meet in person, it is Unlikely to be while playing oUr respective games!

And yes, that does appear to be the case.

...well, I suppose UU could just be bullshitting us, but I don't think that's the case. Bringing a fifth session into the mix is just too juicy to be a mere cover story. I'm pretty sure I believe it - and I have three main theories about what kind of session they're a part of.

Namely:

UU is part of the session which created Alternia’s universe.

UU is starting a session inside the kids' new universe.

UU's session is both of those things at once.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 6 #s179 #4144 #broke: uu is signless #woke: uu is in an original session.#BESPOKE: UU IS IN FEDORAFREAK'S SESSION

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seouljazzbar · 11 months ago

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selfish (m.)

𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹

about— wonbin’s a musical prodigy, having worked alongside critically acclaimed producers, and now he’s your guest lecturer for the semester. correction, your hot lecturer for the semester (producer!wonbin x f.reader)

author’s note— this is a little rough but i still like the way it turned out! title is from this song if anyone's curious hehe i think it's wonbin coded lowkey

warning— language, teacher-student dynamic, me blatantly lying about new york/nyu, alcohol use, (soft?) dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), whiny wonbin, oral (m. receiving), teasing, penetrative sex (with a condom!!) 18+ MDNI!!!

word count— 5.3k

Thursdays and Fridays from four to six, those were his office hours. It was difficult to have office hours that fit everyone’s schedule and that was the best he could do given he was only a guest lecturer. Even worse, he wasn’t given an office for said hours due to the deconstructed nature of the city. Going to university in New York was already far from traditional, and the conditions were no exception. But Wonbin didn’t mind, reserving a nice table on the second floor of Gregory's coffee on Broadway. It wasn't much but it was enough for the four or five students who took advantage of the time.

You were one of them. You knew all too well the struggle of falling behind in a class by thinking you had a handle on the material, only to be drowning in confusion come midterms. The class, The Sociology of Pop Music, interested you too much for you to risk completely flopping just because you failed to utilize your resources. But it wasn’t just your grade that you cared about. It helped that the guest lecturer in question was unbelievably sexy, an absolute dreamboat wunderkind who was just barely older than the students he was in charge of.

Park Wonbin, musician to the stars. He’d worked with countless acclaimed producers, written for most of the Billboard Hot 100 artists, and even put out his own flawless body of work that gifted him one Grammy and several nominations. He was an absolute icon at the ripe age of twenty-two and you were dying to sink your claws into him. Soft and athletic, inky black waves, a bashful smile and a voice that the heavens surely blessed him with. His presence was more distracting than conducive for your precious six-figure education, your thighs clenching together every Tuesday and Thursday that he took his place at the professor’s podium.

But you weren't the only one. Nearly everyone in the class was crushing on him, eyes batting as they asked elementary questions and giggles erupting at even his worst attempts at jokes. You felt like a dime a dozen lusting after him, gnawing your lower lip at the way his back muscles flexed when he turned to write something on the board. Get a grip, you’d think to yourself. You’re fighting for a slot on a list of many.

So you amused yourself with your self-labeled delusion, daydreaming about him outside of class and showing up to his office hours to clear up even the smallest of questions about the week’s lectures. He was careful with every word, taking his time to cultivate thorough responses to any and all questions you thought up for him, even ones that stemmed outside of the class's margins.

You still remember the first time you saw him, your jaw nearly dropping to the floor as he entered the lecture hall like any other student. Except he headed straight for the front of the room, placing his bag down at a table near the podium where the staff chaperone was setting up. He picked up the small expo marker that sat on the table, taking off the cap to write wonbin on the white board in messy penmanship before he followed it up with a squiggly smiley face. You knew who he was, his name notorious in the music wing of your school considering what he’d accomplished at such a young age. His looks definitely didn’t hurt, either.

He smiled at you, sitting in the second row waiting for class to start. Most people opted to sit as far back as possible, in the seats that were easier to slip out of the classroom unnoticed. But you sat proudly in the second row, alongside a few other eager students who’d heard good things about the class. His smile felt so personal, the glint of his teeth nearly causing heart palpitations as you smiled back. He didn’t know your name just yet, and suddenly that was your life’s mission; to make this man say your name.

It almost made you think he was giving you special attention with the way he paid close attention to you, his eyes lighting up whenever you came around the coffee shop steps with your notes in tow. He’d even stay past six o’clock if there were too many people before you who needed help, always offering to buy you a cup of coffee or a pastry after having waited for so long. He was so attentive, leaning into your space to look over the notes you took and making sure you were following along correctly. It was hard not to drool over him, especially when you were two of the last people left on the second floor, looking like a couple to the onlooking world.

“I’m serious! I think I’m gonna ask him out.”

Winter rolled her eyes, closing the magazine that she was never really reading in the first place. "So, what? You'll fuck his brains out in his office and then walk into class like nothing happened?"

"Actually, he doesn't have an office." The thought made you blush, sneaking around with Wonbin while your classmates and professors were none the wiser. The taboo was too hot for you to let go of.

Another roll of her eyes, this time meant for you to see. "___, get a grip. You're just slobbering all over him because he's famous. At the end of the semester, you'll go back to eyeing that one saxophonist."

Winter was numb to the novelty surrounding celebrity and the likes of it. She was a not so struggling artist whose parents funded her entire lifestyle, and it had been that way her whole life. She'd had her fair share of moments in Page Six, and the lavish New York socialite life had grown old for her. Her friends were still in the scene, but she had long since retired. Winter's idea of a fun Friday night these days included watching The White Lotus while experimenting with cookie recipes (with hopes of making it into the NYT Christmas Cookie lineup, of course).

You didn’t tell any of your college friends, though. Sure, the whole university knew that he was guest-teaching a music-related course and that he was unbelievably attractive, but you never mentioned to your friends that you felt something between the two of you. As much as you trusted your small circle of friends, you knew that student-teacher relationships were absolutely prohibited, no exceptions. Knowing this did nothing to quell the insatiable thirst you had for him, or the flutter of your heart every time he locked eyes with you. You were willing to throw caution to the wind for him, knowing you officially had it bad for him the moment you started doodling his name in your notebook. It got to the point where you were ready to make your move, ready to invite him to an apartment party one of your friends was throwing.

It was a Thursday evening, another night of attending his office hours despite your ninety-five percent in the class. You were the last student left in the final minutes of his office hours, just the two of you at the moderately sized table of the café. Your hands were mere centimeters from touching where they were laid out on the table, his warmth radiating onto you as he penciled in some helpful reminders in the margins of your notes. Just as you parted your lips to speak, he interjected. “I think it would be best if you stopped coming to office hours.”

That was not what you were expecting him to say. “Oh, um. Alright. Can I ask why?”

“You’ve clearly got an amazing grip on the material, and if anything you’re wasting your time showing up so frequently. It would be better if I had the full two hours for the students who are really struggling.” He refused to look you directly in the eyes as he spoke, opting to stare at your notes instead.

“Oh. Okay.” You gathered up all of your notes and pencils as quickly as you could, shoving them into your backpack without caring if the edges curled. The chair skidded back as you stood from it, not bothering with a goodbye as you saw yourself out. It was humiliating, almost, for him to have given you such a backhanded compliment. You started ruffling through your attendance record in the class and decided that you could afford to miss Tuesday, too embarrassed to be seen by him so soon after.

You really dodged a bullet there, then. Just seconds away from making a move on him when he told you that you should stop showing up to the only semi-private time you had together. It made you feel more delusional than ever before, allowing yourself to think he might actually feel something for you, too. You ignored the tears of frustration teasing the corners of your eyes, running off to the subway station that would deliver you back to your lousy campus housing safely.

What you didn’t see, however, was Wonbin nervously pulling at the ends of his hair. He was always such a bad liar but he knew he needed to put on the performance of a lifetime in order to get you to leave him alone. Considering it was quite the opposite of what he wanted you to do. There was something so intoxicating about you, your voice, your lips, your scent, that had him thoroughly fucked for you. Legally, he didn’t feel bad about it. But the professor he was working under, as well as the university, had already told him that under no circumstances was he to have dalliances with any of the students. So there he was, stuck thinking about you and not being able to do anything about it.

He had everything under control, at first. A few stolen glances during class but nothing to raise suspicion, just long enough for it to seem casual. Then it was finding you on social media, careful not to like any posts or to actually follow you, which made him feel like he was in full creeper mode. That was where he decided to draw the line until you started showing up to his office hours consistently, just as gorgeous as ever as you plopped down next to him in full concentration. He let himself indulge for a while, showering you with just a bit of special treatment until he realized he was crossing into dangerous territory. So he drew the line without a second thought.

You felt like you were back in high school, throwing a fit over being rejected by your longtime crush. All he’d done was politely ask you not to attend office hours anymore, but it felt like he’d told you off. You tried to convince yourself that it was because of your education, that you didn’t appreciate him taking away a resource that was proving itself helpful for you. But the real reason, the one you didn’t want to admit, was that you knew he felt it too. The storybook surge of electricity when his shoulder brushed yours and the way he never offered to get any of the other students coffee and pastries. The way he’d sometimes call you by a nickname when you were together or the way he spoke so highly of you in your exam notes. It was more than a one-sided schoolgirl crush and he was denying it just the same as you, and you couldn’t ignore how much it stung.

Saturday night was your chance to forget all about it. A friend of Winter's had convinced her to open up her ridiculously large penthouse for a laidback party, and she reluctantly agreed. You went to the party having skipped Wonbin’s office hours the evening before, successfully resisting the urge to 'drop by' the coffee shop casually; that would've been worse than just going to office hours. You were ready to let loose, your body a bit tense after the marathon overthinking session you had when Wonbin all but rejected you. All done up in one of your favorite ‘going out’ getups, you set yourself at a three drink maximum before starting the trek there.

You arrived considerably late, the party in full swing by the time you stepped off the elevator and onto the floor. There were so many people, sweaty bodies and intoxicated breaths, so much so that you almost missed him. He was leaning up against one of the kitchen countertops, nursing a drink of his own as he chatted with your friends. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the sight, almost annoyed that you ran in the same circles. But you pushed it aside to go talk to them, knowing they’d have a drink in your hand faster than you could make one. “___! You made it!” Wonbin’s eyes shot up to you making your way over to them, a raspy ‘fuck’ making its way off of his tongue. He suddenly felt trapped, nowhere to run as his student joined his little conversation circle. “Have you met Wonbin?”

“Yeah, we know each other. From around.” You avoided his gaze at all costs. “I need a drink.”

Wonbin quirked an eyebrow at you, “You drink?”

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight to the other foot as he avoided eye contact with you. “I just, you know… Are you old enough for that?”

“Ew, don’t be gross. I’m a uni student, I’m not in daycare. I’m twenty-one, promise.”

You were baiting him, and he knew it. Your anger was directed at him and only him, your bubbly demeanor intact for your friends as you caught each other up on the last month or so of your lives. You had no intention of making this night, or his life, easy. You knocked back the drink your friend Sohee gave you easily, sending Wonbin a sarcastic wink as he stared at you.

Even though your mind was begging you to run, you refused to let him ruin your night. They were your friends, too, and things were only awkward because he made them so. You stood your ground, pretending like he wasn’t even there as the conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, the party music seeming to follow suit. Everything was fine until someone who’d had too many came barreling into the kitchen, spilling their sticky spiked punch all over your legs. You let out a curse as it spilled into your shoes, the sensation far too uncomfortable to ignore.

“Here, go clean up in my bathroom.” Winter handed you the key, sending you off with a gentle shove in the direction of her bedroom.

You didn’t bother locking the door back behind you, knowing you’d be in and out before anyone could miss you. You took the time to freshen yourself up as well, poking around in Winter’s cabinets to see if she had anything exciting or ridiculously expensive. Perfumes, hand creams, serums. Sometimes you forget how rich New Yorkers could be. You turned the light off in the bathroom, turning to leave when you nearly jumped out of your skin at the pair of eyes watching you. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“You didn’t lock the door back.”

Wonbin crossed further into the room, hands in his pockets as he watched you. Even when you were irritated with him, his charm was able to cut through your faux harsh exterior. “I'm sorry, is this allowed? Or does this count as office hours, too? Should I see myself out so that other partygoers can take advantage of your precious time?”

“___, stop. I was just trying to make a decision based on what I thought was best.”

You scoffed at that, trying to ignore just how close he’d gotten to you. “Yeah, right. There’s only like five people who bother showing up anymore, so I don’t know why me showing up is such a big deal? Like you must think awfully highly of yourself if you th—”

He cut you off with a swift kiss, lips finding yours in the pale lighting of the bedroom as you froze. Time seemed to slow; just barely noticeable, but you could feel it. Like one minute felt like two with his hands cupping your cheeks and his hips pressed against yours. You relaxed into his touch, daring to kiss back as the party outside seemed to disappear. All your senses could focus on was him and the way he seemed to consume you.

He walked you backwards, stopping as you stumbled into a wall. The once innocent kiss grew in desperation, your hands everywhere at once as your tongues clashed over and over again. It could’ve easily been a dream with how much you’d both had to drink, the taste of tequila fresh on his lips as you begged for more. Your leg hooked around his waist to draw him closer, a gasp slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. And then he just stopped.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.” He was breathless, his words not matching his desire as he slowly backed away from you. “This is exactly what I was trying so hard to avoid. I'm your superior, ___, I'd get fired for this.”

Your mind was blank, not a single thought worthy of being voiced in response to him. You knew it was wrong, knew his position could be terminated, but you didn’t care. Not when his touch was so addictive and your name sounded so sweet on his lips.

“This… this never happened, okay? And it can never happen again.”

He stalked off to rejoin the party, leaving you breathless and unsure of if any of that was real. The only evidence was the faint waft of his cologne that stayed behind, taunting you with the memory of his kiss. His soft, heated, spine-tingling kiss that had your head spinning from the feeling of it. Your lips were puffy from it, fingers reaching up to touch them delicately as if you could scare away the feeling somehow.

Your thoughts were interrupted by him coming back in, locking the door behind him as you fixed your hunched over posture. “Fuck it, fuck this job, I don’t need to be a guest lecturer.” His hands found your hips as he pulled you in once again, kissing you with much different intent behind it. “This is all I've been able to think about this semester.”

You let out a whimper, clawing at his shirt as his teeth pulled at your lower lip. His hands smoothed their way up your body, cupping your breasts through the material of your shirt as you moaned into his mouth. This felt real, no doubt in your mind as you melted like putty in his hands. “Do something.”

His lips migrated to your ear, licking along the shell of it as your head tipped back. “Do you want my fingers?” You nodded sheepishly, cheeks flooding with heat in a sudden wave of shyness. “Then spread your legs for me, baby.” Your body obeyed him without question, legs spreading for him to slip his hand between. He could feel how wet you were through the pants you were wearing, your underwear no match for the arousal he was responsible for. Your fingers fumbled with the button of them, popping it open and dragging the zipper down.

You knew this was a bad idea. Whether you cared or not, having his hand slip past your panties was wrong on so many levels, no matter how good it felt. His reputation and your academic career were on the line, but you couldn’t will yourself to stop him. Not when your body was yearning for more, thighs clenching at the circles he was rubbing against your clit. Not with his lips scaling your neck with kisses that only made your knees weaker than they already were.

Your resolve finally melted when he slipped a finger into your warm heat, the stretch easily out-rivaling anything your own fingers provided. The relief sent you into a spiral of high pitched sighs and moans as he added another, curling them near perfectly against your g-spot.

“Sound so pretty for me, baby. Wanna put your moans in a song.” The thought alone made your stomach twist, visions of riding him in his studio while he held his microphone up to your lips. He could see the shift in your expression at the suggestion, teeth practically destroying your lower lip. “Is that what you want, baby? Wanna be my muse?”

All you could do was nod as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your orgasm crashing over you much sooner than you expected. He kissed you through the waves of pleasure, swallowing the pleas of his name and the whimpers from the slight overstimulation of your clit. The cherry on top, though, was when he licked his fingers clean of your arousal without once breaking eye contact. It made you shudder.

Neither one of you knew where to go from that moment on, the heat of it all long gone as you faced reality head on. You zipped your pants back up to break the silence, fluffing your hands through your hair to alleviate any signs of sexual activity before rejoining the party. Not a word to Wonbin before going back like nothing happened, even though the uncomfortable dampness of your panties said otherwise.

unsaved number, 3:25am

↳ it’s Wonbin, i got your number from sohee. we should meet soon

you, 9:08am

↳ yeah? where?

wonbin, 9:09am

↳ 150 east 14th st, @ 11

you, 9:12am

↳ smh making me get my day started on a sunday morning

His apartment was as well kept as him, minimalistic in all its glory but decorated with his achievements wherever he saw fit. Awards, records, framed lyrics, any and everything he felt deeply proud of. You knew that you shouldn’t be there, no matter what occurred the night before. Wonbin was irresistible, and giving into his invitation was practically asking for trouble.

“I got coffee and bagels, if you’re hungry.”

Not just any coffee, though. Coffee from Gregory's. Of course he’d do something like this, you thought. He's trying to prey on my sentimentality to get me in bed. Kinda smart. “Why am I here, Wonbin?”

“Well as of three o’clock this morning, I’m no longer your teacher.”

You nearly choked on nothing as he smiled at you, pulling up the email correspondence from the Dean. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I never needed that teaching job, anyway. I took it because it felt good helping students, but it was getting to be too much, cutting into my own work time. And then when we crossed that line last night… I knew quitting was just the right thing to do.” He walked gingerly toward you, assessing your reaction carefully as he closed the gap between you.

You looked at him incredulously, brows furrowed as if he’d grown a second head. “Y-you’re not my teacher anymore?”

“I'm not your teacher anymore.” He backed you up against the wall of his foyer, the position eerily similar to where you were mere hours before. Heat rose to your face as he gazed at you, his smirk painfully malicious as his hand cupped your jaw. “Lemme take you out on a proper date. Dinner… the Angelika… dessert.”

Your gulp seemed to echo the walls of his apartment, giving up any and all fronts you were trying to put up. You could feel his lips hovering over yours more than you could see them, the soft hum that reverberated as he asked you if you’d like that. “I'm… not sure we’ll make it to dessert.”

“I thought I taught you last night to always leave room for dessert.” He popped open the first button of your blouse, getting a peak at the lavender bra beneath it. You’d dressed up for him, knowing very well where things could lead and not wanting him to see you in your far less alluring Sunday attire. Your breath hitched at his touch, your mind shouting for you to just wait for the date before crossing any more lines. But there he was, just as sexy as ever, sliding the sleeves of your top down your arms with his forehead pressed against yours. Youd didn’t stand a chance.

Your back was hitting his mattress before you could gather the strength to hold off, more of your clothes in a tangled web on his floor than on your actual bodies. Your skin was saccharine, a sweetener he’d been searching for ever since he could identify its name and he couldn’t get enough of it. Marks of his lips were blooming on every inch he could reach, your body signed with his name in a way you never knew you needed. His name rolled off your tongue like it was the only word you knew, the two syllables your new favorite combination in the entire world.

His hands guided your slip skirt down your legs, discarding it carefully with the rest of your clothes as you tugged impatiently at his boxers. He was hard, dangerously so, and it was killing you not to see him in all of his naked glory. “Canisuckyouoff?” You didn’t even think about it, the words flying out of your mouth before you could even try to stop them.

“Seriously?” You were already flipping the two of you over, inching your way down his legs until your face was leveled with his hips.

“Yes, please. I wanna make you feel good.”

Nothing could’ve prepared you properly for his length springing out of his black balenciaga underwear. It would’ve been a shame if he wasn’t as well-endowed as you wanted, but you were mature enough to know that it wasn’t all about size. Wonbin, however, was all about size. He was probably just barely above average in length but he was thick with veins in all the right places that had you close to drooling all over him.

You licked at his tip in a graze, not enough to satisfy him but enough to get him squirming. Small, agonizing licks here and there that had him fisting at his hair in sheer frustration. You pitied him with a bold lick up the underside, but went right back to the teasing that had him close to tears. “___, fuck, I can’t take anymore of this. I thought you said you wanted to make me feel good.”

“I will, baby, you just have to be patient.”

He whined out, not sure how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out if you kept teasing him so mercilessly. He was just about to beg again for you to touch him when your lips wrapped around his tip, his back arching involuntarily and sending him further into your mouth. A guttural groan accompanied the pleasure pumping through his veins as you bobbed her head along his cock, swirling your tongue around him every so often. You had a primal need for more of him, more of the way he tasted and the precum that was oozing out of him. More of the way his groans switched to melodious moans as his climax neared him, more of the way his face was contorted in pleasure as your hands rubbed at his thighs.

His orgasm was building up in the pit of his stomach, the twine of tension pulling further and further until he was sure it was going to snap. Your mouth abandoning his cock in favor of his balls almost did the trick, your hand wrapping around him to jerk as you sucked one at a time. He pulled you off of him reluctantly, wanting so desperately to cum in your mouth but knowing he’d regret passing up the opportunity to fuck you. “I have condoms in the drawer.” His breath was ragged as he pointed the drawer out to you, his hair sticking to his forehead as his body heat was skyrocketing. You handed one to him before shuffling back to the bed, letting him climb over you clumsily with his arms supporting his weight.

He tapped his tip against your clit, running it between your folds as you bucked your hips toward his. “That's not fair.”

He slipped inside of you, barely an inch before pulling back out. He repeated the movement over and over until you were gripping at his hips in an attempt to force more out of him. “Isn’t it, though? You had your fun…” You were so wet that it was making it hard for him to keep up, your soaked walls pulling him in with every shallow thrust. “Have you learned your lesson yet, baby?”

You nodded your head furiously, feeling almost embarrassed by how much you needed him. He refused to give up so easily, though, continuing his perfectly angled thrusts that grazed your g-spot just enough to make your hips buck. "Wonbin, please."

His first full thrust had you clenching around him so tightly that he almost came on the spot, the warmth of you wrapped around him so overwhelming that he had to screw his eyes shut. Your eyes fluttered in satisfaction as he filled you to the brim, the stretch burning deliciously. All you could think about was the next time, and the time after that, and how he could stretch you out whenever he wanted to now. He was yours now.

His lips wrapped around your nipple as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you, savoring how tightly you were squeezing him. It was all the anticipation finally materializing into something he couldn’t get enough of. Your moans, your faces of pleasure, your scent, your taste. He wanted as much of it as you’d let him have, for however long you’d let him have it. "Is this what you were thinking of while I was trying to teach you? Hm? Thought about me stuffing you full of my cock?"

The only noise you could manage was a raspy moan, mind completely numbed by the sensation of his skin pressed against yours. You could feel your lips move, saying something along the lines of wanteditsobadbinnie, but the feeling of his nose dragging up the side of your neck distracted you.

Your bodies seemed to mold together as he picked up speed, drilling into you relentlessly as your nails dug into his hips, asking for more. The slap of your skin against each other was his kryptonite as he wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to hear it again and again until it played in his mind on a loop. He could feel the knot in his stomach warning him to slow down, to relish in the feeling a bit longer, but he didn’t care. Not when your lips were pressed right to his ear begging him not to stop. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

He tried to respond with a ‘yes’, but the absentminded clench of your walls sent him over the edge in a flash. He emptied himself into the condom, trying his hardest to focus all of his efforts on pushing you towards your own orgasm. His fingers found your clit between your sweaty bodies, the rough pad of his thumb orbiting your clit until you joined him in your own throes of euphoria. Your nails clawed down the expanse of his back as your vision blurred, ecstasy replacing every cell in your body as he kissed along your jaw.

The room smelled of sex and the remnants of his body wash, both of you fighting for air as you wrapped yourselves in his sheets. Your fingertips danced across his chest as he watched you wordlessly, face flushed with the evidence of your Sunday afternoon in. “What are you thinking about?” He caught your hand in his, eyes still trained on your face.

“Honestly? Trying to remember if there are any hidden corners in the Angelika where we can have sex.” You looked up at him as he laughed, a smile of your own creeping onto your lips. “What? Too honest?”

“You’re kinda perfect, you know that?”

His lips pressed chastely against your temple. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

#wonbin x reader #wonbin imagines #wonbin smut #riize smut #riize hard hours #wonbin hard hours #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize imagines #riie x reader smut #park wonbin smut #seouljazzbar

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lordcrumps · 4 months ago

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Sul Sul!

Hello, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who have reached out to me and my family the past few months; for those who don't know, my mum and uncle passed away on the same day in June and then in November I lost my cat of 19 years, so lets just say 2024 can do one!

2025 brings me hope that the year will be better, and the worse of it will be over! I plan on getting back into creating CC streaming etc, but right now I am enjoying playing... well I was until my Pleasantview got corrupted due to user error, but no fear we have a new hood in the works! Pleasant Point - inspired by our very own @kashmiresims Kashmire Point!

Thanks to those who have been with me on discord calls and chats, especially those the last few months, you really helped me in more than one way and I would love to tag you all but I don't want to accidentally miss someone, but you all should know who you are!

What is to come from lordcrumps this year? Details under the cut!

So what shall we expect from lordcrumps in 2025 and beyond? That is a big question! So let's give a big answer! Below will be of some of my most asked questions, so hope I clear things up!

STREAMING - My first goal is to get Pleasant Point finished and ready to play. Once I have this I shall get back into streaming again, setting up a schedule and what not for those who are interested! You can follow here!

YOUTUBE - Can't tell you when, but I do plan on doing more on Youtube!

CUSTOM CONTENT - Everything that I have created CC form, I will go through and upload at some point. I have TONS of stuff that was meant to be in "sets" (sets like, every wall / every floor / entire stuff packs etc) but never got around to finishing due to my hyper-focus moving onto to something different. So instead of hoarding them, I will eventually get around to uploading them! Cos lets face it, I can always update at a later date!

TERRAIN DEFAULTS - My Pleasantview redo / Pleasant Point / Sim State University Redo all use custom terrain types (like lush, dirt, concrete etc), so they are not that user-friendly to just import and play sadly, so I want to create a tutorial set and videos to go along with them. I also have to have the CC released for them to work too! As well as tutorials on how to have multiple roads sets within in one hood / different roads for different terrain types.

REQUESTS - I still do not want to take requests, this is because I do not like to promise something and never deliver. I will continue doing what I want to do and sharing with of all you. Just assume that one day the entire Sims 4 will be converted by myself or other friends of lordcrumps.com *wink* @platinumaspiration *wink*

LORDCRUMPS.COM - This site is not going anywhere, well at least that is the plan, this will be the place for all of my released CC!

LORDCRUMPS DISCORD - Back in my streaming and YouTube days, I had a discord. Feel free to join, the plan is once all the existing CC is sorted and uploaded. Anything that needs play testing / unreleased stuff / sneaky conversions, will be posted in there plus any updates to existing CC.

LINUX - Thanks to @kashmiresims and @teaaddictyt i'm now a linux boi, so will update you how that goes - so far, I am very impressed.

My TOU, I have had a lot of questions about my "rules" and what not so I want to clear things up as much as possible.

I purchase the Sims 4 for me to convert the items to Sims 2, I simply upload to lordcrumps.com for prosperity reasons, and of course to share with you all.

Feel free to use / share / edit what ever you download from me. Not 1 person owns sims conversions; so I cannot lawfully dictate who does what with the downloads. What I will say is for authentic LordCrumps and co CC, it will be on lordcrumps.com, this is where any updates, fixes etc will be posted.

If you use CC for a lot and package up that to share, fine, just make sure they have all the dependencies needed (Sims 4 shadow file, master meshes etc) Just don't take entire packs and re upload and claim as your own? I only ask of this due to the nature of updating files with minor tweaks, updating and bugginess, if it is all linked to one place (my site) then all the updates will be there too.

Hair Defaults by Platasp - this is one download I will be strict on, do not upload anywhere else, this is because of how interconnected the hairs are to each other, removing one might break another. Any updates will be kept to lordcrumps or individual files on PlatAsp tumblr. lordcrumps.com is not planning on shutting down any time soon, so there is no need to re-upload anywhere else.

SIMS 4 CC CONVERSIONS - Yes, one day once The 4T2 conversions have been done, I will be working on converting CC for the Sims 4, but right now; no, unless its really spectacular. So please stop asking to convert stuff from Sims 4 creators as that does not interest me right now. The reasoning behind this is that if I start treating myself to CC items, I will get spoilt and not want to convert actual Sims 4 stuff, silly excuse I know, but I would like to convert the Sims 4 first. That would be cool.

ANYWHO - That's all I think I have to say now, if you made it this far down thank you, here is some more pics of Pleasant Point to say thanks ahah!

Have a great day! See you soon!

#4t2 #update #crumpsanswers #future plans

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hiraethwrote · 7 months ago

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AS I LIVE AND BREATHE

pairing : tobio kageyama x f!reader summary : he thought time had extinguished any silly little feelings he'd had for you. that was way back in high school anyways. why would they linger when he didn't have you around to remind him? cw : just pure fluff, very self indulgent, kinda boring but idc, heavy pining, timeskip, set in 2016, flashbacks, reader is a uni dropout (lowkey me venting about dropping out lol), mild cursing, no use of y/n word count : 3.5k

He couldn’t help how his looks always used to linger — a generous gesture he had only spared you.

It wasn’t news to Tobio that he was notorious for being unapproachable. He had a permanent frown stamped on his forehead that always gave the impression that he was in no mood to interact with anyone. And if someone had been possessed with the spirit of engaging in small talk, he would keep his answers short and to the point. If the topic didn’t interest him, he saw no reason why he would waste his energy on it.

Eventually people just stopped trying, leaving him to live in his exclusive bubble where volleyball was the only thing that mattered — and that was enough for him.

However, you decided to go against the stream, ignoring the pinched eyebrows and standoffish demeanour.

It wasn’t anything big, but you just spared him something as simple as a smile. If he accidentally locked eyes with you across the classroom, or you passed each other in the halls, your lips would curl into the kindest smile before going on with your day.

At first he had thought you must have mistaken him for someone else, because why would you smile at him? You never really talked to each other, falling into the roles of simply being classmates.

But the tiny smiles continued, clearly meant for him. And what was probably just a meaningless act of kindness to you, had heat creep up his neck and colour his cheeks in dusty pink. Eventually he developed the tiniest hallway crush, eyes shyly seeking you out as he impatiently waited for you to catch him.

That’s where his courage stopped however. He knew he would never be brave enough to ever initiate a conversation, based on the few times words were exchanged between you and his mouth would completely dry out. You could come over to ask the most casual question of “do you have a pen I could borrow?”, and when he muttered a shy no, you simply went on to ask the next person, thinking nothing more of it.

Tobio would churn over the interaction for hours, hindsight supplying him with all the possible answers he could have given you.

Three years of a childish crush eventually came to an end when graduation rolled around. When separated, your smiles simply ceased to exist in his life and it was like a fog had lifted. He left Karasuno, and the crush evaporated into nothingness and he grew out of the childish infatuation.

That’s what he thought at least.

Right now, that very smile that had his heart race was staring back at him, identical to how he remembered it — turns out his infatuation had nothing to do with age, and everything to do with you.

Your deadpanned expression twisted into one of pleasant surprise when you spotted him. “Kageyama Tobio, as I live and breathe!”

Maybe he had always had a tiny glimmer of hope he would eventually run into you again — that being said, he was not prepared for that time to be now. Last he heard, you were basking in the glorious university life in Tokyo, attending some prestigious education he could only imagine getting into. You weren’t supposed to stand behind the counter of the quaint convenience store, much like you had done when you were sixteen.

What was even more unexpected was how you knew his name. Your interactions throughout your acquaintance had been so few and far between, he had just assumed you knew him as ‘that volleyball guy’ — but hearing his name spoken in the tune of your voice, travelling in cheerful waves, had his heart beat a little faster.

Despite his frozen stature, he let his eyes take in the scenery of you sat behind the counter. Your shoulders were close under your ears, the corporate fleece doing little to shield out the gushing cold air that occupied the store.

As unflattering as the white light above might have been, it did little to diminish your appearance which was prettier than he recalled — you looked very much like yourself, just slightly different. Every feature had turned more defined, the childlike curves slowly fading with time.

“There’s a face I didn’t think I’d see any time soon.”

Swallowing his nerves, praying his flushed cheeks wasn’t beyond obvious, he placed his items on the surface in front of you.

“Could say the same.” He wished he was brave enough to look at your face, wanting to take in all the subtle changes to your appearance. But he didn’t dare let his eyes rest on you for more than a few moments at a time, redirecting his attention to the rather interesting products he was purchasing, impatiently waiting for his heart to settle so he could act like a normal human being.

“Thought you were busy being a big shot volleyball player,” you teased, the obnoxious beeping of you scanning his items ringing in his ears. “What are you doing back home?”

He cleared his throat, hoping it would bring back some steadiness to it. “Just visiting,” nodding carefully as the words tumbled awkwardly out of him.

As he paid for his items, he tried to let his innocent urges control him and tilt his head to look at you — he had to greet the embarrassed redness to his cheeks like an old friend when he saw you already had your eyes focused on him.

“Are you in town for long?” You asked as you handed him the bagged groceries, your fingers brushing against his in a featherlight touch. It was so modest, he wasn’t even sure you felt it — he most certainly did.

“Just a few days.”

“That’s nice. A break from your hectic schedule.”

“I’ll still practice.”

Your smile widened as you pulled your sleeves over your hands, folding your arms and leaning forward on the counter. “Yeah, guess I kinda knew that.”

He felt so stupid, ogling you with big eyes as he racked his brain for all that he knew of small talk, and yet he blanked completely.

“Guess the life of a pro athlete never stops,” you said as you checked your wristwatch, probably waiting for the time to strike eleven so you could close up.

“No, not really.”

He sensed an awkward silence sneak in on the conversation, and he so desperately did not want it to end. And he spotted the slightest betrayal in your expression when your smile wavered for a split second — and he was convinced it was because you thought he was being weird.

With this opportunity served on a silver platter, he wanted to prove he wasn’t as socially inapt as he came across to be.

“You’re in Tokyo now, right?”

“Well, yes, technically,” you chuckled, undisclosed information hiding in your answer. It was uncontrollable how he quirked an eyebrow in confusion, though he quickly smoothened it in hopes he didn’t come across as rude. “Guess I’m home visiting as well. For a while.”

“And do you like it? Tokyo?”

“It’s definitely more my pace.”

That confirmed his suspicions, possessing a lively personality that seemed too big for this small town. He had always found you to have a soothing type of vibrancy that filled every room you walked into.

And your energy was infectious. He was still anxious beyond belief, but somewhere inside him he could sense that your presence had a calming effect on him. It possessed him with a flash of courage when he said “it’s nice seeing you again.”

You blinked at him, lips parted in surprise at his unexpected line, and for a moment he was sure he had messed up. He clenched his fists, waiting for you to laugh at him or tell him off.

He didn’t expect your smile to return, reigniting the butterflies once again. “Yeah,” you spoke softly, “yeah, you too.” The smile remained and the cute crinkles by your eyes deepened.

The conversation was once more drifting towards a close, and this time Tobio didn’t think he had it in him to resurrect it. He took a deep breath and presented you with a tight lipped smile, mumbling a quiet “see ya,” before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

He only had time to place his palm against the cool glass before you called his name. “Hey, Kageyama,” capturing his attention, eyebrows narrowed as he waited for your next words. “I close up in like ten minutes. Wanna walk me home?”

What? Had he heard you right?

You sunk your teeth cutely into your bottom lip, a tiny bit amused by how visibly his mind was racing to comprehend your request. “I would love to catch up more.”

His shoulders raised, as if this wasn’t the most stressful interaction he could ever remember being in, “sure.”

You gave him a look, one he couldn’t quite deduce the meaning of, while there was a sprinkle of mischief in your pursed smirk.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket so his nerves wouldn’t spill out in anxious fidgeting, while you started all your closing routines.

As subtly as he managed, he kept his attention on you, standing behind the register, counting the change as you quietly hummed along to the melody coming from the cheap radio behind you. Consuming his mind was the thought that you seems to fit perfectly into the impression he had created of you back in school — kind, generally keeping a smile on your face, really just trying to enjoy the day that was today.

Your head tilted down to check your wristwatch again as you let out a deep exhale, ridding yourself of the strain caused from the closing shift before you disappeared down one of the isles.

Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he was still trying to mentally prepare himself for the walk home — he was probably never again going to get the chance to prove to you that he wasn’t as socially constipated and egocentric like everyone thought he was.

The lights shut off, and you emerged again, having changed out of the uniform and into a black hoodie. “Finally,” your head fell back playfully in light exasperation, hands rummaging through your bag before you pulled out your keys, “staying open until eleven on a Saturday should be considered a crime. There’s not a soul present the last hour.”

Tobio walked out the door first, and without even thinking about it, he simply held the door open for you. He had just acted on pure instinct, and didn’t reflect on it until you flashed him another one of your charming grins. As you mumbled quiet gratitudes, he spun his head away and retracted further into the neck of his jacket — if you were to look directly at him, you would definitely be able to see the generous flush spreading across his face.

“So, Kageyama Tobio,” you said nonchalantly, spinning the keys around your finger before tossing them in your bag again, “the olympics. Quite the achievement.”

“Thank you.”

You chuckled as you startled to fiddle with the packaging of a protein bar. “Never took you to be so humble,” you teased.

Turning to look at you again, he let his eyes be led by the protein bar heading for your mouth, before landing on your lips — your plump, glossy lips that looked so extremely soft. It wasn’t until you’d finished chewing and started talking again he was able to catch himself staring and avert his gaze back to the path ahead.

“I mean, from what I’ve seen of you on the court, it’s not the first word I would use to describe you.”

“You’ve seen me play?”

A deeper laugh escaped you, one that reactively caused a smile to grow on his face — he quickly wiped it away, too scared to lean into the feeling. “Of course I have. Several. Always having us at the edge of our seats. But you-“ you cut yourself off, pointing the bar in your hand at him.

Did you even have a clue what you were doing to him? His breath hitching in his throat, tense shoulders stiffening his arms when you so abruptly stepped ahead to walk backwards while always able to look at him.

“You, mister, got pride filling your every fibre when playing.”

Eyes widened at your compliment — because that’s what it was, a compliment. Not a comment with rude undertones, not a snarky statement to piss him off, but genuine admiration for his craft.

“You think so?”

“No, I know so. It’s quite obvious when looking at you.”

“Been looking at me quite a lot, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

This time he surrendered to the urge to flash you a smile. It was a reserved one, however, barely able to spot how the corner of his lips tilted upwards — cute.

“Guess it’s not too long until you head for Rio, right?” You asked as you took another bite.

“In a couple of months,” he retracted his hands from his pockets to clutch around the strap of his bag. “Kind of a wonder they let me visit home.”

“Yeah, would think they’d have you locked up in the gym until you leave,” and you chucked again, a sound he quickly realised he really liked to hear.

He cleared his throat, slowly stepping into a more confident role. “When are you heading back to Tokyo?”

Your steps came to a halt, and he couldn’t help but notice how nice you looked under the warm light from the street lamps, he nearly missed the uncertainty that traveled across your face.

Eventually it seemed you reached a conclusion, opening your mouth. “I don’t know, to be honest. Soon hopefully.”

“Studies going well?”

“No,” you hesitated, forcing a laugh. “In fact, they’re not going at all.” You could tell by the look on his face he was confused. “I dropped out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t know why it had so easily slipped past your tongue. Usually you had a hard time admitting it out loud, feeling the weighing sensation of disappointment from everyone you told.

However, there was something about Tobio that had you fall into a sense of comfort you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the fact that he was someone who wasn’t a complete stranger to your life, yet unfamiliar enough that he felt unrelated to everything going on.

“Do you regret it?”

It wasn’t the question you expected. People usually wanted to know why — why would you do that, and what were you to do now? Would you manage to find a job no when you had strayed from your original plan?

You let the question linger in the air for a moment before you answered, “no. I don’t.”

His chest raised as he took a deep breath, a welcoming and warm smile greeting you, one that was wider than the one he flashed you earlier. “Good.”

It was one word — just one word, yet it was loaded with a sense of understanding you had barely received when sharing your life changing news. It had you purse your lips to contain the overwhelming smile that was about to overtake your entire face.

The eye contact was intense, heart pounding a little harder by how surprisingly comfortable it felt, filling you with giddiness you hadn’t experienced in a while.

“You know,” you cleared your throat as you turned your back to him and started walking again. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” It only took him a few seconds to catch up and walk along side you again. “You’re quite the character, Kageyama.”

He scoffed, pretending like what you said didn’t make his heart flutter. “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t know, I always just assumed you would be like how you are when you play,” you sighed. “You’re so sure of yourself when you’re tossing. Very serene, if you will. Unless you were yelling at that little guy. Damn, what was his name? The ginger?”

Amusement twisted his expression. Not only because you knew Hinata as ‘the ginger’, but also because you had known his name, but not remembered his old teammate’s name despite him being considerably more outgoing than himself — Tobio was almost certain you’d had more conversations with Hinata than you had ever had with him.

“You talking about Hinata?”

“Yes! Him!” Excitement spilling out in your gestures. “Besides the point. My friend had a crush on one of your teammates, so she sometimes dragged me along to spy on your practices.”

He was slowly growing tired of how you had the blush lurking under his skin almost permanently, when he once again felt it approaching as he waited for the rest of your story. For the short time you had been walking, he had managed to find a somewhat steady presence, but the little confidence he grasped onto was hanging on by a thin thread. Whatever you were to say next threatened to sever it.

“There was a handful of times I witnessed you scream at the poor guy,” you laughed, nudging an elbow to his side.

Maybe he could latch onto the pleasant vibrations of your laugh to maintain his peace, trying not to let the memories of his outbursts crush him.

“It was a refreshing sight.”

Come on, Kageyama, give into the banter.

“Has anyone ever told you that you come with quite loaded statements?” He hoped he managed to smear his voice with sarcasm in order to hide the insecurity that tainted his words.

“Sorry,” trailing off with a soothing giggle. “Bad habit — what I mean is, it expanded the impression I had of you. You were always so quiet, minding your own business, much like you are now. When you’re playing, however, you’re emotional, if that makes sense?” You said with an awkward chuckle.

Was he dreaming? Was his ears playing a trick on him? Had you really been doing such an analysis of his character, enough to form an opinion that went beyond the impression he gave to most people?

He turned to look at you, locking eyes with you immediately — there was something so tender in your expression, gaze seemingly holding a deeper message he was eager, desperate, to unveil. But he struggled, too wrapped up in how your vibrant grin had transformed into a shy tilt. He couldn’t quite describe it, but it felt more genuine somehow — emotional, maybe, as you’d put it.

“Anyways,” breaking the eye contact, feeling an unfamiliar burning sensation tingle up your neck. You weren’t used to being flustered like this. “Yelling at Hinata, proved you’re more of a hothead than you let on,” trying to fall back to a casual tension, ignoring how the recent eye contact with his captivating blue eyes had stirred up the tiniest whirlwind inside you.

“Never thought you were so observant,” he quipped, and much like you, he tried to smother the boyish excitement you had caused.

“What? D’you go around thinking I was too daft or something?” There was a very evident joking manner to your tone, but didn’t seem like he picked up on it.

“What? No! That’s not-“

“I’m just playing with you, Kageyama,” you laughed, true melody to his ears.

“I just meant… of me.” He kept his eyes locked ahead, knowing his face was about to completely succumb to the blush that was so easily brought to the surface around you.

“Yeah, well,” he heard your deep sigh, “I don’t know. You stuck out to me, despite you trying your very best not to.”

All his experiences regarding you from his school days suddenly intensified — everything was put in a new light with this revolutionary information. No wonder he had found himself falling for you when there was an unspoken connection he wasn’t even aware of.

“This is me!” Your tone changed immediately, the sentimental energy evaporating into nothing but a memory. “Thanks for walking me home.”

He was fortunate enough to receive another of your characteristic smiles, those would probably always have an hypnotising effect on him, as you backed up towards the entryway of your house.

“My pleasure,” he said, trying his best to mirror the earnestness of your affection.

You had pulled out your keys again, “and I’ll make sure to tune in when you’re in Rio. Even if I have to get up in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe you’ll see some of that emotion you were talking about.”

“Oh, I’m betting on it,” you opened the door. “Good night, Kageyama.”

“You know,” he was quick to interject before you had the opportunity to disappear through the door. He swallowed his fear, “you can call me Tobio.”

A smile. “Good night. Tobio.” You held his gaze a second, and you were out of his sight.

tags : @hiraethwa

an : okay i am not so happy with it... the words were working against me on this one. might be bc i'm not familier with writing for hq yet but eventually. i have more hope in my next hq fic. it is also v boring, but it's more of a venting fic for how i feel about dropping out (it comes in waves yk)

#— ଓ my creative corner #dividers by inklore #hq #hq oneshot #hq x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio oneshot #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama oneshot #kageyama #haikyuu kageyama #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama

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