#her hair is absurdly fun to draw

[dunedragon]

Do you have an illustrated design for Iggy? I've been reading your fic for a while now, but I wish I had a concrete image on how she and her grandma looked like! :D

Oh man I've never put her to paper before. Let me take a swing at it (and a little sketchy of her grandma since I ran out of steam at the end haha)

(The blue is not her natural hair color, she just likes being extra, edgy lil gremlin. The silver runs in her family though.)

Panic Edit: I ACCIDENTALLY USED THE WRONG PALETTE THE CORRECT ONE IS UP NOW

[shima-draws]

IT'S NAHU TIME 🎉

More info on him below <3

Name: Nahu

Age: 24

Hair color: Orangish-pink

Eye color: Dark teal

Element: Darkness/Dragon

Nahu is THE boy of all time. He's lovable. He's STOOPID. He's absurdly powerful. He's really chill unless you mess with his friends, then he goes apeshit. He's got a boyish charm that every single member of his group is attracted to. He's the official leader of the group and they would do ANTYHING for him 🥺 He's got the sort of qualities that just naturally draw people in and make him someone worth following. He's got that sort of selfish selfless aspect that makes it so he does what he wants (a very "marches to the beat of his own drum" personality) but it always ends up benefiting other people somehow. He doesn't see the world in black and white; if someone is in trouble he'll do anything to help them even if they end up becoming his enemy down the line--that's just the kind of guy he is :"D He's not the type of person to hesitate, and this usually ends up getting him in trouble as he tends to dive into things headfirst without stopping to think, AKA he has no impulse control whatsoever so he's a walking danger magnet. He'll do things his own way and his friends have learned that there's no point in arguing against his decisions bc he'll turn around and do it anyway! They've gotten used to it at this point but sometimes they still question the way his mind works lmao

Despite the fact that he's kind of dense, he's shockingly perceptive when it counts, able to cut through right to the heart of things. Being a dragon elemental probably helps with that since it heightens his senses and makes him hyper aware of others and their true feelings. In the case of Ione this proves especially helpful since Nahu really doesn't have the attention span to properly learn sign language but he generally gets the gist of what Ione is trying to say even if he doesn't understand her entirely. This leads to interesting situations where Ione will say something and mean something completely different, and only Nahu can pick up on that due to being able to read her emotions better ;)

Again he's fiercely loyal, especially to his friends--he views any sort of betrayal on their behalf the ultimate sin, and will fight with his life to protect them. He's got an unwavering belief in all of them, even if the situation seems dire or if they lie to him for his own safety. He loves them like his family and will sacrifice anything for their happiness 😭 This leads to him being very stubborn in some cases.

Nahu has zero knowledge of what personal space is so he’s up in his squad’s business ALL the time. Which they get used to pretty quickly, since he’s so physically affectionate. His favorite thing to do is press his forehead against whoever he happens to be clinging to at the time. Whenever a new member joins and they happen to see Nahu doing the forehead touch they’re like oh hello what?? 😳 Nahu does this most often with Ezio bc Ezio was the first one to join up with him and is the most familiar with his affection. (Also it’s really fucking funny to just imagine Ezio, who is SO stoic and straight faced all the time, casually leaning into Nahu’s touch and knocking their foreheads together. They make me ill) Eventually it becomes a comfort thing for all of them. Since Nahu’s their leader whenever they’re unsure he’ll just look at them and KNOW and come over and lean his forehead against theirs and it’s so soft...

He loves exploring, viewing visiting any sort of new place and just traveling in general as a grand adventure. This leads him to dragging along other members of his group with him even if they protest :"D But it usually leads to something fun happening anyway!

When he was a child, Nahu was very close with another girl his age. They made many plans together, including growing up and going out on adventures, but unfortunately the girl had a terminal illness and passed away (in his arms, no less). This, in turn, triggered Nahu's magic to go out of control, causing the black "stains" on his arms that are basically an irreversible manifestation of his darkness magic. He was a bit self conscious of the way his arms looked at first but now he’s totally chill with it (and. When he uses his powers dragons scales sprout on his arms and glow and it’s sick as hell.)

Due to the trauma of his friend's death, whenever someone in his friend group gets sick, Nahu freaks out and mother hens to the extreme. Generally he's a very carefree person so it's always very jarring for them to see him so worried (since he's always got the utmost confidence in them too). He's just not the worrying type! They end up having to take care of him more than the other way around. It's very sweet (but also sad considering the reason behind it).

Nahu hasn't cried once since before his childhood friend died, and honestly he really hasn't taken the time to come to terms with her death, instead choosing to ignore any mention of it entirely. It's just trauma he's never recovered from, and he stubbornly refuses any attempt in bringing it up, even to his squad. This has definitely caused some tension between him and the girl's father, who just wants Nahu to accept her death so he can move on :"( Nahu just doesn't want to accept it. Despite him being very open with his emotions this is the one case where he keeps a very tight lid on them. When he cries for the first time in front of his friends they flip their SHIT because they've never seen him cry before.

I haven't hashed out too much of his own personal goals yet; I can say tho that he's searching for his mother who disappeared when he was still a baby. His father is a famous adventurer who kinda took off on him as well so he grew up under the care of several others. Nahu's never held this against his father; he's not really the type to care much about that. Instead he finds his father's dream-chasing adventures to be quite inspiring, which eventually leads to him making the decision to leave on his own and find his mom.

Anyway I love him he is THE baby boy ever send tweet

[p0rk-guts]

He's finally done I think. WOAW! Radio demon time!!!

Okay time for comparison + breakdown rant ^ - ^ another SUPER long one I had a lot to say about this silly guy

ALRIGHT. So. Atp all that can be said has been said about Alastor but I'll gloss over it anyhow. Grossly historically inaccurate hair and clothing. Invisible deer theming. One of the main reasons he's got one of the most clowned on designs in the show is bc he's a pretty good representation of the worst it has to offer. He's absurdly red and has the waspiest waist in town. Also gotta zero in on the coat for a second bc I find it incredibly stupid that he went to that tailor bc of his coat being ripped and then left the shop with the exact same torn coat on oh goddd that felt like a complete joke who wrote this

Also his "redesign" was pointless. He stayed pretty much entirely the same except his colors got pinker and grosser and now he has this?? White trim on his lapels??? Even less 1930's accurate and it only serves to hurt the pallate in my eyes. It's the only spot of white on his entire design, it doesn't appear anywhere else so it throws it all off. And it's so bright. Is it supposed to be a focal point?? His tits????

Anyways onto my guy who I love so very deeply. I'm pretty sure sepia film was outdated by the 1930s but I gave him a palette inspired by it to emphasize how dated and stuck in old ways he is. Added blood red accents bc. Well. Cannibal murderer. Also bc I redid the sin colors so red is wrath and it seems like a fitting sin to pair him with.

After looking into 1930's men's fashion a tiny bit (thanks anon, this video was helpful!) and gave him a double breasted coat but wider and pointier so he looks a little less like just some normal guy and really emphasize how prideful and egotistical he is. "Ooo look at me I'm super big and imposing and powerfulll". I think it's a fun character trait of his. Definitely keeping it.

I liked him wearing gloves bc I feel like he wouldn't like getting his hands directly dirty and would always be covered when committing his murders. Maybe he's a germaphobe even. "I can excuse murder but I draw the line at dried blood on my skin". Also the gloves being white would contrast really well with blood so. Love that

I gave him a long tie to free him from the Vivziepop bow tie uniform and a fedora to add to the 1930's vibe and serve as something that can occasionally obscure his face in shadow. His glasses are also opaque and I imagine his eyes would rarely be shown if ever to make him seem more inhuman and off-putting, disconnecting him from personhood a bit. Wanted to add to that with his smiling mouth never opening and just being a static grin that can only occasionally widen or lessen, his voice cracking out of his "speaker" with fuzzy radio static. Seen multiple ppl use that idea and it always eats

I love Alastor's silly theatric nature (primarily in the pilot) and I'd probably keep it, but I'd add a layer of uncanny-ness to him where when he's not putting on his silly jovial facade, he gives off an unnerving vibe. Trying to appear approachable and charming and pleasant to lure people in before he's revealed to be less than human. Loveee thattt

I love Alastor being a deer. Predator becoming prey (animal) + "prey animal" lulling people into a false sense of security before striking. Love it. We should be CAPITALIZING ON IT❗So I gave him deer like legs, visible deer hooves, and more readable deer ears + the ham radio tower antenna antlers (sorry 4 calling them horns 💀)

Tried to make it a little more obvious that he's a mixed man of color by giving him dark wavy hair and the faintest hint of lip definition Viv uses in her style. I think it works. He's still not dark skinned tho

LASTLY the mic. Also not an original idea as I've seen tons of others turn it into a carbon mic but turned into a pentagram shape and I love the idea a lotttt so I joined the crew.

AND THAT DOES IT!!!! hope u like him as much as I do hehe. Just 1 supplemental doodle this time sorry :/ showing off how his face is probably obscured most of the time. He's. So hard to draw. I'm just bad at men but I'm tryinggggg guys

Alsoooo I've already finished the drawings for Niffty, Angel, and Husk! Once I've finished their breakdowns I'll add em right to the queue, and then I'll make a post with all of the main 6 together :3

[the-lonelybarricade]

You Look Like Bad News - Part II

Summary: Elain hated living next to Lucien Vanserra. Almost as much as she hated the girl he was fucking.

Thank you to @velidewrites and @vulpes-fennec for quickly beta-ing this, I appreciate you so much!! This is a VERY late birthday gift and slightly late Valentine's gift to @separatist-apologist, who I hope feels better soon.

CW: Smut, Dirty Talk, Bad BDSM Etiquette, cockwarming, sex toys, restraints, overstimulation, rough oral sex. 6.4k words of pure, depraved filth

Read on AO3 ・ Read Part I Here

-

Elain had never had a relationship with a man that was just fun.

She had never woken up with one in her bed, uncertain if she should offer him breakfast or demand he go back to his own home so she could get ready for work.

Letting him spend the night had probably been a mistake—a line that shouldn’t have been crossed. Because somehow inviting him to spend the night had blurred into making him a cup of coffee, and now she could see him grinning over her laptop as she took her morning meeting at her kitchen table instead of her fucking desk.

It’s the abs, she thought, hating him for wearing nothing but his boxers as he perched himself comfortably against her counter. She was absurdly weak to the sight of that golden brown stomach, and giving him a cup of coffee had been her weak-willed excuse to keep those stupidly toned abs in her sight for just a few hours longer.

“Good morning, everyone,” her boss chimed brightly through the speakers.

Elain responded with her own equally fake enthusiasm, before muting herself to say to Lucien, “Just give me like ten minutes on this call.”

And fuck, if that responding grin didn’t make her teeth clench. It was far too mischievous for 8 in the morning, and Elain was certain she wasn’t equipped to handle whatever plan was forming behind those clever eyes.

All he asked was, “Are you muted?”

Her eyes darted to that red microphone button in the corner of her screen, which assured Elain that she was muted. But this wasn’t her company-wide call and she would undoubtedly have to speak at some point. Hyperaware of the camera aimed at her face, and the zoom call of 20 hardly-smiling faces watching her, Elain did her best to say with her eyes don’t you fucking dare.

Lucien wasn’t staring at her eyes, though. He was watching her fingers, waiting to see if she would click that button to unmute herself. And when she didn’t, he set his coffee on the counter.

“I think I need to make a few apologies,” he said. Elain couldn’t trace an ounce of remorse in his voice.

Deciding to treat him like a problem that would go away if she simply stopped giving it attention, Elain fixed her eyes stubbornly on the screen in front of her. Whatever apologies he needed to make could wait ten minutes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lucien walking towards her. She wondered if this was how it felt to be pinned beneath a predator's gaze, trapped between the table and chair with no means of escape.

Lucien braced his palms on either side of her laptop, demanding attention as he leaned over the screen. Any closer, and his long Autumn-leaf hair might have fallen into the camera’s view.

Keeping her head as still as she could, Elain flicked her eyes up at him through long eyelashes, batting them in a way that she hoped would make him at least half as breathless as his dark eyes were making her. She tried to ask, What do you have to apologize for?

She could see the way he stirred, how his expression nearly sharpened at the challenge. “I saw the way you winced when you sat down,” He said in a low voice. Elain thought the smug smile on his lips was a far cry from apologetic. “That pretty ass still sore? I can kiss it better.”

It was an effort to draw her eyes away from those lips and what they were threatening to do. If she wasn’t in a meeting, she might have taken him up on it. “My ass is fine,” she said dismissively.

“It is,” Lucien agreed, with a grin that spoke of far more satisfaction than Elain felt was earned. She batted errantly at his hand, trying to communicate that he needed to go away as she unmuted herself.

“I have a meeting with Olaya at noon,” she said to her team, narrowing her focus back to the panel of coworkers staring absently at their screens. If they had noticed her speaking to someone off camera, they certainly weren’t invested enough to look intrigued. “I’ve put aside time for us to discuss the Velaris Inc. proposal and I just wanted to go over a few points before I meet with her…”

Seemingly bored now that her attention was elsewhere, Lucien retreated from her field of vision. And Elain relaxed back into her role, hoping that perhaps he would leave during her meeting and spare them both the awkward goodbyes. Not that it would spare them from the awkward hello when she returned to her office and saw him sitting at his window tomorrow morning.

God, what had she started? The more she thought about it the more she realized her rational brain had been switched off entirely yesterday. How could she keep a casual relationship with a man that she had to stare at 40 hours a week? She wondered if that tongue was even worth—

Elain jolted in her seat as something wrapped around her ankle. Strong, slender fingers, soon replaced by the caress of soft fabric. At first, her curiosity made her complacent. Whatever Lucien was up to, it wasn’t worth garnering the suspicion of her coworkers.

But then her ankle was pulled taut against the wooden leg of the chair, and when she tried to move it, she was met with resistance.

She muted herself long enough to growl a warning, “Lucien.”

“Everything okay, Elain?”

Her heart rate spiked at the sound of her manager’s voice. “New dog,” she answered quickly. Could they see how tense her smile was? Could Lucien? “He keeps jumping on me.” Elain peaked under the table to find Lucien on his knees, staring proudly at his handwork. He had bound one of her ankle to the chair with the belt of a dressing gown, and he offered her a shameless grin as he reached for her free leg.

“Down boy,” she chided, kicking her leg out. With a sigh of resignation, she returned to the meeting. “Sorry, I’m still teaching him how to behave.”

Lucien expertly wrangled her free ankle to the other side of the chair, asserting more force in the way he gripped Elain by the knee and spread her legs open. As payback for calling him a dog—or simply because he’d gathered she enjoyed it.

“I thought this was supposed to be an apology,” she whispered at the next chance she had to mute herself.

From beneath the table she heard that low, devastating laugh. “I’m on my knees, aren’t I?”

The camera only captured her from the waist up, which was why Elain hadn’t bothered to change out of the pair of thin pajama shorts that subjected far too much bare skin to Lucien’s mercy. He started with his hands. Slow, taunting strokes. Just to say: I’m here. Are you nervous? Then his lips, sucking kisses into her tender skin, trailing up from her knees to the seam of her hip. She wondered if she’d be painted in even more bruises tomorrow, her entire body a monument to his desire.

She wondered why she liked the idea of being covered in him.

Maybe it was the impermanence. Graysen had given her jewelry that she still had tucked away in a drawer. When she looked back on old pictures with her friends, she could still see his gifts glinting around her wrist, her neck. The trace of him tarnished so many memories.

But a bite mark on her thigh? That was equally a way of saying I like you without forcing her to keep it, to examine it, to look too closely at what she was doing. When the mark faded, there would be no evidence Lucien was ever there to begin with. It would be her quiet secret to keep in the back of her mind, on lone nights when she slid a hand between her legs and thought about how he had touched her the same way beneath her kitchen table…

Elain’s lungs hitched as his fingers snuck beneath the fabric of her shorts, coaxing her back into the moment, forcing her to confront the camera that captured every stuttered breath rising out of her too-flushed chest. She foolishly thought, at least he can’t pull them off while I’m sitting.

Lucien, she was learning, was not a man who was daunted by obstacles, nor confined by convention.

Rather than try to remove her sleep shorts, he pressed his face into her clothed center and laid a teasing, open-mouthed kiss directly against the fabric. Elain didn’t realize how worked up he’d made her until that small kiss, delivered with just the right amount of friction, had her bucking her hips closer. His responding breath of laughter made her stomach flutter.

“That feel nice, baby?” he murmured, dipping his head to press another teasing kiss with just enough pressure to drive her insane. If not from that, then from the scratch in his voice on the word baby. Almost like he meant it. She was already contemplating slamming her laptop shut so she could topple over this table and chair and find a way to get her revenge on him for constantly interrupting her meetings.

Instead, she whined. A high pitched, needy, embarrassing sound that made her resist the urge to cover her rapidly reddening face. Elain didn’t know where the sound came from—just that somewhere in trying to keep her expression restrained and her body still, it slipped out.

“I thought so,” he hummed, slipping his hand beneath the flimsy material of her shorts. She squirmed as much as she could with her restrained legs, which prevented her from snapping her knees shut. He dragged a finger leisurely through the seam of her cunt. “These meetings can be so dull. Let me make it more enjoyable.”

“Luc—”

She cut herself off with a sharp inhale as he sunk two fingers inside of her, gliding easily to the knuckle. Her body immediately clenched at the intrusion, tightening around his fingers. Lucien groaned at the sensation—she knew what he was imagining, and the thought made her entire body go loose and taut at once. Two of his fingers stretched her nicely, but she’d already seen him naked. The stretch of two fingers would feel nothing like the stretch of his cock.

Suddenly, her mouth felt dry and she ached. For more. For Lucien. For something other than the smug look he flashed her, fingers stilled as he smiled like he was doing her a favor by not moving them.

Her colleagues were still speaking, making arrangements for the next meeting. They weren’t concerned with the way she shifted, grinding herself as subtly as she could against Lucien’s hand.

“There you go,” he cooed approvingly. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers made an obscene noise as he slid them out of Elain, then pushed them back in, creating a taunting rhythm that felt less like let me take care of you and more like let me torment you. Maybe to Lucien, those things meant the same.

Elain’s lips parted open, a silent moan wavering in the hollow space. With the camera on her, watching her every move, and her legs pried open on the chair, there was nothing she could do but take what Lucien saw fit to give her.

“Think you can whimper for me again, baby?” He slid a third finger in, forcing the sound like he wanted to prove she’d never had any choice to begin with. “There it is.” His voice was molten silk pouring over her skin, and when he leaned forward to suck her clit through the thin shorts, he pulled the noise from her again. “Such a pretty sound.”

“Elain.”

She froze.

Lucien didn’t, still fucking her on his fingers as her boss asked, “What is your availability looking like tomorrow?”

God, was he really going to force her to speak with his fingers still moving inside of her? He’d slowed his pace, ensuring the slick sound of her arousal didn’t carry to the microphone as she unmuted herself and stuttered, “I-I am available to meet any time past noon.”

“Okay, good. Then we’ll schedule our meeting for 12:30.”

“Sound perfect,” she said, knowing her voice was strained. Lucien had swept his thumb up to rub cruel circles against her clit. “See you all tomorrow.”

The call ended, saving Elain from the difficult task of looking herself in the eye after what she was letting a man, a stranger, do to her.

“You’re getting better,” he murmured. The digits buried in her cunt curled, brushing against a spot that made her back arch while he continued laying praise at her clit with the pad of his thumb. “You didn’t make any noise while you were unmuted.”

“Asshole.”

His laughter was little more than a rumble in the back of his throat. “Speak to me like that, and I’ll reconsider giving you a reward.”

The words could have been a blade held against her pulse for the way it quickened. The way she held her breath and considered her next words carefully. “I thought you were supposed to be apologizing.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’ll punish you for being a brat later.”

Later.

“For now…” Lucien trailed off, sanctioning his actions to communicate in the place of words. His hand slipped out of her shorts and she watched, lips parted, as he drew each of his fingers into his mouth to suck on them like they’d been coated in honey.

Then he surged forward, not waiting for permission or reproval—Elain hadn’t decided which she would have given. Not that it mattered. Every thought eddied out of her mind the second he pulled aside her shorts and placed a messy, loose-tongued kiss against her bare pussy.

Elain tipped her head back and moaned as his tongue laved greedily through her folds. She understood why he had waited for this until the call was over. With the added moisture of his tongue, and the way he slurped and sucked like he could have drowned happily in her taste, there would have been no disguising what they were doing.

Her fingers tangled into his hair, roughly pulling him closer. She let her nails dig against his scalp to urge and beg in ways her pride wouldn’t let her voice. Lucien grunted against her wet skin like he understood, hands finding her hips to pull them off the seat, giving him a better angle to fuck her against her tongue until she was nothing more than a mess of useless whimpers.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the word muffled and barely intelligible, but she could understand because she was thinking the same. Fuck. He garbled something else, something like, are you going to come for me?

And it was all Elain could do to say Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes—

Lucien had been winding a ribbon of flame slowly down her spine, and at this final pull it snapped, barrelling her towards him as blood rushed through her ears and for a moment, her vision blurred. Lucien licked her through it, riding her slowly down from the high until her fingers slackened their death-grip on his hair and she slumped back into her seat, gasping.

The restraints on her ankles fell away one at a time, then he pushed the chair back so he could rise to his feet.

His eyes met hers, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed the russet entirely. Her arousal acted like gloss over his full, smirking lips. “Thank you for breakfast.”

Elain was still trying to catch her breath, but she managed to whisper, “I was raised to be a good host.”

Lucien laughed, before the smile shifted to a grimace when he saw the time. “I should probably get going. You aren’t the only one with a meeting first thing.” He leaned forward, catching her mouth in his own with a kiss that was too long, and contained far too much tongue, to be a standard goodbye. “I’ll see you later.”

Later.

Elain thought a lot about later, once he’d left her sitting shell-shocked in her kitchen, shorts uncomfortably wet. What exactly encompassed later? This was all just for fun, and she didn’t know how often two consenting adults were supposed to meet for just fun. If she wanted to see him again this evening, did that make her clingy?

She waited until the final hour of the day before she returned to her office, wearing a pair of leggings that she was determined not to let him ruin.

“There she is,” he greeted once she sat down.

It felt safer looking at him through two sheets of glass. He was still devastatingly beautiful, looking nothing like the shirtless rogue who had gotten on his knees for her that morning. Now he wore a light brown pullover sweater, a white collar peeking out of the neckline. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows so that the white cuffs folded out. It shocked her. She’d forgotten, in all his debauchery, that he was actually a businessman. A respectable member of society.

Or so one would think, before they saw the smile that bloomed across his face.

“Are you nearly finished?” He asked.

Elain knew nothing good could come out of his expression. If she was smart, she would tell him she was working late, and go back to her kitchen. But she wasn’t smart. And she’d come into her office for a reason.

“Why?”

“I don’t have any more meetings,” he said with an innocent shrug. “Thought maybe you’d like to come keep me company.”

“I’m still working.” it felt at least like she was trying not to indulge her worst impulses.

Lucien gestured toward the computer in front of him, brows raised. “So am I.”

She had finished everything vital. Really all that was left was a few emails that she could get back to in the morning if she really needed to.

“I think you’re determined to get me fired,” she said. But for some reason, she was standing up from her chair anyway, gathering her work laptop and anything else she might need for a… change of scenery. What a nice way of labeling a booty call.

He answered his door quickly. Evidently there was no panicked cleaning on his part. No rushing to hide old plush toys and dirty laundry. At first, she thought it was because like so many other men, he probably didn’t care about keeping a standard of cleanliness.

But once she was inside, she noticed the organized shoe rack, the clean floors devoid of any clutter, and the neatly framed pictures on the walls. She thought that maybe there had been no panicked cleaning because the place had… already been clean. And if she didn’t think he’d been stupidly attractive before, then seeing the state of his house would have been effective in changing her mind.

“Same layout as yours,” he said, noting her scrutiny with a raised brow.

Elain couldn’t help looking at the photos in the entryway, many of Lucien with other redheaded boys, presumably his brothers. One of a pretty auburn haired women held in the arms of a large, dark-skinned man with a smile as wide as the sun peaking over the horizon. His parents? It felt inappropriate to ask, though she was suddenly stirring with curiosity about his life. The man behind the glass. Behind the wicked tongue and smart mouth.

But this was all just fun, so she swallowed her questions and followed Lucien into a room that she was familiar with, though she’d only ever glimpsed it looking in from the window. It was larger than she expected. There was so much beyond the small nook where he perched every day at his desk, and the dresser along the wall where she’d spied him changing. Now she could see the double bed tucked into the corner, neatly made and decorated with a butterscotch orange duvet that had four matching pillows. It looked soft, but she resisted the urge to run her hands across the fabric.

“This is… nice,” she said. What she really wanted to ask was, why did you put your office in your bedroom? What was in the other room that he dedicated so much space towards?

Lucien laughed. “Thanks.” He slid back into his desk chair and Elain paused, hovering awkwardly with her laptop in hand as she glanced around the room. Where was she meant to go? His bed, she assumed, but when she started to step in that direction, he called, “Elain?”

She paused. “Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

Elain glanced hopelessly towards the bed, then back to Lucien. His expression was beginning to make her wonder if she’d made a mistake coming over.

I’ll punish you for being a brat later.

“The bed?” She answered, knowing it was the wrong answer. Not knowing what she should have chosen instead.

“So soon? And I thought I was forward.”

Elain bit her cheek. His stare was getting heavier. More reproving.

“You know where brats have to sit?”

She stared back, still trying to decide what game he was playing and what part she should play. She blinked at him, doe-eyed and sweet.

Lucien didn’t fall for it. “Brats have to sit on my cock.”

“What?”

Smirking, Lucien unzipped his trousers, freeing his erection from his briefs. Her mouth went dry as he took himself into a large fist, pumping slowly down the engorged length. Arousal wept from the tip, gleaming against his flushed head.

“Take off your pants.”

Elain swallowed, still staring at the rosy tip. It was such a flattering color, the same shade as Lucien’s lips. She obeyed the command if only because this didn’t feel like a punishment at all.

“Good girl,” he praised, pumping himself again. Another fist wouldn’t have been enough to cover the entire length. “Now take off your underwear and come here.”

If she ran, would he chase after her, she wondered? Push her against a wall in the hallway and fuck her there like a wild animal? She didn’t want to stop and consider why that thought appealed to her as she slowly pushed her underwear down her legs, the weight of his gaze warming a fire in her gut.

Slowly, she walked towards him, eyes fixed on his thick erection, wondering if she was prepared for the stretch. Tension tangled around them, twining around her limbs, constricting her chest until Elain felt she couldn’t breath. When she sat her laptop down on the desk, the soft noise was somehow too loud.

“Face towards the window,” he said.

Elain turned, seeing her empty desk through the window.

Lucien was still sitting, his words landing at the base of her spine as he said, “I have the best view in the entire building.”

She fought a shiver. “It looks pretty boring now.”

A large hand cupped her backside, prodding gently at the tender bruises he’d left there the night before. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

Lucien’s hand slid up to her hip, tracing the shape of her figure with a gentleness that felt reverent, before he started slowly guiding her backward onto his lap. She yelped in surprise at the first nudge of his cock, but he went slow, easing the blunt head first through her folds to coat himself in her arousal. Then he hitched himself at her entrance and gently pushed his hips forward. Her breath fled on one long exhale, like her body needed the extra space to accommodate him as he eased her back, further and further, onto his cock.

It was so much bigger than two fingers. Elain couldn’t help whimpering a bit at the stretch, fullness bordering on pain while her body clenched painfully tight around him. Lucien's head fell forward against her shoulder, fingers iron tight at her hips to keep her from moving. She could hear him struggling to catch his breath.

“Fuck, Elain.” He groaned, taking several, shallow pants. “Fuck.”

It was rare to see him so surrendered. Elain couldn’t resist the opportunity to teasingly grind her hips backward, relishing that she was the one in control. Lucien made a choked noise in the back of his throat and Elain giggled, moving against him again. She cooed, voice ripe with pity, “Do you need a minute?”

“Brat,” Lucien rasped. He delivered a sharp tap to her clit, not hard enough to sting, but enough to make her yelp. “Here’s what’s going to happen. For the next thirty minutes, I’m going to finish work and you’re going to sit on my cock and stay still like a good little slut.”

Maybe it was the use of that word that kindled her defiance, made her back straighten, and dared her to ask, “Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out what happens to slutty brats that can’t behave.”

Spanking, she assumed. That had been her punishment for misbehaving before. As much as Elain told herself she shouldn’t enjoy the threat of being hit, nor the way he was speaking to her, there was no denying the way her body clenched around him.

Lucien groaned. “Christ, Elain.” He palmed the curve of her ass, thumb trailing prickling heat as it swept a wide arch along the purpled skin. She held her breath at the slight pressure. He was balancing her on an edge, knowing if his touch became any firmer it would cause her pain.

“I need you to stay still for me, baby,” he murmured, softer this time, partnered with a kiss against her shoulder. “Then I can play with my needy girl.”

The sweetness softened her, melting her body into compliance. She laid back against the hard slope of Lucien’s chest, and he hummed like he was noting his gentleness had subdued her more effectively than his dominance.

“Good girl.” The fingers at her clit moved in a slow, congratulatory circle. She sucked in a breath, shifting her hips at the unexpected friction. “Ah.” Another reprimanding tap. “Stay still. I’m not going to warn you again.”

Lucien withdrew his fingers. Elain resisted the urge to whine, knowing it would only get her further from what she really wanted: Lucien, pushing her forward onto his desk and fucking her senseless on the cock that was keeping her achingly, tormentingly full as it throbbed inside her.

“Enough of that,” he chided, feeling Elain’s body tighten from the fantasy.

She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to relax. Lucien’s attention had somehow returned to his laptop, arms bracketing either side of her body to begin typing out a response to an email. Her laptop stayed closed, fifteen minutes still left in her workday and yet she knew if she even attempted to send an email now, it would be completely incoherent. She could catch up later. And if anyone asked where she had gone for the final fifteen minutes, she would say she needed to run off for something urgent.

Though she wouldn’t believe Lucien had ever heard the word urgent in his life.

He leaned forward, chest pushing further into her back so she could feel every warm breath skitter along her neck. She shifted her weight, just to readjust, and Lucien’s cock twitched at the movement.

He said in a low voice, “That’s one.”

One spanking? Elain thought she could deal with that much, even if her ass was still sore.

“Sorry sir,” she purred.

A soft laugh, pouring over her like silky espresso. Rich and dark. “Two, for being mouthy.”

Mouthy, she thought. Between Elain and her sisters, she had always been the last anyone would describe as such. I’ll show you mouthy. But maybe not today. The idea of three spankings was beginning to make her feel nervous. So Elain held her tongue, fighting the ache that climbed her spine, begging her to roll her hips.

Lucien’s focus didn’t seem at all impacted, despite the evidence that he was very much aroused. Elain had to grit her teeth as she watched him write email after email. Until her palms were beginning to dampen where she clutched them at the end of his armrest.

“L-Luci—”

“Shh,” he hushed, pulling his hands from his laptop just long enough to tap her sharply on her neglected clit. Air rushed through Elain’s teeth as her entire body trembled at the touch, desperate for him to hold the pressure there just a little bit longer. She could hear the cruel smile in his voice as he said, “I need to focus, Elain.”

“But—”

“That’s three.”

Elain knew she could say their safeword and he would let her off, her three spankings forgotten. But while another 15 minutes sounded excruciating, so did the idea of giving up now, when she knew Lucien would likely take her to his bed the second he was finished with work to reward her for being such a good girl. She wanted to hear him say it, craved it nearly as much as his touch.

But as much as she wanted to be a good girl, Lucien had set her up for failure with this impossible task. He knew it, because he laughed when she wiggled her hips hardly five minutes later. She could feel herself dripping into his lap.

“Four,” he said. “You’re just getting greedy now.”

Lucien’s hands seized her hips, forcibly stilling her as he ground his hips upward. Elain let out a low moan at the sweet relief of friction and Lucien chuckled. “Is this what you want, baby?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her face warmed at the admission, but it was not any less flushed than the rest of her body.

“You want to come on my cock?”

“Please.”

“Of course,” he murmured, offering her another slow grind of his hips.

Then he stopped, and Elain could have wept at the loss of movement as Lucien reached into his desk drawer. Elain watched in horror, realizing he’d prepared for this. She was imagining paddles, maybe even a whip, but what Lucien retrieved was instead a small bullet vibrator. He held it out in front of her as he switched on, causing the machine to buzz as it vibrated in his hand.

“You moved four times,” he said, moving the vibrator between her legs. “So that’s how many times I’m going to make you come on my cock.”

“Wha—” The question shriveled on her tongue the second Lucien brought the device to her swollen clit. She cried out once it made contact, body immediately tensing at the foreign sensation. Then Elain began shaking—legs, knees, arms, trembling like every bone had been turned to liquid and sharp pleasure shocked through her.

“Lucien,” she gasped, grabbing onto his arm. Not to stop him, just to hold on, to have something to ground her body as it became untethered. All her awareness narrowed down to was the burning, consuming sensation wracking through her body.

“That’s it,” he groaned as her walls spasmed around him. “Come on my cock Elain, just like that. Good fucking girl.”

Elain was gasping as she came down from her climax, but Lucien kept the vibrator running, pressed firmly to her clit.

“That was one. Give me three more.”

The first one had wrecked her. Elain thought there was no way, none, that she would be able to repeat it three more times. But Lucien was merciless, ignoring the way she shook her head as her body continued trembling, unable to differentiate between sensations as one orgasm dived into the next, like a platform was pulled suddenly out beneath her and she was just falling—screaming as she went.

“There you go,” he cooed, stroking her hair like he wasn’t the one administering the torture. “Two more Elain.”

Tears stung her eyes. It was too much. The blunt metal vibrating against her clit was beginning to burn uncomfortably, pleasure that coalesced into pain.

Elain shook her head again. “Lucien, I can’t.”

But she didn’t say the word. And Lucien didn’t stop.

“I thought you wanted to come,” he said. “Wanted it so bad you couldn’t even sit still.”

The muscles in Elain’s stomach constricted. She felt suddenly like the dancer atop her jewelry box, being wound tighter and tighter. And tighter.

“Lucien,” she begged as the pleasure grew sharper, more unforgiving.

“You’re nearly there, baby”

Elain practically sobbed through her third orgasm, overwound and aching.

A soft chime saved her from Lucien pushing her through the fourth. Lucien swore softly, switching off the vibrator. Elain immediately slumped, so overcome with relief that it hardly registered that Lucien was getting a call from his work laptop. Until he lifted her, gently yet urgently, out of his lap and onto the floor.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said to her. “Just stay there a moment, Elain, I’ll get off this as quickly as I can.”

Then that was that. Lucien answered the call, leaving Elain utterly stunned beneath the desk as she recovered from the onslaught of orgasms he had inflicted.

Lucien inched his chair closer. “Hello Tamlin.”

His cock was still out, still hard and completely soaked in her arousal.

“Lucien. Amarantha just withdrew from the deal. I need you to chase her up and get her to reconsider.”

From Tamlin’s tone, and Lucien’s resulting sigh, Elain assumed it was something very serious. And well. How better to get her revenge?

“I supposed I could— fuck.”

Elain smirked, repeating the motion. She swirled her tongue around his flushed head as her fist found the base of his cock, gliding easily along the slick of her own arousal.

“Lucien?”

“S-sorry.” One of his hands came beneath the table, trying to push her away. Stubbornly, Elain took his head into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks to suck. Lucien swore again. ���Sorry, Tamlin. I’m just caught off guard. I thought Amarantha was on board.”

“Well, she’s not. And it’s your job to close the deal.”

“I know,” he said tightly, fingers scrabbling for purchase in Elain’s hair as she bobbed her head forward, trying to take more of him into her mouth. “Here, let me get off this call and I'll chase her now.”

“No,” Tamlin said. Lucien’s fingers tightened in her hair. “She withdrew because the Night Corp. undercut us. Find out what they offered her first.”

“Okay.” Lucien let out a soft grunt, hips bucking forward involuntarily when she ran her tongue along the underside of his cock. It forced Elain further down his length, and she tried not to gag as his grip pulled her forward, almost punishing. “I’ll get in touch with my contact at Night, and I’ll put together a new pitch for Amarantha in the morning.”

“Good. Don’t let me down.”

Elain recognized the distinct call ended tone. She expected Lucien to pull himself out of her mouth, to put her over his knee and continue the torture that Tamlin had interrupted, but he only tightened the fist in her hair.

“You want to suck cock?” He asked, voice as dark as the bruises on her ass. “Then suck.”

Lucien thrust forward, forcing more of himself into her mouth as his hands forced her head still. He was big, bigger than she’d ever taken before, but the added lubricant helped him glide further down her throat until her nose was against the coarse, curly red hair that decorated his pelvis. Elain spluttered around the thickness of him in the back of her throat, eyes swelling with tears as she fought her gag reflex, but Lucien held her still.

“You look so pretty on your knees, Elain.”

Elain made a muffled sound in response, causing Lucien to grunt at the resulting vibration. He rocked his hips against her mouth, slowly at first, then faster, bobbing her head at his chosen pace as he fucked into her throat.

“Do you like letting me use your mouth like this?” He asked roughly. “Fuck. Open that pretty mouth wide for me.”

His hips stuttered as he spilled into the back of her throat with a long, guttural sound that warmed every nerve in Elain’s body. She swallowed, relishing air again as Lucien pulled himself out.

Immediately, he jumped out of his seat to help her back up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice raspier than she expected.

Lucien smoothed her hair out of her face, frowning. “Would you like to go lay down? I just have one last thing I need to take care of at work, and then I will focus all of my attention on taking care of you.”

“Of me?” She repeated.

“Of course.” He swiped his thumb against the corner of her mouth, wiping away some saliva. “What we just did was intense. And you did such a good job. Go rest, pretty girl. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Elain’s legs still felt shaky as Lucien helped her walk over to his bed and sit down. She thought he would go back to his desk, but he immediately disappeared into his kitchen to return with a glass of water. He handed it to her with a kiss against her temple.

She drank slowly, watching beyond the rim of the glass as Lucien sat down at his desk and quickly typed out an email. He shut his laptop the moment he was finished.

“Do you need anything?”

The bed dipped beneath his weight as he came to rest behind her, pulling Elain against the front of his body.

“No,” she answered, content to relax into the soft hands that began wandering her body, rubbing soothing circles into her hips, her back, her stomach. He traced kisses along her shoulders and neck. Finally, she asked, “What is this?”

“Cuddling,” Lucien said, sounding amused.

“Why?” Elain asked. Then, afraid he would think she didn’t enjoy the cuddling, she clarified, “I thought you wouldn’t want to do stuff like this. Since we’re just having fun.”

Lucien shrugged. “The sex was fun. This is fun. If you’d like to, I could take you to dinner this evening. That would be fun, too.”

“Like…” Elain bit her lip. “A date?”

“I’d like it to be.”

“Okay,” Elain said softly.

She thought that she’d like that, too.

[zuppizup]

Little Moments 5.0

Previous ficlet

“Come on, Rayla!” Soren yells from the water, beckoning her in.

Objectively, she can see it looks fun. The Tidebound kids are playing some kind of game with them and their funny sail boat thingies. Callum is manipulating the winds as they bark orders at him. These Tidebounds haven’t had much interaction with Skywings but once they realised Callum could raise the winds, they began to pester him all day long, only letting up with Moon rise when it is her turn to be the object of their obsession.

She laughs at them, waving dismissively at Soren but not moving from her spot in the shade.

“Come on! The water’s great!” Soren insists, wading a little closer to shore. “What’s up? We’ve been here for days and-”

Callum leans over and grabs him by the wrist, obviously speaking quietly.

Flushing, Rayla looks down, embarrassed that Callum clearly feels the need to explain her ridiculous aversion to water. Surely Soren noticed how absurdly sea sick she was on the way over? But then not everyone who gets sea sick is also terrified of water.

She hopes Soren doesn’t tease her about this. It’s humiliating enough that Callum and Ezran know.

Soren frowns a little, then nods at Callum. He glances very unsubtly at Rayla, then lunges for the little raft Ezran and a number of other kids are on and she relaxes a fraction.

Callum looks back at her, his face unreadable for a second, before he smiles softly at her. She smiles a little awkwardly in return, nodding her thanks. He looks back at the playing party, draws a rune and does a spell. Rayla can hear the screams of delight from the kids from where she is and she smiles a little broader. Callum then turns and begins wading back towards shore and she finds herself flushing once again. Is he getting out?

To talk to her?

She pulls her legs up close to her chest and tries to quell the butterflies fluttering rapidly in her stomach. Callum’s only wearing some sort of Tidebound swimming costume, most of his legs and all of his torso bare. And while she’s been unashamedly looking from her position on the beach, she’s not sure how she’s going to keep herself from doing or saying something embarrassing if he comes and sits next to her.

He’s changed a lot since she’s been away, got taller and broader (especially across his shoulders) but it’s painfully obvious since they’ve been here and the warm weather has pushed them all to strip down into lighter clothing. His skin has grown tan in the sun and more than once she’s found herself distracted by the cute dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

Stepping out of the water, he pushes his wet hair back with one hand while he draws a rune with the other. A little whirlwind swirls around him briefly and he looks much drier when it melts into the breeze. His hair is ruffled and she laughs as he tries to tame it while he strolls to join her.

“Hi.” He smiles as she shuffles across on the sea grass mat to make room for him.

“Hi.” She resolutely looks into his eyes, beyond conscious of his bare skin. Is she looking at his face too much though? Maybe she should look around a little? Look at the kids or the sea or even the trees giving them shelter? She’s definitely looking at him too much, her floundering to appear normal has now gone on way too long. Awkwardly, she points at the group in the water. “Having fun?”

Callum turns to look at where she’s pointing, snorting softly. “Yeah, I guess. It’s pretty tiring though. They don’t let up.”

Rayla snorts, laughing as Soren fights his way onto the raft, standing proud for a moment before falling in with a yelp and a splash. “Dummy.”

“You don’t have to hang around, you know? It’s safe here. Soren and I can keep an eye on Ezran.”

She looks over at him but Callum’s still watching the action in the water. It doesn’t sound like he wants her to leave, but a part of her worries all the same.

That’s not why she’s sitting here. She knows he and Soren are capable of taking care of Ezran. Even though she can’t partake in their fun, it feels a little like she’s part of it, even from all the way back on the beach. “I like it here.” Her eyes drift to his shoulder and a small scar across his upper arm. She doesn’t remember that from before. It’s raised slightly, and a little lighter than the skin around it. Old, she thinks. Maybe it’s more prominent now, the underlying muscle more developed and defined.

Callum turns to look at her, starting a little when he catches her staring. She feels her cheeks go bright pink as she tries to decide between apologising and pretending she wasn’t openly gawking at him. Instead she looks back to the water, the continued yelling a good excuse for distraction.

“You’re okay by yourself?” He sounds concerned but she’s still too red in the face to look directly at him and see what sort of expression he has.

“Na, I’m not by myself.” She grins, stretching out her legs and nodding at Stella snoozing on her back beside her.

Callum doesn’t respond and she glances over at him, more than surprised to see his eyes wide and mouth open just a little as he stares at her bare legs.

She feels herself flush again, shifting unconsciously which seems to bring Callum back to his senses. He jumps, glancing at her and very obviously cringing when he finds her looking at him. He snaps his mouth shut, looking away.

“Em, sorry.” He flushes, grimacing awkwardly when he looks back at her.

Struggling to hide her own smile, Rayla glances down, looking back at him shyly. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just shrugs as she tries not to giggle. It’s not like she’s offended. Not by a long shot. It’s… nice to think he might be as affected by her as she is by him.

Callum sighs shakily, and she can see he’s trying to pretend he’s not laughing too.

They sit side by side, making a play of attempting to watch the antics on the water and not each other.

Continued: Little Moments 6.0

Also on AO3: Little Moments 5.0

[wooglebear]

I wanted to give Hazel and Cara special designs inspired by the piqua mystery dungeon AU (which then turned into an excuse to see Cara with a different ponytail than in canon ACIT and Hazel in a cardigan).

Details and a bonus under the cut.

Since the creator of the au made Melvinborg a Duosion and Cash a Floatzel, I made Hazel a Ribombee (you know, a Pokemon that's a fairy type, so that it would make more sense for someone as rich as Cash to hang around with her) and Cara a Poipole (because it evolves into a dragon type, as a nod to the dragon theme that was being used with Moxie. site note, it took an absurdly long time to figure out what species she should be).

Hazel was much easier to design than Cara herself, thankfully. I gave Hazel a brown and yellow dress, black Mary Janes, and white socks which have brown ribbons to match the one on her head and bow tie (note: the ribbon on Hazel's head is pink to match Melvinborg's bow tie in the AU). Also, a cute white cardigan because she deserves it :)

Hazel still travels back in time in the PMD AU. But because ACIT Hazel travelled back in time to get rid of Melvinborg, who's her brother, and I don't think a Ribombee would have been angry enough to do that to a Duosion, it's not on purpose here.

Now for Cara… Hoo boy, where do we even start with this girl's design?

Her hair scrunchie was the bane of my existence… WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING GIVING HER THAT HAIR SCRUNCHIE?! On a more humorous note, her hair scrunchie’s color palette of teal fits with Cara's personality of being calm and collected, sweet, and shy.

Apologies for giving Poipole!Cara a boringly same as canon ACIT shirt (but pink), but I couldn't think of any good shirts for Poipole!Cara.

Honestly? I think I had fun with her skirt. Well while brainstorming for ideas, I found this skirt and the moment I did, I knew I had to use it for Poipole!Cara. It just perfectly fits her flavour of "calm, shy, cute girl."

Her tights and Mary Janes… I had fun with them. They're in pastel colors, because... WOW, the anime and USUM really upped the saturation the first time it was drawing Poipole, huh?

Hazel and Cara's lesbian romance is now even more tragic, because Cara's a poison type and… you can do the math.

Since today marks the one month anniversary of ACIT, I just had to show you these bonus ones: Hazel if she was in tetocu23.

Hazel's gonna be a detective girl in this theoretical reboot. Hazel loves a mystery. She likes to read detective novels, and fancies herself as Piqua's version of Sherlock Holmes.

She's still Aro af but more open about it. I lightened her eyes and hair a bit and gave her a pastel strawberry hairband (and kept her trademark freckles, because they were kind of needed).

Hazel's tetocu23 design is primarily based on movie Melvin's design (hence the sweater vest and yellow bow tie), with some influences from book Melvin and a little bit of the show Melvin design.

She travels back in time to solve the mystery of Endenemys.

Because she's so quiet, people tend to forget she's there. But her Private Hazel persona is competitive, proactive, and determined (in a positive way for self-improvement).

TETOCU23 Hazel is also part of a DID system, you see. Thankfully, this DID is not gonna be her whole character.

tetocu23!Hazel still sounds like Crackle from Sofia the First. BECAUSE MY VOICE CLAIM IS STILL ELLIE KEMPER LOL

Hazel is still in a lesbian romance with Cara but i think i'm gonna wait until her tetocu23 design for that.

(PMD + tetocu23 au: @infini-tree)

[tonberry-yoda]

Heya! May I request a Final Fantasy male matchup? Feel free to chose a franchise from your list whatever comes into your mind first

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian. Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy/Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Muggleborn Slytherin with a patronous spirit of Hummingbird, an INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and my moral alignment is Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unbothered to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

oh my goodness hi there!!! sorry this took a bit, i have been piled with finals, but i got the hard stuff outta the way and now i only have a couple more lets GOOOOOOO. now onto the matchup because I have the perfect character for you!!!!

the character I chose for you is...

PROMPTO!!!

omg he was my first fictional crush look at how beautiful he is

he loves to kiss the beauty mark on your forehead, it was like made for him to land a little kiss on lol

literally thinks you're the most gorgeous being on the entire planet

everything about you

loves your style and just cant get over you lol

thinks it's adorable when he gets you laughing

it's kind of his favorite thing when he makes you laugh because he thinks your laugh is adorable and he wants to be the only one to hear it sometimes, so expect him to crack a lot of silly jokes

he thinks it's really attractive that you get feisty and can stand up for what you believe in

loves your confidence it just makes him love you 100x more because he himself can be a little insecure, so you definitely help him by example showing how amazing you are

he will definitely hold you in those spots where you arent feeling 100% and overthinking. he knows exactly how that can feel, so expect conversations and hugs for sure

definitely doesnt think you're a drama queen and wants to help you as best as he can because he cares about you so much

he is literally the king of dumb jokes and pick up lines, so expect to be blushing and laughing a lot around this doofas

he is very supportive of you and your dreams and will help to the best of his ability (though if it is anything related to academics, he will smile at you, tell you you're doing great and then tell you to go ask Ignis for help lmfaooo)

he will listen to you sing from afar, but if you are willing to sing in front of him, please do, he will love you forever because he is such a sucker for your beautiful voice

loves all of the things you're talented at and will listen to you talk about them for hours with hearts in his eyes

it doesnt matter if you're bad at dancing, expect Prompto to appear in the room and pull you into his arms, dancing with you

walk like a model and this man will hype you up and BEG for a fashion show fr

you two definitely get each other laughing with your awful puns, but that's kinda the best part about you two lmao

cuddle and watch cartoons, that's it. no more has to be said. prompto loves this

if you cook for him, he will brag to Ignis that you are a way better cook

he definitely put you in a pickle there lmaooo

~~~~~

matchup rules --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda

[witchthewriter]

Heya! It's me again, may I request a level six male ship for Disney (except for Descendants) I'm going to resend my updated info in case it got piled down, thank you so much! ❣️

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian (Filipino). Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy or Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Slytherin with patronous spirit of Hummingbird, INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unbothered to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

Want one? Here be the rules 🦋🌈 

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐲 

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑳𝒊 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒏𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍! He was my biggest crush growing up. I mean he's stoic, kind-hearted, and gets the job done. He's very much like Robb Stark, Arthur Pendragon and Gally. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside!

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

・You thought he hated you for the longest time. But it was just because on the outside he seems like such a cold person. But inside he was literally in love with you. 

・Is your rock. He can calm you even in the most chaotic of times. Even if there was a tornado, he would be level-headed and steady. 

・His pet names for you are ‘honey’, ‘darling,’ ‘my love.’ He knows it makes you blush. And he loves making you blush...

・Whenever he opens up to you, it makes you feel so special because you know he hasn’t told anyone about how he really feels

・Always ready to listen to your problems and help sort them out. He knows what to do when you aren’t dealing with things well emotionally, or if you’ve hurt yourself (yeah he knows first aid)

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Take A Chance On Me by the Midnite String Quartet

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

・ Cheerful Optimist x Grumpy Asshole

・ Moral/Emotional Support

・You fell first but they fall harder

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Coming of Age

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 How well you know yourself, and how you articulate yourself. You have such a fantastic way of expressing how you feel, and Shang appreciates that. Because some people are so unaware of themselves and how they’re feeling inside. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 Would be Belle. I think she would admire your hopefulness, and how you see the world. You would both have such brilliant conversations, and I reckon you would have a book club going on without realising it! 

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 A mixture of Ariel, Chip and Piglet. I think you’re very curious and have a child-like innocence about you. You speak your truth and don’t let others get you down. 

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕 There was tweeting at your window for hours and hours. You thought it was just another bird, but the noise never ceased. So when you opened your window you saw it there. The little sparrow waiting for you. Now he follows you everywhere you go. 

[oceanblueeyesoul]

Heya! It's me again, may I request a male matchup for Disney (except for Descendants) Thank you so much!

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian (Filipino). Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy or Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Slytherin with patronous spirit of Hummingbird, INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unbothered to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

P.S. I resend my info in case it piled down

Hi there, Aerith! I really hope you like this a lot!

Disney Matchup

Your Disney soulmate is...

MILO THATCH!

The two of you would definitely be reading some history books together because the two of you loves to be learning new things together as a team and as a couple as well.

He would make sure that you are included in everything you would like to do within the group and other things you like to do with him as well.

The two of you would definitely be talking to each other with a deep/fun/dumb conservations because you guys like to talk to each other and hear each other's opinions on everything really.

[diorgirl444]

Heya! May I request a male ship for Narnia? I can ship you in return (but chosen fandoms will be a surprise) Thank you so much!

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian (Filipino). Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy or Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Slytherin with patronous spirit of Hummingbird, INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unbothered to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

your perfect matchup is 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <𝟑

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <𝟑

i can definitely see you meeting peter after the events second of the second movie. 

like you’re on the train on the way to school just minding your business, probably writing in a notebook, and then you hear noise.

some boy is bickering with his siblings about something, they keep subtly gesturing to you so you’re safe to say very confused.

because like what have you got to do with him, absolutely nothing! yet…..

eventually the boy sighs and goes to sit in the empty space next to you.

you’re understandably a little bit offended because it feels like he didn’t want to sit next to you.

till he turns to you and says “did you see all that over there?” you nod looking slightly irritated by him but he quickly says “before you come to the idea that i didn’t want to sit next to you i wanted to clarify that it wasn’t that at all. you see in fact i think you’re so pretty and i was worried that i’d do something stupid in front of you.” he looks incredibly apologetic and you say that he hasn’t done anything stupid at all!!! however if he does want to make it up to you he could always go out for a meal with you.

he instantly agrees and it’s safe to say that from now on every journey you took, be it on train, plane, bus or just life itself, you took it together.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <𝟑

i feel that you and peter are that couple that everyone knows is gonna tie the knot one day. 

like to the other pevensie’s your already part of the family so they’re just waiting for the day you and peter make it official. 

till then though let’s discuss what you’re like simply in the dating stage.

ok can i just say you and peter are always and i mean always saying dumb pick-up lines it makes the two of you equally entertained and flustered and you always try to catch the other one out.

in contrast he also loves having long deep chats about topics such as christianity or social issues with you. he just finds you such an interesting person. 

he loves your singing voice he thinks it the most gorgeous sound in the world so he’ll always get you to sing to him.

he’ll also love slow dancing with you at home, just imagine him softly wrapping his arms around you and humming some old love song whisking you around your kitchen.

oh how lucky you are.

i can assure if there’s any animal that you dislike around you peter, hero complex, pevensie will get rid of it for you. 

another thing that you two often do together is watching a documentary. peter’s ideal day is sat in front of an interesting documentary snuggling with you.

basically like the other pevensie’s i’m wondering when the two of you are gonna get married because you two are cute as can be!!!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <

hugs and kisses, flo

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Heya! It's me again, may I request a male matchup for Disney (except for Descendants), here's my newest version of my info Thank you so much!

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian (Filipino). Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy or Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Slytherin with patronous spirit of Hummingbird, INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unbothered to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

Hello dear 💖, thanks for your request.

For disney I ship you with:

Flynn Ryder⚔️

He would first meet you when you were heading on your way to repunzle.

He would be stealing the tiara when you were also an assassin trying to hide from the knights.

You bumped into him and you both ran while introducing yourselves.

Flynn was witty and sarcastic but he wasn't horrible.

He would joke with you and seem flirty.

You met rapunzel along with Flynn, you took her out of town to see the outside.

Rapunzle had feelings for Flynn but he felt more for you.

Flynn and you had your first kiss when he was in the boat with you.

Flynn protected you from the guards and mother gothel.

You were wounded but luckily rapunzle healed you.

Flynn and you wedded when everyone was saved. You both married and lived in the forest to which your child has his eyes and hair (and smolder).

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨️

[icysab]

Heya! May I request an Enhypen matchup?

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid; He/They (though I'm biologically woman irl)

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian. Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy/Soft Vintage (like Malia Tate's style from Teen Wolf) but loves to wear Korean makeup style

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Muggleborn Slytherin with a patronous spirit of Hummingbird, an INFJ, my enneagram is 4w5 and my moral alignment is Neutral Good. I may have a slight introverted tendencies and awkward/anxious nature, I describe myself as fiery, swears like a sailor, confident, jokester, and, passionate. Religious, super talkative, sometimes hyper (because of excitement), giggly (I always laugh/snort for stupid reasons), nerdy, also sweet and nice though I can be aloof, intimidating, and scary when I get so angry. I tend to become really fiesty, stands boldly on what I believe (claiming myself as a realist though some of my views doesn't makes sense), unhinged to be myself, stubborn, young-at-heart, clumsy unfortunate and inattentive. Would don't give af towards the people that I hate, sarcasam and savagery is my main language. But on the other side, I overthink a lot and cry over small things many times which I sound like a drama queen, and a perfectionist that provokes even more, yet recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal. Chill in academics, but very competitive that manages to the top even for my dreams---I'm very dedicated on what I want for my life, and I display modesty and gracefulness towards some people that deserves respect. One notable feature about her is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in artistic fields (this includes singing).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, fun/deep/dumb conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, documentaries (about saints), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, obligation (without a logical reason), getting excluded, being interrupted, invalidating my feelings, judgemental people, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake woke individuals, colonial mentality, and absurdly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting or browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons, writing, cooking, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks. I also used to study Italian language a bit

i match you up with….

sunoo!!

[sunfish-studies]

Celebration

✄・・・ Feathery Ink [Karasuno Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Karasuno x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: none

➜ Notes: This is a separate series from Crisp Leaves. Similar to Crisp Leaves, manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall. This is just my appreciation towards tall girls, you guys are amazing.

Previous:  ‹ Cogs › | Next:  ‹ Let The Games Begin! ›

↷ SUMMARY ↶

Last day of training calls for celebration for everyone’s hard work, so it’s barbeque time!

“All right, meat!”

“I’m starving!”

While the boys freshened up after practice matches, the managers were already on the move to prepare for the barbeque. Since there were quite a lot of people, the coaches decided to held it on the backyard of the gym, where the sharp hill stood just beside it. The coaches helped setting up the grills while the managers divided to cater different things.

Yachi decided she would get the utensils they needed; paper plates, chopsticks, paper cups, trays for rice balls, and other things. Shimizu would cover for the rice ball making, Yukie and Eri were in charge on cutting the vegetables in bite-size, Kaori and Mako would clean the vegetables before it was cut.

Meanwhile, you’re in charge of preparing the condiments and sauces, unwrapping the meat cuts, and arranged them on a bigger plate. Aside from that you had to make sure the meats searing on the grills weren’t charred.

“[Name]-chan, please replace me for cutting the onions,” Eri sobbed, reaching out to you with grabby hands.

“Alright, senpai,” you giggled in reply because Eri was clearly needing a break and watching the meats seared was a great break for her. Quickly, you stood on her place and started slicing the tear-induced-menaces after washing your hands.

It didn’t take long for you to suffer the same fate as the Ubugawa’s manager–the first seven slices went through without a hitch, but when you reached the tenth your eyes started to sting and blurry from the pain. Then tears began trailing down your cheeks, and you wiped it you’re your shirt sleeve.

“D-Don’t cry, [Name]-san!!” you looked up, seeing Hinata with his place face quivering on his feet. “W-what should I do!?”

“It’s fine, Shoyo-kun, it’s just the onions,” you sniffled pointed towards the bowl full of it. “It hurts my eyes.”

“I can take your place, Otohaku-chan!” Lev popped up beside Hinata.

“Instead of cutting the onions, you’ll chop your fingers off,” Yaku deadpanned before offering. “Here, let me do it.”

“No, it’s alright, Yaku-san,” you shook your head. “It’s time for you to have a break, not working.”

Being persistent sometimes has it’s perks, it took numbers of rejection to finally have Yaku gave up. You knew he was just trying to help, but you didn’t want to rob his time relaxing. When all the preparations were done, the boys were already surrounding the grills with hungry faces. Coach Nekomata gave them a light speech along with praises for their hard work over the week, and they dived to grab on the meat straight from the grill.

“THANKS FOR THE FOOD!”

Just like Kaori, you brought a plate of rice balls to offer and managed to witnessed Yukie’s enormous appetite. She practically inhaled four rice balls in one go and you’re not the only who was dumbfounded from it.

.

.

Konoha and Komi almost had their souls went to heaven from the frightening circle Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Taketora made. Well, they did elbow each other to encourage one another getting close or at least having a talk with Shimizu. The girl walked pass them holding a paper plate with food–looking extremely gorgeous and she didn’t even try.

“That was scary,” Konoha muttered underneath his breath. The three finally stopped because of Karasuno and Nekoma’s captain scolded them–the three immediately shrunk.

“They really had their guard up, huh,” Komi added, feeling his energy drained from such a scary encounter.

“Uhm, excuse me,” the two turned to look over their shoulder and that’s when they noticed–Karasuno’s other first year manager who’s Bokuto constantly talking about. The owl captain wouldn’t shut up about her much to their annoyance and now they knew why.

“Would you like some rice ball?”

“Sure,” Konoha replied dumbly.

“I’ll take two,” Komi followed with a daze. You placed one on Konoha’s empty paper plate and two for Komi upon his request. Smiling at them, you proceeded to excuse yourself so you could offer to someone else.

Following your figure dazedly, they noticed how the light shone even brighter and basked you in a beautiful glow. That’s when they thought of a conclusion.

A goddess just graces us mere mortals! They screamed in their head.

.

.

You tried to calm Yachi down from her traumatizing experience being surrounded by absurdly tall boys (“Titans, [Name]-chan! Titans!”). Thankfully, all of them were nice enough to made room so your friend could reach for some meat. Yachi almost cried in happiness from the real taste of meat.

From the sidelines, Shimizu and the other managers were watching the two of you while talking about the boys sometimes.

“How much are you going to eat?” Kaori questioned because Yukie was having a ridiculous amount of food towering on her plate and she just kept munching away without care.

“The third-years in Karasuno all seems pretty mature,” Mako commented.

“Our ace is weak-willed, though,” Shimizu smiled sheepishly.

“What? Really?” Eri replied in surprise. “Even though he looks that scary?”

“Though, I think that’s still better than our simpleton ace,” Kaori commented. “Still,”

Their eyes were directed towards where the said simpleton ace was standing and placing meat until it towered on your empty plate.

“Eat more, [Name]-chan! Or you won’t get even taller!” he stated.

“And eat more vegetables!” Kuroo added, placing cabbages and carrots to your plate, adding even more food.

“Have some rice balls, too.” Somehow, even Akaashi participated in this whole fiasco and put a rice ball onto your plate. Now, there’s a ridiculous amount of food on your plate.

“…I can’t eat this much,” you commented, staring at the food filling your plate.

“Nonsense, I don’t see you eat anything even when the others are,” Akaashi stated. “You’re too busy handling other things nonstop.”

“Have a break will you,” Kuroo patted your back. “Everyone’s having fun and you should too.”

“Have more meat, [Name]-san!” Hinata said.

“You can have my share, Otohaku-chan!” Lev followed and you immediately shook your head.

“At least he and Akaashi took care of our baby manager well,” Kaori sighed in relief.

“[Name]-chan is close with Fukurodani’s captain and setter, huh? Even Nekoma’s captain,” Mako giggled. “She’s drawing everyone in.”

“Well, it’s rare for a first-year to be as tall as her,” Eri grinned. “The boys are especially poles so it’s probably great not to strain their neck once in a while from looking down.”

“Karasuno’s pretty lucky to have her, huh?” Yukie said after swallowing her food.

“Yeah, we are,” Shimizu smiled.

.

.

“Did you have fun?” Sawamura asked you when you’re helping other managers to clean up the remaining plates left behind on the table along with other scraps littering around. He picked up a few paper cups and placed it into the trash bin.

“Definitely,” you answered without hesitation. “Everyone’s so nice, it’s probably the most fun I’ve had.”

“Thank goodness, then,” he gave you a smile.

“I’m really glad I joined the volleyball club,” you commented, grinning.

“And we glad to have you here,” the captain chuckled and replied.

Everything was over by the time the sun started to sink into the horizon–time truly flew by when you enjoyed it. Since Miyagi was quite a distance from Saitama, they needed to depart first or they would be back extremely late at night. Yukie and Eri were fake-crying and joking about refusing to let you go–in the end, you’re all exchanging numbers so you could keep in touch.

“Did you have fun, Otohaku-san?”

“Coincidentally, you asked the same question as my captain, Akaashi-san.” The Fukurodani setter, like before, helping you on carrying the extra luggage in hand although you did tell him it’s only until you reached the stairs. “And to answer, I am. These one week of training camp is fun. Somehow, I don’t want this to be over.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet again,” Akaashi replied. “At the Spring Interhigh.”

“I’m sure we will, Akaashi-san.” you smiled. “And thank you for helping me with luggage.”

“[Name]-chan!!” Bokuto bounded over with a grin plastered on his face. “We’ll be waiting at the nationals!”

“Karasuno, Bokuto-san. Otohaku-san doesn’t play volleyball.” Akaashi deadpanned.

“Just agree with me once, Akaashi!”

“Well, whatever he said,” Kuroo piped up, approaching the three of you. “Made sure your team go to the nationals so we could meet again and make the battle came true.”

“I’ll do my best, Kuroo-san.” Then Kuroo reached out to ruffle your hair, it’s been a while since he did that and you weren’t even going to lie about enjoying it. The cat captain was similar to an older brother now.

“Off you go then, [Name],” he removed his hand from your head. “And don’t miss me.”

“How could I when I have your phone number, Kuroo-san?” you snickered. “You’re probably going to bombard me with chemistry puns at 10pm.”

“Then, I’m gonna call you every day so you won’t have to deal with Kuroo!” Bokuto declared before laughing victoriously.

“Please block his number immediately, Otohaku-san,” Akaashi stated. “Or you won’t be getting any sleep. His talking is endless.”

“Why, Akaashi!?” the said boy whined.

“Aside from that, be careful on your way home,” Akaashi decided to ignore the captain and gave you a small smile.

You returned his smile. “Will do, Akaashi-san.”

With that, the whole week of summer training camps has come to an end. The whole team watched you guys drove away into the other way back to Miyagi.

.

.

“You have a match tomorrow, don’t you?” former Coach Ukai questioned, brows creased from the insistence of your combi. “That’s probably enough, then!”

“One more! Just one more!” Hinata pleaded.

“We’ll finish after this one!” Kageyama added.

Two days of practicing to prepare for the preliminaries, just a day before the match Sawamura dismissed them early to get some rest. Since it would be impossible to use the gym unless getting an earful from him, Kageyama and Hinata needed to look for another place. Former Coach Ukai lent them the court only for a bit, just until the others who wants to practice comes.

And you were there to hold a leash if they’re being stubborn or something.

“This is the last, alright?” you scolded the two. “We shouldn’t bother the others who wants to practice here. And you should rest before the match.”

Thankfully the older man letting them had the court just one more time and you couldn’t help but feeling grateful of it. You sighed before turning to face former Coach Ukai and bowed down. “On their behalf, I apologize.”

“It’s fine.” Former Coach Ukai dismissed it. “Their eagerness is a great thing, but even eagerness isn’t going to magically give them energy. It would be bad if they burnt out even before the game started.”

“[Name]-san! Can you throw us the ball?” Hinata called out.

In the end, the two managed to successfully killed the quick–and sure enough, it also impressed former Coach Ukai which added more reassurance that your team would be more than okay to face the entire preliminaries and became champions.

[seollenda-moved]

her needs met (reader x wendy)

“Hey can I request a sub Wendy/ fem reader story smut and domestic fluff? Anything you want works.”

thanks for the submission! [ requests still open :) ]

CW: smut, edging, mild humiliation kink, dommetop!reader and subbottom!wendy, aftercare fluff

hangul: 승완아 = seungwan-ah

word count: ~ 1700

your girlfriend was needy at the most inopportune times. working with foreign time zones meant that some nights were spent hunched over your laptop at the kitchen table, typing silently as wendy snored softly in the other room. most of those evenings she returned from her schedules tired, and after a shared dinner, slept like a rock. but on light or free days, she had much more energy and attention to spare.

and a need for attention.

“baby,” she mumbled petulantly from behind you, draping her arms over your shoulders and resting her chin on your head. “can’t you come to bed?”

you shook your head silently, just trying to finish up the last sentence of your email. she sighed dramatically, tossing her hair. the sweet scent of her shampoo settled over you like a tempting spell. she knew what she was doing, leaning down until you felt the proximity of her cheek by yours. she watched as you sent off the email, perking up hopefully. that was the last piece of business for the night—but wendy didn’t need to know that.

you scrolled absently thru your inbox, pretending to search for something else, and felt her wilt a little next to you. she whined softly, pressing her face into the crook of your neck, trying to catch your attention with her lips on your skin.

you took a deep breath and summoned a sternness about you. this was going to be fun.

“승완아.”

you felt her stiffen at her name spoken in such a tone, the strength of her embrace releasing a bit from your shoulders. you took her forearms and dropped them to her sides, standing up to face her. her cheeks blushed lightly at eye contact, suddenly aware of what she’d gotten herself into.

“you’re getting bold, aren’t you?” she knew she wasn’t being asked for an answer, and only returned your gaze with startled eyes. “and i thought we were clear about when you could ask for my time like this.”

she nodded wordlessly.

“this is what you’re asking for, isn’t it?” you took a pause, waiting for her answer. she was shy about this still, even though she knew you wouldn’t proceed without her word.

“yes.”

“go and wait for me on the bed,” you dismissed her, watching her hurry away without a thought. she’d even worn her barely-there camisole and those absurdly short pyjama shorts, the little vixen.

you stifled a smile in spite of yourself, turning around to sign off your laptop and tidy up your work. you gave her just a bit more time, shuffling about the kitchen, pouring a couple glasses of water, cooling your face with a couple splashes at the sink, biding your time with random motions until you heard her complain softly in the other room. you waited just a bit longer until she tried again, louder this time, calling your name pitifully.

“i need…i need you,” her voice came from the ajar door, the sound of careful footsteps drawing closer. you picked up the two glasses of water, finally stepping towards the room. she jumped at your sudden proximity.

“i told you to wait on the bed, didn’t i?”

she turned back around and settled quickly on the made bed, her gaze downturned. you set the water glasses on a nearby dresser as you stepped forward to meet her. your hands were cold with condensation, and in an inspired moment, you reached down to and lifted her chin, resting your other hand on the back of her neck.

the cold of your touch made her gasp in surprise, her wide eyes meeting yours, her pupils blown wide in the low light of the bedroom lights. she was lovely like this, her high cheeks flushed a wanton shade of red, her lips parted slightly as she struggled to hide her hitching breath. you traced a cool fingertip down the line of her neck and shoulder, this time causing a true shiver though the girl’s spine, and a tiny whimper. her cheeks quickly flushed deeper in embarrassment at the involuntary response, her thighs pressing together imperceptibly. but you noticed it all, her evident desperation drawing a small smile out of you.

“my girl wanted it so bad, she was being rather naughty,” you mused lightly, hooking a finger through the shoulder of her top and pulling it delicately down her shoulder. her nipples were already peaked against the rather useless thin white fabric, and you admired the shadow of their helpless need for a moment, running a thumb over one until you drew a deeper moan out of wendy. her hips ground haplessly against the mattress, looking for any type of friction at all.

“how long had you been wanting this?” you drew the shoulder of her top down further until they ran over her breast and released it with a gentle shock. her whimper was high and soft. “long enough to get bratty, hm? our sweet little seungwan, wet and desperate.”

her cheeks blushed furiously, biting her lip to keep stubbornly quiet. it didn’t take much to get her moaning again however, pinching a nipple suddenly and causing a yelp of surprise more than real pain.

“please,” she whispered, surprising you with the haste of her confession.

“you know i’m not so happy with you,” you chided. “you know what kind of punishment to expect.”

she whined, propping herself up against her palms pressed into the bed behind her, yielding her body fully to your touch and gaze. she arched her back into your lazily wandering hands.

“but this is what you wanted.” you pushed her back lightly, and she lay back with no resistance. she went to pull her shirt off but you stopped her, drawing the fabric over her chest again. the contact of the slight fabric was even enough to draw a flinch at this point. you could see the wetness spreading through her flimsy shorts now, and when you pressed a palm against her, could feel the clenching of her pussy craving anything at all.

“let’s see how long you can last without release,” you said, drawing her bottoms and underwear off in one pull. “if you come against my command you’re getting a week of edging. you remember?”

“yes—“ she whispered, her word ending in a deep moan as you pressed two fingers against her. her clit was hot and swollen, and when you spread her lips apart you could see it’s peak from under its hood, red and lovely. you swiped up over it in one fast motion. she yelped at the sensitivity.

your first tease towards climax was just through the lightest touch directly upon her clit, watching her face until you knew she was close and immediately backing off. her expression flooded with disappointment, but she stayed quiet and good.

the second time was knuckle deep inside her. the sudden sensation of fullness caused her shout of pleasure, devolving into desperate chants of your name as you pumped two, then three fingers inside her. her cunt was deliciously tight, her slickness dripping onto the bed as it let your fingers plunge deeper inside her.

“i’m close,” she confessed obediently this time. you withdrew, this time eliciting a sob of desperation out of her. you watched her clench around nothing, frustration evident. you ran your wet fingers over the fabric of her shirt, her breasts straining for attention. her lust was impressive enough to seemingly draw her towards orgasm the third time, just with contact of her nipples through her shirt. she was obvious when she was close, and you stopped a third time. her hips bucked desperately against empty air.

her fourth time, you let her feel you inside her again. the fifth time, you returned to her clit, now somehow even more engorged than it was the beginning. this time, her face screwed in seeming pain and pleasure. she devolved into begging.

“please, please,” she appealed desperately. “please, it hurts. i need it.”

you regarded her for a moment. capturing her chin in your other hand, you drew up over her.

“look at me when you cum,” you instructed her sternly. her eyes flew open immediately, tears dropping from their corners, her expression beautifully ruined. you nodded to her, rubbing her clit one last time before pushing into her with three fingers.

this was just enough, her climax ripping through her and pulsing deeply against your fingers. her cries raised to a volume that would surely draw neighbors’ complaints, but you didn’t care. the humiliating exposure of her debauchery only stimulated her further, you knew.

her orgasm was long and deep, her whole body shuddering for what felt like a glorious eternity. when she finally began to still, you gave her one last squeeze inside her before drawing out of her, causing a shout of overstimulation. her eyes squeezed shut again, her lips parting immediately at contact with your wet fingers, cleaning them obediently until she’d swallowed all of herself off of you.

you smiled at her angelic exhaustion, getting up to retrieve the water you’d set out earlier.

“drink,” you murmured, propping her head up gently as she gulped, her eyes fluttering open before shutting heavily again. you set the glass aside, wiping your hands on a tissue before settling next to her on the bed. her light hair was plastered with sweat, and you pushed it gently off her face.

“you are so pretty, do you know that?”

she smiled shyly at your cooing, immediately turning towards inward and hiding her face against you.

“so pretty when you come undone for me. my lovely girl.” you paused, letting her throw an arm and leg over you wordlessly. “seungwan-ah, i’m sorry i’ve neglected you lately. i’ve been letting myself get too busy.”

she sighed softly, shaking her head. “it’s hard, i know. i’m guilty of it too.”

“i’ll be better about it, love.” you pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. she squeezed you tighter, breathing in the scent of your skin mingling with that of her own satisfied lust.

“i love you,” she murmured. you smiled against her, your heart some how filling even further than you knew was possible.

“i love you too, seungwanie.”

[inexplicifics]

HI SAY MORE WORDS ABOUT M'LAIDEN COLLEGE AU PLEASE

“Kitten!” Aiden cries, flopping down onto the couch with his head in Milena’s lap and one wrist clapped theatrically to his forehead. Milena lifts her book out of the way with the ease of long practice. “I am enraptured! Enamored! Utterly doomed!”

“Did you end up drafted into another play, or did that gorgeous grad student bump into you on the quad again?” Milena asks, giggling, and puts her book down on the arm of the couch so she can run her fingers through Aiden’s hair. Aiden captures one of her hands and draws it to his lips, kissing each fingertip reverently, then cradles her palm to his cheek.

“Worse!” he says mournfully. “I met my new lab partner today. He’s absurdly hot and utterly brilliant, and he swears like a drunken sailor.”

“Ah,” Milena says, covering a smile with her free hand.

*

They are dorks and they are in love and Lambert is Distressingly Competent. I'm having fun!

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.